The Brassbounder: A Tale of the Sea

by David W. Bone

  II

  STEERSMANSHIP

  Wee Laughlin, dismissed from the wheel for bad steering, was sitting onthe fore-hatch, a figure of truculence and discontent, mouthing astatement on the Rights of Man, accompanied by every oath ever heard onClydeside from Caird's to Tommy Seath's at Ru'glen. It was not theloss of his turn that he regretted--he was better here, where he couldsquirt tobacco juice at will, than on the poop under the Mate'seye--but, hardened at the 'Poort' as he was, he could not but feel thecurious glances of his watchmates, lounging about in dog-watch freedomand making no secret of their contempt of an able seaman who couldn'tsteer, to begin with.

  "'Ow wos she 'eadin', young feller, w'en ye--left?" Cockney Hicks,glancing away from the culprit, was looking at the trembling leaches oftop'gal'nsails, sign of head winds.

  "'Er heid? Ach, aboot Nor' thurty west!"

  "Nor' thirty west? Blimy! Where th' 'ell's that? 'Ere! Give us itin points! None o' yer bloomin' degrees aboard square-sail, youngfeller!"

  "Weel, that's a' th' wye I ken it!" Sullen, mouth twisted askew in thecorrect mode of the 'Poort,' defiant.

  "It wis aye degrees in a' th' boats I hiv been in--none o' thae weeblack chats ye ca' p'ints; we niver heeded thim. Degrees, an' 'poort'an' 'starboord '--t' hell wit' yer 'luffs' an' 'nae highers'!"

  "Blimy!"

  "Aye, blimy! An' I cud steer them as nate's ye like; but I'm no guidenough fur that swine o' a Mate, aft there!" He spat viciously. "'Naehigher,' sez he t' me. 'Nae higher, Sur,' says I, pitten' the wheel abit doon. 'Up,' says he, 'up, blast ye! Ye're lettin 'r come up i'th' win',' says he. I pit th' ---- wheel up, keepin' ma 'ee on th'compass caird; but that wis a fau't tae.... 'Damn ye!' says he; 'keepyer 'ee on th' to'gallan' leaches,' ... 'Whaur's that?' sez I. 'Oh,holy smoke!' sez he. 'Whit hiv we got here?' An' he cam' ower and hutme a kick, an' shouts fur anither haun' t' th' wheel! ... By ----"mumbling a vicious formula, eyes darkening angrily as he looked aft atthe misty figure on the poop.

  Cockney looked at him curiously.

  "Wot boats 'ave ye bin in, anyway?" he said. "Them boats wot ye neversteered by th' win' before?"

  "---- fine boats! A ban' sicht better nor this bluidy ould wreck.Boats wi' a guid gaun screw at th' stern av thim! Steamers, av coorse!This is th' furst bluidy win'-jammer I hae been in, an' by ---- it'llbe th' last! An' that Mate! Him! ... Oh! If I only hid 'm inRue-en' Street ... wi' ma crood aboot,"--kicking savagely at a coil ofrope--"he widna be sae smert wi' 'is fit! Goad, no!"

  "Ye' fust win'-jammer, eh?" said Cockney pleasantly. "Oh well--ye'lll'arn a lot! Blimy, ye'll l'arn a lot before ye sees Rue-hend Streetagain. An' look 'ere!"--as if it were a small matter--"if ye cawn'tsteer th' bloomin' ship afore we clears th' bloomin' Channel, ye kincount _hon_ me fer a bloomin' good 'idin'! I ain't agoin' t' take noother bloomin' bloke's w'eel! Not much, I ain't!"

  "Nor me!" "Nor me!" said the others, and Wee Laughlin, looking round atthe ring of threatening faces, realised that he was up against agreater power than the Officer tramping the poop beyond.

  "Wull ye no'?" he said, spitting with a great show of bravery. "Wullye no'? Mebbe I'll hae sumthin' t' say aboot th' hidin'.... An' ye'llhae twa av us tae hide whin ye're a' it. I'm nut th' only yin.There's the Hielan'man ... him wi' th' fush scales on's oilskins. Henivvir wis in a win'-jammer afore, he telt me; an'----"

  "An' whaat eef I nefer wass in a win'-chammer pefore?" M'Innes, quickto anger, added another lowering face to the group. "Wait you till Iam sent awaay from th' wheel ... an' thaat iss not yet, no! ...Hielan'man? ... Hielan'man? ... Tamm you, I wass steerin' by th' win'pefore you wass porn, aye! ... An' aal t' time you wass in chail,yess!"

  In the face of further enmity, Wee Laughlin said no more, preferring togaze darkly at the unknowing Mate, while his lips made strangeformations--excess of thought! The others, with a few furtherthreats--a word or two about 'hoodlums' and 'them wot signed for aman's wage, an' couldn't do a man's work'--returned to their shortdog-watch pacings, two and two, talking together of former voyages andthe way of things on their last ships.

  We were in the North Channel, one day out, with the Mull of Cantyrejust lost to view. The light wind that had carried us out to the Firthhad worked to the westward, to rain and misty weather, and all day wehad been working ship in sight of the Irish coast, making littleheadway against the wind. It was dreary work, this laggard settingout--hanging about the land, tack and tack, instead of trimming yardsto a run down Channel. Out on the open sea we could perforce bephilosophic, and talk of 'the more days, the more dollars'; but here incrowded waters, with the high crown of Innistrahull mocking at ourefforts, it was difficult not to think of the goodness of a shore life.As the close of each watch came round the same spirit of discontentprompted the question of the relief, officer or man. On the poop itwas, "Well, Mister! How's her head now? Any sign of a slant?" On theforedeck, "'Ere! Wot th' 'ell 'ave ye bin doin' with 'er? Got th'bloomin' anchor down or wot?"

  At nightfall the rain came down heavily before fitful bursts of chillwind. Ours was the first watch, and tramping the deck in stiff, newoilskins, we grumbled loudly at the ill-luck that kept us marking time.

  "I wonder w'y th' Old Man don't put abaht an' run dahn th' GawgesChannel. Wot's 'e 'angin' abaht 'ere for, hanyw'y? Wot does 'eexpeck?" said Cockney, himself a 'navigator'--by his way of it.

  "Oh, shift o' wind, or something," said I. "I was aft at th' binnaclesan' heard him talkin' t' th' Mate about it. Says th' wind 'll back t'th' south'ard if th' barometer don't rise. Told the Mate to call himif the glass went up before twelve. I see old 'Steady-all'" (we areone day out, but all properly named) "popping up and down the cabinstairs. He'll be building a reef of burnt matches round the barometersbefore that fair wind comes."

  "Sout' vass fair vind, ass ve goes now, aind't id?" asked Dutch John, apleasant-faced North German.

  "Fair wind? 'Oo th' 'ell's talkin' 'bout fair win's, an' that Shmit atth' w'eel? 'Ow d'ye expeck a fair win' with a Finn--a bloody RooshianFinn's a-steerin' ov 'er?" Martin, a tough old sea-dog, with years ofservice, claimed a hearing.

  "No, an' we won't 'ave no fair win' till a lucky steers 'er! Ain'tmuch that way myself--me bein' a Liverpool man--but there's Collinsthere--the nigger.... Niggers is lucky, an' West-country-men, an'South of Ireland men--if they ain't got black 'air--but Finns! Finnsis the wu'st o' bloody bad luck! ... Knowed a Finn onst wot raised an'owlin' gale agin us, just a-cos th' Ol' Man called 'im a cross-eyedson ef a gun fur breakin' th' p'int ov a marlinspike! Raised an'owlin' gale, 'e did! No, no! Ye won't 'ave no fair win' till a luckyman goes aft. 'Ere, Collins! Your nex' w'eel, ain't it?"

  Collins grinned an affirmative.

  "Right-o! Well, young fellers, ye kin spit on yer 'an's fur squarin'them yards somewheres between four an' eight bells. Nuthin' like anigger for bringin' fair win's.... An' 'e's a speshul kind o' nigger,too.... Nova Scotiaman, Pictou way ... talks the same lingo as th''ilandman ... 'im on th' look-out, there."

  "Not the Gaelic, surely?" said I.

  "Aye, Gaelic. That's it. They speak that lingo out there, black an'w'ite. Knowed lots o' niggers wot spoke it ... an' chows too!"

  I turned to Collins--a broad, black nigger with thick lips, woollyhair, white, gleaming teeth--the type! He grinned.

  "Oh yass," he said. "Dat's ri'! Dey speak de Gaelic dere--dembluenose Scotchmen, an' Ah larn it when Ah wass small boy. Ah doan'know much now ... forgot it mos' ... but Ah know 'nuff t' ask dat boyMunro how de wass. _Hoo! Ho!! Hoo!!!_ 'Cia mar tha thu nis,' Ahsays, an' he got so fright', he doan' be seasick no mo'!"

  A wondrous cure!

  At ten Collins relieved the wheel and we looked for the shift that oldMartin had promised, but there was no sign of it--no lift to the mistyhorizon, no lessening in the strength of the squalls, now heavy with asmashing of bitter sleet. Bunched up against the helm, a mass ofoilskins glistening in the compass light, our 'lucky man' scarce seemedto
be doing anything but cower from the weather. Only the great eyesof him, peering aloft from under the peak of his sou'wester, showedthat the man was awake; and the ready turns of the helm, that brought asteering tremor to the weather leaches, marked him a cunning steersman,whichever way his luck lay.

  Six bells struck, the Mate stepped below to the barometers, and a gruff"Up! up!" (his way of a whisper) accompanied the tapping of theaneroid. There he found encouragement and soon had the Old Man ondeck, peering with him in the wind's eye at the brightening glare ofInnistrahull Light out in the west.

  "Clearing, eh? And the glass risin'," said the Old Man. "Looks likenor'-west! Round she goes, Mister: we'll lose no more time. Stan' byt' wear ship!"

  "Aye, aye, Sir! Stan' by t' square mainyards, the watch, there!"

  Shouting as he left the poop, the Mate mustered his men at the braces.

  "Square mainyards! That's th' talk," said old Martin, throwing thecoils down with a swing. "Didn't Ah tell ye it wos a nigger as'd bringa fair win'!"

  "But it ain't fair yet," said I. "Wind's west as ever it was; only th'Old Man's made up his mind t' run her down th' George's Channel. Mightha' done that four hours ago!"

  "Wot's th' use o' talkin' like that? 'Ow th' 'ell could 'e make up 'ismin' wi' a Rooshian Finn at th' w'eel, eh? Don't tell me! Ah knows asniggers is lucky an' Finns ain't; an' don't ye give me none o' yerbloody sass, young feller, cos ..." ("Haul away mainyards, there!") ..."_Ho! ... io ... io...._ Ho! round 'em in, me sons. ... _Ho! ... io... io...._ Twenty days t' th' Line, boys! ... _Ho ... io ... ho!_"

  A hard case, Martin!

  Turning on heel, we left Innistrahull to fade away on the quarter, and,under the freshening breeze, made gallant steering for the nigger.This was more like the proper way to go to sea, and when eight bellsclanged we called the other watch with a rousing shout.

  "Out, ye bloomin' Jonahs! Turn out, and see what the port watch can dofor ye. A fair wind down Channel, boys! Come on! Turn out, ye hungryJonahs, and coil down for your betters!"

  * * * * *

  After two days of keen sailing, running through the Channel traffic, wereached the edge of soundings. The nor'-west breeze still held, thoughblowing light, and under a spread of canvas we were leaning away to thesouth'ard on a course for the Line Crossing. We sighted a largesteamer coming in from the west, and the Old Man, glad of a chance tobe reported, hauled up to 'speak' her. In hoists of gaily colouredbunting we told our name and destination, and a wisp of red and whiteat the liner's mast acknowledged our message. As she sped past sheflew a cheering signal to wish us a 'pleasant voyage,' and then loweredher ensign to ours as a parting salute.

  "Keep her off to her course again--sou'-west, half south!" ordered theOld Man when the last signal had been made.

  "Aff tae her coorse ag'in, Sur! Sou'-west, hauf south, Sur!"

  At sound of the steersman's answer I turned from my job at the signallocker. Wee Laughlin, eyes on the weather clew of the royals, waslearning!