By the evening,the gale,which had been blowing all day,had increased to a perfect hurricane.At nine o'clock we let go a second anchor;and I confess,as we sat comfortably round the fire in the bright cheerful little cabin,and listened to the wind whistling and shrieking through the cordage,that none of us were sorry to find ourselves in port on such a night,instead of tossing on the wild Atlantic--though we little knew that even then the destroying angel was busy with the fleet of fishing-boats which had put to sea so gallantly on the evening of our arrival.By morning the neck of the gale was broken,and the sun shone brightly on the white rollers as they chased each other to the shore;but a Queen's ship was steaming into the bay,with sad news of ruin out to seaward;--towing behind her,boats,water-logged,or bottom upwards,--while a silent crowd of women on the quay were waiting to learn on what homes among them the bolt had fallen.
About twelve o'clock the Glasgow packet came in,and a few minutes afterwards I had the honour of receiving on my quarter-deck a gentleman who seemed a cross between the German student and swell commercial gent.On his head he wore a queer kind of smoking-cap,with the peak cocked over his left ear;then came a green shooting-jacket,and flashy silk tartan waistcoat,set off by a gold chain,hung about in innumerable festoons,--while light trousers and knotty Wellington boots completed his costume,and made the wearer look as little like a seaman as need be.
It appeared,nevertheless,that the individual in question was Mr.Ebenezer Wyse,my new sailing-master;so I accepted Captain C.'s strong recommendation as a set-off against the silk tartan;explained to the new comer the position he was to occupy on board,and gave orders for sailing in an hour.The multitudinous chain,moreover,so lavishly displayed,turned out to be an ornament of which Mr.Wyse might well be proud;and the following history of its acquisition reconciled me more than anything else to my Master's unnautical appearance.
Some time ago there was a great demand in Australia for small river steamers,which certain Scotch companies undertook to supply.The difficulty,however,was to get such fragile tea-kettles across the ocean;five started one after another in murderous succession,and each came to grief before it got half-way to the equator;the sixth alone remained with which to try a last experiment.Should she arrive,her price would more than compensate the pecuniary loss already sustained,though it could not bring to life the hands sacrificed in the mad speculation;by this time,however,even the proverbial recklessness of the seamen of the port was daunted,and the hearts of two crews had already failed them at the last moment of starting,when my friend of the chain volunteered to take the command.At the outset of his voyage everything went well;a fair wind (her machinery was stowed away,and she sailed under canvas)carried the little craft in an incredibly short time a thousand miles to the southward of the Cape,when one day,as she was running before the gale,the man at the wheel--startled at a sea which he thought was going to poop her--let go the helm;the vessel broached to,and tons of water tumbled in on the top of the deck.As soon as the confusion of the moment had subsided,it became evident that the shock had broken some of the iron plates,and that the ship was in a fair way of foundering.So frightened were the crew,that,after consultation with each other,they determined to take to the boats,and all hands came aft,to know whether there was anything the skipper would wish to carry off with him.Comprehending the madness of attempting to reach land in open boats at the distance of a thousand miles from any shore,Wyse pretended to go into the cabin to get his compass,chronometer,etc.,but returning immediately with a revolver in each hand,swore he would shoot the first man who attempted to touch the boats.
This timely exhibition of spirit saved their lives:soon after the weather moderated;by undergirding the ship with chains,St.Paul fashion,the leaks were partially stopped,the steamer reached her destination,and was sold for 7,000pounds a few days after her arrival.In token of their gratitude for the good service he had done them,the Company presented Mr.Wyse on his return with a gold watch,and the chain he wears so gloriously outside the silk tartan waistcoat.
And now,good-bye.I hear the click-click of the chain as they heave the anchor;I am rather tired and exhausted with all the worry of the last two months,and shall be heartily glad to get to sea,where fresh air will set me up again,I hope,in a few days.My next letter will be from Iceland;and,please God,before I see English land again,I hope to have many a story to tell you of the islands that are washed by the chill waters of the Arctic Sea.
