AROUND THE WORLD

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 57, 8 March 1930, Page 4

AROUND THE WORLD

GOSSIP OF THE PORTS. "HEAVING TO. ,r (By LEE-FOBE-BKACE.} (Concluded.) Throughout thTshTrt afternoon the old ship continued to drive before the gale, and when eight bells-were.struck ft was noticed that the watch below hurried on deck, their sea-sense telling them that the big press of canvas the Ql,in was carrying would soon have to come 2 BeK ordering the wheel to be eTeved the mate.looked the captain, and in a voice that could £i3nEWd above the shriek 0 the piping blast, inquired, "Shall we handle the topsails before the watch goes be The' %£ man" was sometime before making answer, and with an inquiring scrutiny astern, as if judging the c EST of a lull, replied "No mister we'll let her run 'till the second watch, and then we'll see how it is. "Very good, sir. Believe the wheel, and keep handy the watch," and the mate retires to his room. As he passes the second mate, who is on the quarter deck, he remarks: "He is carrying on too long, we'll have to heave her to, before eight bells." And his opinion ■ was proved to be correct, but the old ship was going to be hove to in a manner, which none of us had ever seen before. Darkness had set in. The seas were breaking aboard from either side, and the squalls. increased in their fury with the going down of the sun. It was impossible to move about the decks, so the men of the watch were all huddled under the lee of the lifeboats on top of the afterhouse. Squall after squall drove down on the ship, and during the height of each the struggling vessel would drive almost bows under. "Squalls getting worse, sir!" remarks the second mate. "Aye, perhaps you had better get all hands and furl the mizzen and fore topstails. It's a pity to lose this bonnie breeze." And his voice showed that it was with reluctance than he gave the order. "All hands on deck, furl mizzen topsail!" was the stentorian hail from the watch officer, echoed by the bo'sun, who stood at the top of the lee poop ladder, and re-echoed by the watch with one voice. The watch below have just finished their meagre supper, and deep and long are their growlings, as they hear the order. "There now, what did I tell youse fellers when we come below," grumbles one old shell-back as he girds himself with a "soul and body lashing." "I could 'ave told the "old man" hours ago wot was comin' by the look 0' them clouds to the sou'west. Cripes! He must think himself in a blinkin' tea clipper the way he drives the old hooker." They do not need much rousing, and in a few moments after the order has been given they come streaming aft, dodging each green dollop as it rolls aboard by jumping on the hatches and fife-rails.

Just as they reach the niizzen. mast a squall of titantic force hits the ship. Before it reaches its height a stentorian yell is, heard from the mate: "Stand by topsail halliards." Despite the stinging hail that accompanies the squall several hands rush to the pin-rails, but before they can clear the hitches the squall takes its toll. A report, not unlike the crash of a field-piece, tells us that the mizzen topsail has gone, to be followed almost immediately by another on the foremast —the fore-topsail has been blown clean out of the bolt ropes. There is no confusion among the hands as the mate gives his orders to try and save the sail on the main. Downhauls and buntlines are manned, and then waiting until the fury of the squall has passed over, the order is given to lower away. It is a difficult task to get the sail down. Everyone is standing up to his waist in the swirling water which floods the deck, and it seems to be hours before the order is given—"Aloft and furl it." The wet canvas is iron hard, and despite the fact that over thirty seamen are on the yard, it takes them four hours before the last gasket i? passed. Reaching the deck again the tattered remnants of the fore and mizzen topsails are

secured, yards lowered, and everything about the decks made _ secure for the night. When the work is. completed the men are ordered aft to the shelter of the poop, and the mates join the old deep-sea. warrior under the dodger. "Keep all hands handy, mister, and if it lulls down we'll heave her to," is the- ,; only comment. "> But it did not lull down, all througK ' the long night watches, the squalls, each of them, seemingly stronger than the preceding ones, shrieked over the stricken ship, and it was now obvious to all that only good steering would bring her through. The break of day disclosed a frightful scene. As far as the eye could reach nothing could be seen but a seething mass of broken white water. The trough of the sea has an oily look about it, and the crests, as they meet tH r " 1 ~:, are broken into spume and spindrift, which sweeps over- the ship j a stinging sheets. One mighty comber comes roaring up from astern, hits the struggling vessel under the counter, and swings her into the wind. The captain and mates 6ense the danger, and with one voice they shout the same order: "Hard up, hard up the helm." The perspiring helmsman tries his best to steady the ship, but it k too late. She refuses to answer the helm, and before it takes time to tell it she lias broached to, and is lying broadside in the trough of the sea. Over and over she goes, till the.yardarms of the lower spars touch the water, and then the sea makes a clean breach over her. Her decks are at an angle of 45 degrees, and everything seems hopeless. Some of the crew are whimpering in abject terror, others are pallid with silence, and it is noticed that there is no cursing or swearing. The coolest man on the ship is "Old Dugs." He knows that an almost hopeless battle is to he fought if the ship is to be saved, and methodically he issues his orders. "Mister," he says, "take three hands for'ard with you and cut away the foresail. We'll try and head her into the wind with the spanker." The mate picks out three of the best men, and watching their chance from the smashing seas, they make their way to the foredeck. It seemed hours before they reached their goal. One of the hands swung himself from the top of the for'ard house to the main deck, and groping deep in the water which covered the sheet bollard, he releases the hitch. There is only one bang and the foresail is in ribbons. But there is no response from the ship, so "Old Dugs" signals to the mate to let go the lower topsail sheets, by pointing aloft and waving his arms. The mate understands, for almost immediately there is a running whinvof chain sheets, a crashing as iron strikes iron, and tattered wisps of the topsail flies to leeward. Being thus eased "Old Dugs" watches her closely, but she makes no response. She lies listlessly and sullen, and cannot last much longer. He calls the second over to v him. "Get the hands to haul out the snanker." This order is carried out with difficulty, and when completed, the old warrior breaks into the vernacular. "Come up, lassie, come up!" he says, as he pats the rail. "Come on, lassie, dinna fail me, come up, come up." And perhaps the old ship did hear the old man calling, for, with an angry shake, she righted herself, and slowly, very slowly, she headed into the wind—and safety. Her bulwarks are gone, deck fittings smashed to matchwood, and a sorry sight aloft and alow, but she is now "hove to" and rides the sea again like a creature alive. When the mate came aft he listened and heard tlm "old man" humming a Gaelic war song, which showed that all was well.