XXIV
FALMOUTH FOR ORDERS
High dawn broke on a scene of storm, on the waters of Falmouth Bay,white-lashed and curling, on great ragged storm-clouds racingfeather-edged over the downs and wooded slopes that environ the fairestharbour of all England.
To us, so long habited to the lone outlook of sea and sky, the sceneheld much of interest, and, from the first grey break of morning, oureyes went a-roving over the windy prospect, seeing incident and noveltyat every turn. In the great Bay, many ships lay anchored, head towind, at straining cables. Laden ships with trim spars and rigging,red-rusty of hull, and lifting at every scend to the rough sea, thefoul green underbody of long voyaging; tall clippers, clean and freshlypainted without, but showing, in disorder of gear and rigging, the markof the hastily equipped outward bound coasters, steam and sail,plunging and fretting at short anchor or riding to the swell insheltered creeks; lumbermen, with high deck loads bleached and whitenedby wind and salt-spume of a winter passage; drifters and pilotcruisers, sea trawlers, banksmen--a gathering of many craft that thegreat west wind had turned to seek a shelter.
Riding with the fleet, we lay to double anchor. Overhead the high windwhistled eerily through spar and cordage--a furious blast that now andthen caught up a crest of the broken harbour sea and flung the icyspray among us. Frequent squalls came down--rude bursts of wind anddriving sleet that set the face of the harbour white-streaked under thelash, and shut out the near land in a shroud of wind-blown spindrift.To seaward, in the clearings, we could see the hurtling outer seas,turned from the sou'-west, shattering in a high column of broken waterat the base of St. Anthony's firm headland. We were well out of that,with good Cornish land our bulwark.
Ahead of us lay Falmouth town, dim and misty under the stormy sky. A'sailor-town,' indeed, for the grey stone houses, clustered inirregular masses, extended far along the water front--on the beach,almost, as though the townsfolk held only to business with tide andtide-load, and had set their houses at high-water mark for greaterconvenience. In spite of the high wind and rough sea, a fleet of shoreboats were setting out toward the anchorage. Needs a master wind, intruth, to keep the Falmouth quay-punts at their moorings whenhomeward-bound ships lie anchored in the Roads, whose lean, raggedsailormen have money to spend!
Under close-reefed rags of straining canvas, they came at us, lurchingheavily in the broken seaway, and casting the spray mast-high fromtheir threshing bows. To most of them our barque was the sailing mark.Shooting up in the wind's eye with a great rattle of blocks and _slatt_of wet canvas, they laid us aboard. There followed a scene of spiritedaction. A confusion of wildly swaying masts and jarringbroadsides--shouts and curses, protest and insult; fending, pushing,sails and rigging entangled in our out-gear. Struggling to a foothold,where any offered on our rusty topsides, the boatmen clambered aboard,and the Captain was quickly surrounded by a clamorous crowd, extendingcards and testimonials, and loudly praying for the high honour of'sarving' the homeward bound.
"Capten! I sarved 'ee when 'ee wos mate o' th' _Orion_! Do 'ee mindPengelly--Jan Pengelly, Capten!"--"Boots, Capten? Damme, if them a'ntboots o' my makin', 'ee 're a-wearin' nah!"--"... can dew 'ee cheaper'n any man on th' Strand, Capten!"--"Trevethick's th' man, Capten!Fort--(_th' 'ell 'ee shovin' at?_)--Forty year in Falmouth, Capten!"
Old Jock was not to be hurried in his bestowal of custom. From one hetook a proffered cigar; from another a box of matches. Lighting up, heseated himself on the skylight settee.
"Aye, aye! Man, but ye're the grand talkers," he said.
The crowd renewed their clamour, making bids and offers one against theother.
"Come down t' th' cabin, one of ye," said the Old Man, leading the way.A purposeful West-countryman, brushing the crowd aside, followed closeat heel. The others stood around, discussing the prospect of business.
"Scotch barque, a'n't she?" said one. "Not much to be made o' themScotch Captens! Eh, Pengelly, 'ee knows? Wot about th' Capten o' th'_Newtonend_, wot 'ee sarved last autumn?"
The man addressed looked angrily away, the others laughed: a sore point!
"Paid 'ee wi' tawps'l sheets, didn't 'e?" said another. "A fair wind,an' him bound West! _Tchutt_! 'ee must 'a bin sleepin' sound when th'wind come away, Pengelly, m' son!"
Pengelly swore softly.
"Don't 'ee mind un, Jan, m' boy?" added a third. "Mebbe th' Capten 'llsend 'ee 'Spanish notes' when 'e arrives out--Santa Rosalia, worn't it?"
A bustle at the companionway put a stop to the chaff, the purposefulman having come on deck, glum of countenance.
"You'm struck a right 'hard case,' boys," he said. "Twenty per centain't in it--an' I'm off. So long!"
One by one the tradesmen had their interview, and returned to deck totalk together, with a half laugh, of Scotch 'Jews' and hard bargains.Hard bargains being better than no business, the contracts were takenup, the crowd dispersed, and we were soon in a position to order ourlongshore togs and table luxuries--at prices that suggested thatsomeone was warming his boots at our fire.
With Jan Pengelly we bargained for foodstuffs. It was something of atask to get comfortably aboard his 'bumboat,' heaving and tossing asshe was in the short sea. In the little cabin, securely battened andtarpaulined against the drenching sprays that swept over the boat, hekept his stock--a stock of everything that a homeward-bounder couldpossibly require; but his silk scarves and velvet slippers,silver-mounted pipes and sweet tobacco hats, held no attraction for us:it was food we sought--something to satisfy the hunger of five months'voyaging on scant rations--and at that we kept Jan busy, handing outand taking a careful tally of our purchases.
On deck there was little work for us to do. Little could be done, for,as the day wore on to a stormy setting, wind and sea increased, forcingeven the hardy boatmen to cast off and run to a sheltered creek at St.Mawes. The icy, biting spray, scattered at every plunge of ourground-fast barque, left no corner of the deck unsearched, and, after ahalf-hearted attempt to keep us going, the Mate was forced to order'stand by.' In half-deck and fo'cas'le we gathered round the red-hotbogies, and talked happily of the voyage's end, of the pay-table, ofresolves to stop there when we had come ashore.
Then came the night, at anchor-watch. Tramping for a brief hour, twotogether, sounding, to mark that she did not drive a-lee; listening tothe crash of seas, the harping of the rigging, to the _thrap, thrap_ ofwind-jarred halliards; struggling to the rigging at times, to putalight an ill-burning riding lamp; watching the town lights glimmerawhile, then vanish as quick succeeding squalls of snow enwrapped theBay. A brief spell of duty, not ill-passed, that made the warmth ofthe half-deck and the red glow of the bogie fire more grateful toreturn to.
As day broke the gale was at its height. Out of a bleak andthreatening west the wind blew ominously true--a whole gale,accompanied by a heavy fall of snow. There could be no boatcommunication with the shore in such a wind, but, as soon as the lightallowed, we engaged the Signal Station with a string of flags, andlearnt that our orders had not yet come to hand, that they would becommunicated by signal, if received during the day.
After we had re-stowed sails and secured such gear and tackle as hadblown adrift in the night, 'stand by' was again the order, reluctantlygiven, and all hands took advantage of the rare circumstance of sparetime and a free pump to set our clothes cleanly and in order.
Near noon the Mate spied fluttering wisps of colour rising on thesignal yard ashore. Steadying himself in a sheltered corner, he readthe hoist: W.Q.H.L.--our number.
"Aft here, you boys, an' hand flags," he shouted. Never was order morewillingly obeyed; we wanted to know.
The news went round that our orders had come. With bared arms,dripping of soapsuds, the hands came aft, uncalled, and the Mate wastoo busy with telescope and signal-book to notice (and rebuke) thegeneral muster of expectant mariners.
As our pennant was run up, the hoist ashore was hauled down, to bereplaced by a new. The Mate read out the flags, singly a
nd distinct,and turned to the pages of the signal-book.
"'You--are--ordered--to--proceed--to'--Answering pennant up, livelynow; damme, I can't rest you boys a minute, but ye run to seed an'sodgerin'!"
A moment of suspense; to proceed to--where? The Old Man was on decknow, with code-book in hand, open at the 'geographicals.'"'B--D--S--T,'" sang out the Mate. "B.D.S.T.," repeated the Old Man,whetting a thumb and turning the pages rapidly. "B.D.S.T.,B.D.S--Sligo! Sligo, where's that, anyway?"
"North of Ireland, sir," said M'Kellar. "Somewhere east of Broadhaven.I wass in there once, mysel'."
"Of course, of course! Sligo, eh? Well, well! I never heard of asquare-rigger discharging there--must see about th' charts. Ask themto repeat, Mister, and make sure."
Our query brought the same flags to the yard. B.D.S.T.--Sligo, withouta doubt--followed by a message, "Letters will be sent off as soon asweather moderates."
There was a general sense of disappointment when our destination wasknown; Ireland had never even been suggested as a possible finish toour voyage. Another injustice!
As the afternoon wore on, the wind lessened and hauled into the north.The bleak storm-clouds softened in outline, and broke apart to show uspromise of better weather in glimpses of clear blue behind. Quickly,as it had got up, the harbour sea fell away. The white curling crestsno longer uprose, to be caught up and scattered afar in blindingspindrift. Wind, their fickle master, had proved them false, and nowsought, in blowing from a new airt, to quell the tumult he had biddenrise.
With a prospect of letters--of word from home--we kept an eagerlook-out for shore-craft putting out, and when our messenger arrivedafter a long beat, the boat warp was curled into his hand and the sideladder rattled to his feet before he had time to hail the deck. Withhim came a coasting pilot seeking employ, a voluble Welshman, who didnot leave us a minute in ignorance of the fact that "he knew th' coast,indeed, ass well ass he knew Car--narvon!"
Then to our letters. How we read and re-read, and turned them back andforward, scanning even the post-mark for further news!
* * * * *
Early astir, we had the lee anchor at the bows before dawn broke. Abright, clear frosty morning, a cloudless sky of deepest blue, the landaround wrapped in a mantle of snow--a scene of tranquillity in sea andsky, in marked contrast to the bitter weather of the day before. Atthe anchorage all was haste and stirring action. A gentle breeze fromthe north was blowing--a 'soldier's' wind that set fair to east andwest, and the wind-bound ships were hurrying to get their anchors andbe off, to make the most of it. A swift pilot cutter, sailing tack andtack through the anchorage, was serving pilots on the outward bound,and as each was boarded in turn, the merry _clank-clank_ of windlasspawls broke out, and the chorus of an anchor chantey woke the echoes ofthe Bay. Quay punts passed to and fro from ship to shore, lurching,deep-laden with stores, or sailing light to reap the harvest that thewest wind had blown them. Among them came Jan Pengelly (anxious thatpayment 'by tops'l sheets' did not again occur with him), and the Welshcoasting pilot who was to sail with us.
The weather anchor was strong bedded and loth to come home, and it wasas the last of the fleet that we hoisted our number and ran out betweenPendennis and the Head. The Old Man was in high good humour that hehad no towing bills to settle, and walked the poop, rubbing his handsand whistling a doleful encouragement to the chill north wind.
Safely past the dread Manacles, the Falmouth pilot left us. We crowdedsail on her, steering free, and dark found us in open channel, leaningto a steady breeze, and the Lizard lights dipping in the wake astern.