THE SAILORMAN. IN AND OUT OF WELLINGTON.

Evening Post, Volume LXXXI, Issue 26, 1 February 1911, Page 3

THE SAILORMAN. IN AND OUT OF WELLINGTON.

OLD SALTS AND YOUNG PEPPERS. (By Eareye.) Some day, perhaps, when the golden age has returned, and all clipper ships and liners are rusted nests for tunnies somewhere beyond the reach of lead, the oarsmen of tiie -world's galleys will have a poesy and a drama. They will have an elaborate ritual of beautiful songs. They will sing hymns to the sea vhea the riding lantern goes up at dusk. They ■sail invest their affection for the elements with the attributes of deity, and they will act little plays about the under-water aud the white goddesses that haunt the weeds there. . —John Masefield. A very ancient mariner, well salted »cd pickled by_ the brine of the five seas, stood on the wharf yesterday, and gazed sadly on her who was once the Countess of Errol, a trim, aristocrat, daintily flounced — and now a shapeless hulk, degraded, tarred, but not feathered. Two men were working a pump, and the old sailor gloomily watched the bilge water sprawling over the blackened deck to the scuppers. He knew the Countess in her better days, and it gave him pain to see her now, hobbled, to attend as a menial on the •fussy disdainful steamers. Not far away the poor Lutterworth, which ran her classic nose too far in shore by Terawhiti two or three years ago, was paying the penalty of her indiscretion, bhe, too, wore the badge of servitude — the order of the tar-brush — and her beautiful nose had been, cut away to enable her tc better wait on the fretful, fuming steamers. The sailorman knew them all, the whole satj fleet of hulks, jiney have never a wing left to fling to the wind. They are warped or tugged in dejection from one wharf to another, but they have a decent resting place out in the bay. Do they commune there o' nights when the northerly gives a little of the old rocking, and moans among the thm rigging and stumps of masts? Sometimes this stark array of brave ships, reduced to base uses, has a dignity put upon it. This in when a kindly mist veils the battered hulls and broken spars. One thinks of a battle fleet, hurt but triumphant, resting in the smoke of its victorious guns. That ancient mariner spoke much about the time that was when the proud ships, romping over the rollers, had never a vision of "hulking" in their old age. -His sorrov» and his fear was that he, too, would have to "hulk it," as a long-shoreman, for in the long years the greedy sea had taken most of what lie had to give — his strength. Perhaps, while he was looking down at the Countess, he had a vision of "The Port o' Many Ships," that haven sear a beautiful shore for the world's navies by-and-bye (in a poet's fancy). Drowned old wooden hookers, Green yii' drippin' v;rack; Ships as never fetched to port, An.' never come back, Swingin 1 to the blushia 1 tide, Dippin' to the swell, An' the crews all singin', sonny, Beatm 1 on the bell. IN THE SAILORS' REST. A few paces onward a dark stairway led to the Sailors' Rest, where mariners and waterside workers, forced into idleness for a time, solaced themselves with draughts (wooden ones), magazines, and books. The shelves are fairly well stocked with books, ranging from a Bib> (in German) and the Psalms (in French) to modern romances. Some of the authors might be well pleased to see the thumbing that tceir works have received. Many of the covers are blackened and tattered, but it hat* to be remembered that many of the volumes lhad a rough run at the Public Library before reaching tho Rest Here one may hear (and believe, if he likes) many a strange tale of the eea, weird days and freezing nights m tempests, mists and fogs, stories of marine monsters more marvellous than five or six Pelorus Jacks compounded and confounded. Here is the place to hear of the treaccery of the Terawhitz Rip and the wild gusts that screech ■through the Strait. Maritime youth {with the first razor still in. no need of a setting) viea with grizzled age to awe the listener. Sea-cooks speak of galiej's swamped and scalding soup upBet upon them. Firemen tell of nights •when the furnaces seemed to be doing an infernal waltz. HOPEFUL YOUTH. When the sea. calls to a lad it is a strong call. The sea's blue face has a large, sunny smile—all for him — and down below the horizon he sees much gold braid in the ocean's lap. In the meantime, with the salt of a few voyages fresh upon him, he has stories to move the lines of dry smiles at the mouth corners of tho old brigade. He makes free and easy .references to " the old man." He will speak his mind to the bosun bold if this gentleman is too insistent -with his whistle. He will demonstrate in force next time the cook drops the candle in the hash. Ah, well, the old A.B.'fi smile indulgently — and sigh a little. Back ten yeans, another ten, and another, they wore like that. They, too, had eyes which saw below the skyline that beautiful braid in the ocean's- lap, but they found more ropeend than bradd. It is a long journey from the fo'c'sle to the bridge, but vast (numbers of sailormen have worked across the > gap. MEN FROM THE COASTERS. While the clerk is quietly at his desk and the carpenter is peacefully sawing wood, some romantic men slip unostentatiously in and out of Wellington on little craft that hug the shore. The masters know every nook on the seabitten coast where their vessels may shelter from blustering gales. Sometimes they are caught and eorely buffeted, but how seldom any one of the bold little coasters meets with any serious! mishap ! They nuzzle the sea, and glide over the trtreatening billows, while larger sisters are pounded till their ribs creak and their chests groan. On a little* coaster each man is one of many pirts. The mate may have a turn at working caigo, and the master himself may have a heavy share of manual toil. They speak of thrilling times in the mouths of flooded rivers, with vagrant tree-trunks leaping at them; of bounds over shallow bars ; of pitching at anchor in a roadstead and trying to land or take cargo with a bouncing boat. Anxious watches in the black, stormy night are their portion — and they win through, and gLve no second thought to the peril. So ,oat they go. and in they come, the year through, while the clerk L& quietly at his desk and the carpenter is peacefully sawing wood.