The Brassbounder: A Tale of the Sea

by David W. Bone

  V

  'SEA PRICE'

  At first weak and baffling, the south-east trades strengthened and blewtrue as we reached away to the south'ard under all sail. Already wehad forgotten the way of bad weather. It seemed ages since we had lasttramped the weltering decks, stamping heavily in our big sea-boots forwarmth, or crouching in odd corners to shelter from the driven spray,the bitter wind and rain. Now we were fine-weather voyagers--like theflying-fish and the albacore, and bonita, that leapt the sea we sailedin. The tranquil days went by in busy sailor work; we spent the nightsin a sleepy languor, in semi-wakefulness. In watch below we wereassured of our rest, and even when 'on deck'--save for a yawning pullat sheet or halyard when the Mate was jealous at our idling, or a briefspell at wheel or look out--were at liberty to seek out a soft plankand lie back, gazing up at the gently swaying mastheads till sleep cameagain. Higher and higher, as the days went by, the southern stars rosefrom the sea-line, while--in the north--homely constellations dippedand were lost to view. Night by night we had the same true breeze, thesea unchanged, the fleecy trade clouds forming on the sea-line--to fadeere they had reached the zenith. There seemed no end to our pleasuredprogress! Ah, it is good to be alive and afloat where the trades blow.Down south, there!

  But, in spite of the fine weather and the steady breeze, there weresigns of what our voyage would be when the 'barefoot days' were done.Out beyond the clear sky and tender clouds, the old hands saw thewraith of the rugged Cape that we had yet to weather. The impendingwrestle with the rigours of 'the Horn' sent them to their preparationswhen we had scarce crossed the Line. Old Martin was the fore hand.Now, his oilskins hung out over the head, stretched on hoops andbroomsticks, glistening in a brave new coat of oil and blacking. ThenVootgert and Dutch John took the notion, and set to work by turns at acanvas wheel-coat that was to defy the worst gale that ever blew.Young Houston--canny Shetlander--put aside his melodeon, and clickedand clicked his needles at a famous pair of north-country hose. WelshJohn and M'Innes--'the Celtic twins'--clubbed their total outfit andwere busy overhauling, while Bo'sun Hicks spent valuable time anddenied us his yarns while he fortified his leaky bunk by tar and stripsof canvas. Even Wee Laughlin, infected by the general industry of theforecastle, was stitching away (long, outward-bound stitches) at acunning arrangement of trousers that would enable him to draw on histwo pairs at once. All had some preparation to make--all but webrassbounders!

  We saw no farther than the fine weather about us. Most had been 'roundthe Horn' before, and we should have known but there was no old'steady-all' to ballast our cock-a-boat, and we scorned the wisdom ofthe forecastle. 'Good enough t' be goin' on with,' and 'come day, goday'--were our mottoes in the half-deck. Time enough, by and by, whenthe weather showed a sign! We had work enough when on duty to keep ushealthy! Fine days and 'watch below' were meant for lazying--for oldannuals of the B.O.P., for Dicks's Standards, for the Seaside library!Everyone knows that the short dog-watches were meant for sing-song andlarking, and, perhaps, a fight, or two! What did we care if Old Martinand his mates were croak, croak, croakin' about 'standin' by' andsettin' th' gear handy? We were 'hard cases,' all of us, even youngMunro and Burke, the 'nipper' of the starboard watch! _We_ didn'tcare! _We_ could stand the racket! _Huh!_

  So we lazied the fine days away, while our sea harness lay stiffeningin the dark lockers.

  Subtly, almost imperceptibly, the weather changed. There was a chillin the night air; it was no longer pleasant to sleep on deck. Thestars were as bright, the sky as clear, the sea as smooth; but when thesun had gone, damp vapours came and left the deck chill and clammy tothe touch.... 'Barefoot days' were over!

  Still and all, the 'times' were good enough. If the flying-fish nolonger swept from under the bows in a glistening shoal, the trades yetserved us well. The days drew on. The day when we shifted the patchedand threadbare tropic sails and bent our stoutest canvas in theirplace; the day when Sann'y Armstrong, the carpenter, was set to makestrong weatherboards for the cabin skylights; the day--a cloudyday--when the spars were doubly lashed and all spare fittings sentbelow. We had our warning; there were signs, a plenty!

  All too soon our sunny days came to an end. The trades petered out incalms and squally weather. Off the River Plate a chill wind from thesouth set us to 'tack and tack,' and when the wind hauled and let usfree to our course again, it was only to run her into a gale on theverge of the 'Forties.' Then for three days we lay hove-to, labouringamong heavy seas.

  The 'buster' fairly took our breath away. The long spell of lightwinds had turned us unhandy for storm work. The swollen ropes,stiffened in the block-sheaves, were stubborn when we hauled; the wet,heavy canvas that thrashed at us when stowing sail proved a fightingdemon that called for all our strength; the never-ending small work ina swirl of lashing water found us slow and laboured at the task.

  All this was quickly noted by the Mate, and he lost no time in puttingus to rights. Service in New Bedford whalers had taught him the'Yankee touch,' and, as M'Innes put it, he was 'no' slow' with his bighands.

  "Lay along here, sons," he would roar, standing to the braces.... "Layalong, sons;--ye know what sons I mean! ... Aft here, ye lazy hounds,and see me make 'sojers,' sailors!!"

  With his language we had no great grievance. We could appreciate a manwho said things--sailor-like and above board--but when it came toknocking a man about (just because he was 'goin' t' get his oilskins,'when the order was 'aloft, an' furl') there were ugly looks here andthere. We had our drilling while the gale lasted, and, when itcleared, our back muscles were 'waking up.'

  Now--with moderate weather again--famous preparations began in thehalf-deck; everyone of us was in haste to put his weather armour torights. Oilskins, damp and sticking, were dragged from dark corners."Rotten stuff, anyway. We'll have no more of Blank's outfits, afterthis," we said, as we pulled and pinched them apart. "Oh, damn! Iforgot about that stitchin' on the leg of my sea-boot," said one."Wish I'd had time t' put a patch on here," said another, ruefullyholding out his rubbers. "Too far gone for darning," said Eccles."Here goes," and he snipped the feet part from a pair of stockings andtied a ropeyarn at the cut!

  We were jeered at from the forecastle. Old Martin went about_clucking_ in his beard. At every new effort on our part, his headwent nod, nod, nodding. "Oh, them brassbounders!" he would say. "Themruddy 'know-alls'! Wot did I tell ye, eh? Wot did I tell 'em, w'en wewas a-crossin' th' Line, eh? An' them 's th' fellers wot'll bea-bossin' of you an' me, bo'sun! Comin' th' 'hard case,' like the bigfeller aft there!"

  Martin was right, and we felt properly humbled when we sneaked forwardin search of assistance. Happily, in Dan Nairn we found a cunningcobbler, and for a token in sea currency--a plug or two of hardtobacco--he patched and mended our boots. With the oilskins, all oursmoothing and pinching was hopeless. The time was gone when we couldscrub the sticky mess off and put a fresh coating of oil on the fabric.

  Ah! We pulled long faces now and thought that, perhaps, sing-song andlarking, and Dicks's Standards and the Seaside Library are not goodvalue for a frozen soaking off the Horn!

  But there was still a haven to which we careless mariners could put inand refit. The Captain's 'slop chest'--a general store, where oilskinswere 'sea priced' at a sovereign, and sea-boots could be had for thirtyshillings! At these figures they would have stood till they crumbledin a sailor-town shop window, but 50 deg. S. is a world away fromBroomielaw Corner, and we were glad enough to be served, even if oldNiven, the steward, did pass off old stock on us.

  "Naw! Ye'll no' get ye'r pick! Yell jist tak' whit 's gien' ye ... ornane ava'!"

  Wee Laughlin was a large buyer. He--of us all--had come to sea 'same's he was goin' t' church!' A pier-head jump! So far, he had borrowedand borrowed, but even good-natured Dutch John was learning English,and would say, "Jou come to _mein haus, und_ stay mit me," or "_Wasfuer_ jou nod trink less _und_ buy somet'ings," at each wily approach.

  On th
e day when 'slops' were served out, the Pride of Rue-en' Streetwas first at the cabin door. As he was fitted and stepped alongforward with his purchases, the bo'sun saw him, and called: "Hello!Oilskins an' sea-boots an' new shirts, eh? I see ye're outward bound,young feller!" Laughlin leered and winked cunning-like.

  "What d'ye mean by outward bound," asked Munro. "We're all outwardbound, an't we?"

  "Of course; of course," said Hicks. "All outward bound! But w'en Isays it that wye, I mean as Lawklin is a-spendin' of 'is 'dibs,' ...meanin' t' desert w'en we gets out! If 'e don't 'op it as soon as weanchors in 'Frisco Bay, ye kin call me a ruddy Dutchman!"

  "Desert? But that's serious?"

  "Ho no! Not there it ain't! Desertin' 's as easy as rollin' off alog, ... out there! D'ye think th' queer-fella' is goin' t' pay themprices for 'is kit, if 'e wos goin' t' stop by her in 'Frisco? Notmuch 'e ain't! An' ye kin tike it as a few more is goin' t' 'op it, orye wouldn't see so many of 'em aft 'ere for their bloomin' 'sundries'!"

  "_Wel, wel_, now! These prices is not pad, indeed," said Welsh John,who had joined us. "I haf paid more than three shillin' for a knifepefore!"

  "_Heh! Heh!_" The bo'sun laughed. "When a 'Taffy' that's a-buyin'says that, ye may say it's right! ... But, blimy--the boot's on th'other foot w'en it's 'Taffy' as is a-sellin'! _Heh! Heh!_ There wosOld Man Lewis of th' _Vanguard_, o' Liverpool, that I signed in!Blimy! 'e could tell ye wot 'sea price' is!"

  "Good ol' 'sea price,'" said Martin. "Many an' 'appy 'ome, an' gardenwit' a flagstaff, is built o' 'sea price'!"

  "Right, ol' son! Right," continued the bo'sun. "Old Man Lewis owned arow of 'em, ... down in Fishguard.... I sailed in th' _Vanguard_ outo' Liverpool t' Noo York an' then down south, 'ere--boun' t' Callao.Off th' Falklan's, the Old Man opens out 'is bloomin' slop-chest an'starts dealin'. A pound for blankits wot ye c'd shoot peas through,an' fifteen bob for serge shirts--same kind as th' Sheenies sells a'four an' tanner in th' Mawrsh! Of course, nobody 'ud buy 'em in atthat price, though we wos all 'parish rigged'--us bein' 'bout eightmonths out from 'ome. If we 'ad been intendin' t' leave 'er, like th'queer-fella, there, it 'ud a bin all right, but we 'ad 'bouttwenty-five poun' doo each of us, an' we wasn't keen on makin' th' OldMan a n'ansome presint!"

  "How could he get that?"

  "'Ow could 'e get it? Easy 'nuff, in them days! As soon as we 'ad abin over th' rail, 'e 'ud 'ave us down in 'is bloomin' book--slopssupplied--five pun' 'ere--six pun' there--an' so on! ... Well, I wassayin' as we was goin' south, round th' 'Orn! Winter time it was--an'cold! Cruel! Ye couldn't tell who ye'r feet belonged to till ye 'adye'r boots off. West an' sou'-west gales, 'ard runnin', ... an' therewe wos, away t' hell an' gone south' o' th' reg'lar track!

  "I wos at the wheel one day, an' I 'eard th' Old Man an' th' Mateconfabbin' 'bout th' ship's position.

  "'Fifty-nine, forty, south,' says th' Mate. 'Antarctic bloodyexploration, I call this!' ... 'E was frappin' 'is 'an's like aFenchurch cabby.... 'It's 'bout time ye wos goin' round, Capt'n!She'd fetch round 'Cape Stiff' with a true west wind! She'll be inamong th' ice soon, if ye don't alter th' course! Time we was gettin'out o' this,' says he, 'with two of th' han's frost-bit an' th' rest ofus 'bout perishin'!'

  "'Oh no,' says old Lewis. 'No, indeed! Don't you make any mistike,Mister! South's th' course, ... south till I sells them fine blankitsan' warm shirts!'"