THE ROARING ’FORTIES

Evening Star, Issue 19615, 22 July 1927, Page 11

THE ROARING ’FORTIES

HARDSHIPS AT SEA TALES 0F WINDJAMMER DAYS Another link with the past is gone, writes Captain George I}.1 } . Houghton, a master mariner of the old school, in the ‘ Daily Mail.’ The vast lieet of deep-water sailing ships we once proudly possessed has disappeared for ever, ousted by the relentless competition of steam. Only two stragglers survive, homeward bound, and they are on the point of extinction. The tragedy is that wo do not possess a single ocean-going training ship as a substitute, to perpetuate the lost art of seamanship or to induce into our young seamen those sterling qualities of the old shellback that commanded the admiration of the world. We are so much the poorer. Running the Easting down in the Roaring 'Eorties under storm canvas, close-reefed, lashed to the pumps for days and nights without respite, we had no jobs lor weaklings in my oay. It was pump or sink, with only a chew of tobacco for solace. High up aloft furling sails, we whirled giddily in wide circles through tho air, with a swaying rope stretched under the yard as our only foothold, and above the wet canvas ballooned out as stiff as a board and often coated with ice. A slip with. number. and bleeding hands, one false move in the darkness, and the chances were that tho sharks would hold a banquet on you. The sea was then a hard school, voyages often lasting for years. Anybody could sign on as cook, no examination being required. At seven bells he flung something into our tin kid with a thud that suggested a lump of broken cement rather than salt horse. God sent food and the devil sent cooks!

In San Francisco, whore crews do scried wholesale, many a respectable but unwary citizen in reduced circumstances was hired to waterside boarding houses and drugged in my day. WJion ho camo to he found himself in a three-skysail-yarder bound to Queenstown tor orders, hounded up aloft by a bully mate whoso chief qualification was his ability to knock; out allcomers. The boarding-house master was not particular what kind of fish he caught in his net to complete the re* quired crew. Misfits on shore, mostly, and one or two dead men at a pinch were smuggled on board at night—the kidnapper pretending, of course, that the dead were dead drunk only. And with this scratch crowd vessels rounded the Horn in the fierce gales of winter. i made a voyage to Santos thirtyfive years ago, when Yellow Jack was rife and claimed whole crews. Such a dread of this wretched spot haunted seamen that if a vessel was likely to touch there all hands deserted immediately, regardless of what port they happened to be in. In those days to send a man to Santos was almost equivalent to condemning him to death. A big crowd of sailor men lie there still to remind us of the ghastly days gone by. . The racehorses of the sea, the clipper ships, raced homo from China with the first teas of tho season in 100 days, amid excitement and interest among landsmen rivalling that aroused by the Derby; and once when 1 was offered command of tho Samuel Plimsoll 1 left overcome with justifiable emotion. Well, tho glorious days of sail are over, gone for ever. Gone with them are our sailors, romance also, and tho blue pigeon, Gcordio brigs and South Spainers, sea chanties, sea chests, and cracker hash

If I had my life to 1 relive, 1 would cheerfully endure the hardships of tho sea again. It bred a line race of sturdy seamen, and helped to build old England’s prosperity. A prey to pirates and to scurvy, thrown on their own resources, but accustomed to bear perils and hardships with fortitude and indomitable courage, they carried the flag as pioneers to every part of the globe. Tho sailormau was the most religious of all men, through experience of the wonders of the universe and tho deep sea. I take off my hat to his memory. Old Stormalong has gone to rest, Of all tho sailors he was best; We’ll dig his grave with a silver spade, And lower him down with a golden chain By all his shipmates blest.