XIX
IN LITTLE 'SCOTLAND'
It was to no purpose that Lloyds' agent pointed out the convenience andadvantage of the inner port: it was as useless for the local pilot tolook grave and recall dire happenings to Captains who had elected toeffect their repairs in the outer harbour--just here, at Port William.Old Jock's square jaw was set firm, his eyes were narrowed to a craftyleer; he looked on everyone with unconcealed suspicion and distrust.He was a shipmaster of the old school, 'looking after his Owners'interest.' He had put in 'in distress' to effect repairs.... He wasbeing called upon to spend _money_!
"No, no!" he said to all their reasoning. "My anchor's doon, an' hereI stoap! I've conseedered a' that ye've pit furrit! 'Convenience taeth' toon, if supplies are needit'? (I'll no' need that mony!) ... 'Naedistance tae bring th' workin' gang'? (I've a wheen men here mysel'!)... 'Nae dues tae pay'? (We're jist as cheap here!) ... No, no,Maister Fordyce! Ye can jist mak' up yeer mind on that! We'll dae a'th' repairs oot here! I'm no' comin' in!"
"Oh weel! Jist as ye like, Captain! Jist as ye like! ... But--asth' pilot here 'll tell ye--ye're in a verra bad poseetion if it comeson tae blow f'ae the south-east! An' south-east 's a hard win', I'mtellin' ye!"
"Aye, aye! Jist that! ... Weel, if it comes tae blow frae th'south-east (I'm no much feart o' that at this time o' th' year) we'rein a guid berth tae slip anchor an' run her in tae Port Stanley. It'llbe time enough then! But I'm no' goin' in there if I can help it! ...If I brocht her in therr"--pointing to the narrows that led to theinner harbour--"I micht hae tae wait for a fair win' tae bring her oot,when oor bit damage is sortit.... No, no! We'll dae fine oot here.Smooth watter! Guid holdin' ground!"
"Oh, the holding ground is all right," said the pilot. "Eight fathom... mud and stones! Good enough for anything but south or southeast."
"Oh, aye!" continued the Old Man. "We'll dae fine here.... If itwisna' for that bowsprit bein' steeved up and th' rivets stertit in th'bows o' her, I widna' be here at a'.... Spars? ... We can mak' a'th' spars oorsel's; tho' I'm no' sayin' but that I'd be glad o' a sparor twa--at a moderate cost. A moderate cost, mind ye!"
The agent laughed. "Oh weel, Captain! We're no' exactly Jews doonhere, though they say an Aberdonian (I'm fa'e Aberdeen mysel') is th'next thing! We can gi'e ye yeer spaurs--at a moderate cost! ... ButI'll tell ye again, Captain, ye'll lose time by stoappin' oot here. A'this traffiking back an' furrit tae Port Stanley! Bringin' th' workmenaff in th' mornin', an' takin' them hame at e'en! Ye'll no' get th'smiths tae stey oan th' ship. It'll be, 'Hey, Jimmy! Whaur's ma langdrift?' or, 'Jock, did ye bring oot th' big "Monday?"' ... an' thennaethin' 'll dae but they maun be awa' back tae th' Port, tae look fortheer tools in th' bar o' th' Stanley Airms!"
"Oh, aye!" said the Old Man. "I ken them! They'll be as keen for adram doon here as onywhere! But we'll attend tae that. As for th'traffiking, I've a big boat an' a wheen idle lauds therr that'll benane the waur o' a lang pull! ... Onyway, I'm no' goin' t' risk bein'held up for a fair win' when th' time comes ... an' ye may tak' it thatwe're no' goin' t' lose time owre th' joab! A wheen smiths, an' mebbea carpenter or twa, is a' I want ... an' if we can arrange wi' th'Captain o' this schooner--ye were speakin' aboot--t' tak' a hunner' ora hunner' an' fifty ton o' cargo ... for th' time bein'.... No! Jisttwa beams tae be cut an' strappit.... A screw-jack an' a forge or twa!We can ... straighten them oot in their place! ... Naethin' wrangbelow th' sheer strake! ... Jist plain rivettin'...."
Talking of the repairs and their relation to the great god of Economy,Old Jock led the way to the gangway and watched his visitors depart.
In all he said the Old Man spoke his 'braidest' Scotch. This wasright! We had reached the Falkland Islands in safety, and what morenatural than that he should speak the language of the country? Eventhe German saloon-keepers who had boarded us on arrival--to profferassistance in our distress--said 'aye' for yes, and 'Ach! Awa' wi'ye'--a jocular negative! Nor did the resemblance to our 'ain countree'end there. Port William was typical of a misty Scotch countryside: theland about us was as bleak and home-like as a muirland in the Stewartry.
A bare hill-side sloping to the sea, with here and there stragglingacres of cultivated land. A few wooden houses nestling in the bendsand gullies, where small streamlets ran. Uplands, bare of trees andhedge growth, stretching away inland in a smooth coat of waving grass.Grass, grass, grass--a sheep fank--a patch of stony hill-side--asolitary hut, with blue smoke curling above--a misty sky-line--loweringclouds, and the setting sun breaking through in fleeting patches. PortWilliam! A quiet place for anchorage after our stormy times! No shipsriding with us under the lee of the land! No sign of human life ormovement in the lonely bay! No noise! Quiet! Only the plaintivecries of sea-birds that circled and wheeled about us, and the distant_baa-ing_ of sheep on the green hill-side!
* * * * *
'No time was to be lost,' as the Old Man had said. Soon the quiet ofour lonely anchorage was broken by a din of strenuous work. Thesea-birds flew affrighted from the clang of fore-hammers and the roarof forge fires.
Our damage was all on the bows. The to'gallan'mast, in its fall, hadwrecked the starboard side of the fo'cas'le; the decks were smashed in;some beams were broken, others were twisted and bent. The hull platinghad not escaped, and a big rent showed where the grinding ice hadforced the stout cat-head from its solid bed. These were minoraffairs--something might have been done to put them right withoutcoming to port--but the bowsprit! Ah! It was the bowsprit that hadbrought us in!
"It's no use talking," the Old Man had said when he and the Mate wereconsidering the damage. "That bowsprit! ... Spars? ... We couldmake th' spars good; ... an' we could do a fair joab wi' th' ironwork!... But th' bowsprit! ... No, no! We can't sail th' ship unlesswe're sure o' th' head-gear! ... No use! No use talking, Mister!We'll have t' bear up for th' Falklands, and get that put to rights!"
If further cause were needed to justify the serious course of 'puttingin,' they had it when the carpenter reported water in the forepeak; andit was discovered that the broken jibboom had not hammered at the bowsfor nothing. No hesitation then! No talk! The course was set!
Although the Falklands are famed as a refuge for vessels 'in distress,'there was then no great facilities for repair. It is enough if theships stagger into port in time to save the lives of their crews. PortStanley had many such sheer hulks lying to rust and decay in thelandlocked harbour. Good ships that had cleared from the Channel inseaworthiness; crossed the Line with a boastful "_All well!_" to ahomeward-bounder; steered south into the 'roaring forties'--to meetdisaster in fire, or wind, or sea, and falter into the Falklands withthe boats swung out!
There was then no firm of ship repairers on the Islands. The most Mr.Fordyce could do for us was to find workmen, and a schooner to takepart of our cargo and lighten us sufficiently to get at the leakyrivets. Old Jock had to set up as a master shipwright and superintendthe repairs himself. And who better? Had he not set Houston's leg asstraight as a Gilmorehill Professor could? He was the man; and therewas no sign of hesitation when he got out his piece of chalk and mademarks (as many and as mysterious as a Clydeside gaffer's) on thedamaged ironwork! Such skilled labour as he could get--'smiths' fromthe sheep camps (handy men, who were by turns stonemasons orwoolpackers or ironworkers)--were no great hands at ship-work; but theOld Man, with his rough, chalked sketches, could make things plain; hehad, too, the great advantage of knowing the Islanders' language andits proper application to the ordering of 'wis'like' men! What mighthave been put elsewhere as, "What th' hell sort of work do you callthis?" he translated to, "Man, man, Jock Steel! Could ye no' pit afairer bend oan that knee?" ... Jock (who would have thrown down histools, and "on with his jacket" at the first) would perhaps turn red atthe kindlier reproof, mutter "Well, well," and have another try at thestubborn knee.
It was slow work, for all the din and clatter. Forg
e fires aredevilish in the hands of an unskilled blower; rivets break and twistand get chilled when the striking is squint and irregular; iron istough and stubborn when leverage is misapplied. There weredifficulties. (Difficulties that wee Jonny Docherty, a Partick rivet'b'ye,' would have laughed at!) The difficulty of strapping cut beamsto make them span their former length; the difficulty of small rivetsand big holes, of small holes and big rivets ... the sheer despair whensworn measurements go unaccountably and mysteriously wrong in practice.
All difficulties! Difficulties to be met and overcome!
Every one of us had a turn at the ironwork. There was odd work that wecould do while the 'smiths' were heating and hammering at the moreimportant sections. We made a feeble show, most of us; but Joe Grangergained honour in suggesting ways and showing how things were done. Itwas the time of Granger's life. He was not even a good sailorman. Hissteering was pitiful. Didn't Jones have to show him how the royalbuntlines led? What did Martin say about the way he passed ahead-earring? A poor sailorman! ... Yet here he was: bossing usaround; Able Seamen carrying tools to him; Old Man listening quitedecently to his suggestions--even the hard-case Mate (who knew Granger,if anyone did) not above passing a word now and then! ... And allbecause Granger had worked in the Union Ironworks at 'Frisco. At firstI am sure it was a _holder-on_ he told us he had been, but before ourjob had gone far it was a whilom _foreman shipwright_ who told us whatwas to be done! ... If Armstrong, the carpenter, had not taken up afirm stand when it came to putting in the deck, there would have beenhints that we had a former _under-manager_ among us! It was the timeof Joe's life, and the bo'sun could only chuckle and grin and wag hishead in anticipation of 'proper sailor-work' on the mast and spars.
It was good for us brassbounders to lie at Port William, where therewas little but the work in progress to interest us. In the half-deckwe were full of ship repairs. Little else was talked about when wewere below. Each of us carried a small piece of chalk, all ready tomake rough drawings to explain our ideas. We chalked on the walls, thetable, the deck, the sea-chests, lines and cross-lines, and bends andknees--no matter what, so long as there were plenty of round "O's" toshow where the rivets were to go. We explained to one another themysteries of ship construction, talked loftily of breasthooks and sheerstrakes, and stringers and scantlings ... and were as wise after thetelling! That was while the ironwork repairs were in progress. In aweek or more we were spar-makers. Jock Steel and his mates put downtheir drifts and hammers, and took up adzes and jack-planes. We weregetting on! We had no time for anyone who drew sketches of riveting.It was 'striking cambers' and 'fairing' and 'tapering' now, and JoeGranger got a cool reception when he came along to the half-deck afterwork was over for the day. Poor Joe had fallen from his high place!With the bowsprit hove down and securely strapped and riveted, and thelast caulking blow dealt at the leaky doubling, his services became ofsmall account. No one in the fo'cas'le would listen any longer to histales of structural efficiency. There was no spar-making in the UnionIronworks at 'Frisco. Joe had to shut up, and let Martin and thebo'sun instruct the ship's company in the art of masting andrigging--illustrated by match-sticks and pipe-stems!
There were pleasant intervals to our work on board--days when we rowedthe big boat through the Narrows to Port Stanley and idled about the'town,' while the Old Man and Mr. Fordyce were transacting business(under good conditions) in the bar-parlour of the Stanley Arms. Wemade many friends on these excursions. The Falklanders have warmhearts, and down there the Doric is the famous passport. We werewelcome everywhere, though Munro and I had to do most of the talking.It was something for the Islanders to learn how the northern Scottishcrops had fared (eighteen months ago), or 'whatna'' catch of herringsfell to the Loch Fyne boats (last season but one).
There was no great commercial activity in the 'town.' The '_GreatBritian_' hulk, storehouse for the wool, was light and high in thewater. The sawmill hulks were idle for want of lumber to be dressed.It was the slack time, they told us; the slack time before the rush ofthe wool-shearing. In a week, or a month at the most, the sheep wouldbe ready for the shears. Then--ah, then!--Wully Ramsey (who had a headfor figures) would be brought forward, and, while his wind held out,would hurl figures and figures at us, all proving that 'LittleScotland,' for its size, was a 'ferr wunner' at wool production.
The work of the moment was mostly at breaking up the wreck of the_Glenisla_, a fine four-masted barque that had come in 'with the flamesas high as th' foreyard,' and had been abandoned as a total wreck. Herburnt-out shell lay beached in the harbour, and the plates were beingdrifted out, piece by piece, to make sheep tanks and bridge work. Itwas here that the Old Man--'at a moderate cost, mind ye'--picked up ashell-plate and knees and boom irons to make good our wants. A spar,too (charred, but sound), that we tested by all the canons ofcarpentry--tasting, smelling, twanging a steel at one end and listeningfor the true, sound note at the other. It was ours, after hardbargaining, and Mason, the foreman wrecker, looked ill-pleased with hisprice when we rolled the timber down to tide mark, launched, and towedit away.
Pleasant times! But with the setting up of the new boom the Old Manwas anxious to get under weigh. The to'gallant mast could wait tillthe fine weather of the 'trades.' We were sound and seaworthy again!Outside the winds were fair and southerly. We had no excuse to lieswinging at single anchor. Jock Steel and his mates got theirblessing, our 'lawin'' was paid and acquitted, and on a clear Novembermorning we shook out the topsails and left Port William to the circlingsea-birds.
The Brassbounder: A Tale of the Sea Page 19