Windjammers and Sea Tramps Part 5

One of the most rollicking and joyous days the sailor had during a voyage was that on which his dead horse expired; that is, when his month's advance was worked out. If he took a month's advance, he always considered that he had worked that month for nothing: and, literally, he had done so, as the money given to him in advance usually went towards paying a debt or having a spree; so it was fitting, considering these circ.u.mstances, that special recognition should be made of the arrival of such a period. An improvised horse was therefore constructed, and a block with a rope rove through it was hooked on to the main yardarm.

The horse was bent on, and the ceremony commenced by leading the rope to the winch or capstan, and the song ent.i.tled "The Dead Horse" was sung with great gusto. The funeral procession as a rule was spun out a long time, and when the horse was allowed to arrive at the yard arm the rope was slipped and he fell into the sea amid much hilarity! The verse which announces his death was as follows:--

"They say my horse is dead and gone;-- And they say so, and they say so!

They say my horse is dead and gone;-- Oh, poor old man!"

The verse which extinguishes him by dropping him into the sea goes like this:--

"Then drop him to the depths of the sea;-- And they say so, and they say so!

Then drop him to the depths of the sea;-- Oh, poor old man!"

This finished the important event of the voyage; then began many pledges of thrift to be observed for evermore, which were never kept longer than the arrival at the next port, or at the longest until the arrival at a home port, when restraint was loosened. The same old habits were resumed, and the same old month's advance was required before sailing on another voyage.

The "White Stocking Day" was as great an event ash.o.r.e as the Dead Horse day was at sea. The sailors' wives, mothers, or sweethearts always celebrated half-pay day by wearing white stockings and by carrying their skirts discreetly high enough so that it might be observed. This custom was carried out with rigid regularity, and the partic.i.p.ators were the objects of sympathetic attraction. Poor things, there is no telling what it cost them in anxiety to keep it up. Their half-pay would not exceed thirty shillings per month, and they had much to do with it, besides providing white stockings and a suitable rig to grace the occasion.

"We're homeward bound and I hear the sound," was the favourite song when heaving up the anchor preparatory to pointing homeward. This chanty has a silken, melancholy, and somewhat soft breeziness about it, and when it was well sung its flow went fluttering over the harbour, which re-echoed the joyous tidings until soloist and choristers alike became entranced by the power of their own performances; and the mult.i.tudes who on these occasions came to listen did not escape the rapture of the fleeting throbs of harmony which charged the atmosphere, and made you feel that you would like to live under such sensations for ever!

HOMEWARD BOUND (HEAVING THE ANCHOR)

Our anchor's a-weigh and our sails are well set;-- Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well!

And the friends we are leaving we leave with regret;-- Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

We're homeward bound, and I hear the sound;-- Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well!

Come, heave on the cable and make it spin round!-- Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

Oh let ourselves go, and heave long and strong;-- Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well!

Sing then the chorus for 'tis a good song;-- Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

We're homeward bound you've heard me say;-- Goodbye, fare you well; goodbye, fare you well!

Hook on the cat-fall, and then run away!

Hurrah! my boys, we're homeward bound!

After a long, dreary pilgrimage of trackless oceans, the last chant had to be sung as their vessel was being warped through the docks to her discharging berth; and now all their grievances, joys, and sorrows were poured forth in "Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!" It was their last chance of publicly announcing approval or disapproval of their ship, their captain, and their treatment. Here is a sample of it:--

"I thought I heard the skipper say, 'Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!

To-morrow you will get your pay, Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!'

The work was hard, the voyage was long;-- Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!

The seas were high, the gales were strong;-- It's time for us to leave her!

The food was bad, the wages low;-- Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!

But now ash.o.r.e again we'll go;-- It's time for us to leave her!

The sails are furled, our work is done!

Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!

And now on sh.o.r.e we'll have our fun!

It's time for us to leave her! &c, &c."

Such songs were not stereotyped in their composition. They varied according to circ.u.mstances. Sometimes they were denunciatory, and at other times full of fun, praise of the ship, and pathos. There was seldom a middle course, but whatever side was taken the spontaneous poetic effusion was not ended until the whole story had been unfolded.

CHAPTER XII

JACK IN RATCLIFF HIGHWAY

As soon as the vessel was moored in a home port, decks cleared up and washed down, the mate intimated to the crew that their services would not be required any longer; and those who wanted it, received a portion of the balance of wages due to them in advance until they signed clear of the articles. There were few who did not take advantage of this, and many of them had disbursed it in one way or another long before the three days' grace, which was allowed the captain to make up his accounts and pay off, had expired.

The villainous agencies at work in those days (and even in these) to decoy poor Jack, could be counted by the score.

Their task was not a difficult one. They knew him to be a complacent prey for their plans to drug and rob him. Many of these poor fellows on the first night after landing would allow the whole of a voyage's earnings to be bartered from them, so that before they actually received their balance of wages they had spent it, and they became ready for the first ship, which oft-times, indeed, was long in turning up.

Meanwhile they were turned into the street without any compunction, just as they stood. Of course they were to blame; but what about the evil tribe who tempted them? They should have been made to refund every penny that had been extorted while their victims were under the influence of drink, or should have been made to do six months in lieu of refunding. This plan might be adopted with advantage to the community even at the present time.

In these sailor circles there was once a well-known incorrigible named Jimmie Hall, a native of Blyth, who for the most part sailed out of London on long voyages. It did not matter how long Jimmie had been away on a voyage, or how much pay he had to take, he was never longer than a week in funds, and more frequently only one or two days. This half-tamed creature was walking up Ratcliffe Highway one winter morning between two and three o'clock, and he met an old shipmate of his. They greeted each other with some warmth. Jimmie's friend related to him a tale of dest.i.tution. He had been on the spree, spent all his money, and two days before had been turned out of the boarding house, and had slept out for two nights. Jimmie, with sailor-like generosity, said, "I am glad to have met you.

It gives me an opportunity of asking you to share with me rooms at my hotel."

"Hotel!" gasped the bewildered shipmate. "Have you had money left you? You always were a good sort."

"No," said his companion; "I have had no money left me, but I thought I would stay in an hotel this time. I can go out and in whenever I like, and I find it an advantage to do so.

The doors are always open. Come along!"

The two friends walked up the highway arm in arm, Jimmie observing a patronising silence while his companion covered him with affectionate compliments. After they had walked a considerable distance in meditation, the shipmate said--

"Where is the hotel? Are we far off?"

"No," said the accommodating Jimmie; "here it is. I must make one condition with you before we get any nearer. You must go in by the back door."

"I will go in by any b---- door you like. I am not a particular chap in that way!"

"Very well," said Jimmie, pointing to an object in the middle of the road; "then you go in there, and I will go in by the front."

"But," said his shipmate, "that is a boiler."

"_You_" said the philanthropic James, "may call it what you like, but, for the time being, it is my hotel! It has been my residence for two weeks, and I offer you the end I do not use. If you accept it, all that you require to make you perfectly comfortable is a bundle of straw. We shall sit rent free!"

Needless to say the offer was accepted, and the two "plants"

lived together until they got a ship.

Mr. Hall's knowledge of the Highway, as it was called, enabled him to be of occasional service to the police, hence he was on the most cordial terms of friendship with them. He could swoop plain-clothes men through intricacies which flashed with the flames of crime, without exciting the slightest suspicion of the object he had in view. He could talk, swear, and drink in accurate harmony with his acquaintances, and was looked upon with favour by a circle of estimable friends. Members of the constabulary were always considerate and accommodating towards him during his periodic outbursts of alcoholic craving. He owed much to the care they took of him during his fits of debauchery; and he was not unmindful of it when he had the wherewithal to compensate them. Like most of those wayward inebriates who followed the sea as a calling, he was a perfect sailor; and even his capricious sensual habits did not prevent him being sought to rejoin vessels he had sailed in.

Jimmie Hall was only one among thousands of fine fellows who were encouraged to go to b.e.s.t.i.a.l excesses by gangs of predatory vermin (men and women) who infested Wapping and Ratcliffe Highway.

There was a tradition amongst sailors, which I am inclined to give some credence to, that a certain barber who had a shop in the Highway availed himself of the opportunity, while cutting the hair or shaving his sailor customers--mainly, it was thought, those who were sodden with drink--to sever their wind-pipe, rob them of all they had, and then pull the bolt of a carefully concealed trap-door which communicated with the Thames, and drop their weighted bodies out of sight! This system of sanguinary murder is supposed to have been carried on for some years, until a sailor of great physical power, suspecting foul play to some of his pals, went boldly in, was politely asked to take his seat, and a.s.sumed a drunken att.i.tude which caused the barber to think he had an easy victim. The barber wormed his way into Jack's confidence, who was very communicative as to the length of his voyage and the amount of money he had been paid off with. He flattered him with loving profusion, and was about to take the razor up and commence his deadly work, when the sailor, who had discerned the secret trap, jumped up, pulled a revolver from his pocket, and demanded that the trap-door should be shown to him, or his brains would be scattered all over the place! The barber implored that his life should be spared, and piteously denied the existence of a secret communication with the river. Jack's att.i.tude was threatening; the supplicant pleaded that if his life was spared he would do what was asked of him. The condition was agreed on, and the trap opened. It disclosed a liquid vault. The sailor accused the panic-stricken villain of foul murder, and of having this place as a repository for his unsuspecting victims, and the man shrieked alternate incoherent denials and confessions.

The sailor suspected the awful truth all along, but now he became satisfied of it, and forcing the barber towards the vault, he ordered him to jump down; he had to choose between this and being shot. He preferred the former mode of extinction, so plunged in. The hatch was then covered over him, and there were no more murders.

Another of the many instances of the resourceful mariner's irrepressible gaiety even under most embarra.s.sing conditions is contained in a story which I heard related aboard ship in the early days of my sea-life many times, and the veracity of it was always vouched for by the narrator whose personal acquaintance with the gentlemen concerned was an indispensable factor in the interest of the tale, and a distinction he was proud of to a degree. I have said that Ratcliffe Highway was the rendezvous of seafaring men. It provided them with a wealth of facilities for the expeditious disposal of money that had been earned at great hazard, and not infrequently by the sweat of anguish. One chilly November morning a sailor was walking down the Highway. His step was jerky and uncertain, for his feet were bare; his sole articles of dress consisted of a cotton shirt and a pair of trousers that seemed large enough to take another person inside of them. These were kept from dropping off by what is known as a soul-and-body lashing--that is, a piece of cord or rope-yarn tied round the waist. His manner indicated that he felt satisfied with himself and at peace with all creation, as he chanted with a husky voice the following song:--

"Sing goodbye to Sally, and goodbye to Sue; Away--Rio!