OUTWARD BOUND.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20520, 22 March 1930, Page 1 (Supplement)

OUTWARD BOUND.

INTO THE ROARING FORTIES.

B? W. R. WEBB

Days of ever-shifting winds, days of calm and sudden squall. We strip our ship of her fair-weather canvas and clothe her anew in a stouter outfit that will stand the stress and strain to which it will be subjected. An. arduous task this, for her sails are heavier than the majority of us have ever handled, and it is only at the expense of much perspiration and heaving and tugging that (he change is effected.

Here we come, trooping along the deck with the main upper topsail. Like a great white dragon in a Chinese procession, each man shouldering his share of the burden, we spread' it, furled, across the deck at the foot of the mainmast. A boy has already shinned aloft with a block and gantline, which latter, in a moment or so, comes snaking down, and is made fast round the bunt or middle of the sail. The head ear-ring cringles, two steel rings, one in either corner of the head of the sail, are made fast by their lanyards to the gantline just above the bunt, and we pass the line through a snatch-block on the deck abaft the mainmast, and hoist away with a chanty to assist us, one man singing the first line, the rest of us joining in the second and pulling lustily to the tune it sets.

Oh, way down South, where I was born, Roll the cotton down. Oh, among the fields of yellow, yellow corn, We'll roll the cotton down.

With surprising swiftness and apparent ease our burden rises aloft. Now it is well above the yard. The mate calls " Belay!" and we lay aloft and bend it—literally make it fast to the yard. The bo'su:: takes up his position at the bunt stop; a man seats himself astride the extreme end of each yard-arm, outside the lift; and the remainder spread themselves along the yard at intervals. The Crescendo in the Wind. " All ready?" " Aye, aye!" We haul out to windward, then to leeward; out to windward again and make fast the weather ear-ring with turn upon turn of secure lashing. Stretching the sail as taut as human hands can stretch it, tfye man on the lee ear-ring follows suit, the bunt stop is made fast, spilling lines rove off, sheets and downhauls shackled on, rovings passed round the jackstays,' and the sail is ready for setting. Down to the deck again we go, and taking the halliards to the capstan heave away to the tune of Sally Brown.

Oh, Sally Brown, I love your daughter; Yo. ho. roll and go. She lives at Dover by the storming water Spent my money on Sally Brown.

We have completed our task none too soon. With the approach of night there conies a darkening of the sky and a flying of scud across a crescent moon. The " old man " consults his glass and eyes his sails speculatively, wondering to what extent he dare trust them should the barometer really fulfil its threat. There is a mournful wail and an ever-increasing crescendo in the wind as darkness falls, and we feel that we are in for a night of it. We are nearly close-hauled, with everything set except the crossjack. A big sea is getting up, slapping a succession of stinging sprays through the weather rigging on to the fore deck, and there is a wildness in the creaming waters that gallop away down to leeward from beneath our plunging jib-boom. Taking In Sail. Oilskinned and seabooted, dim, hardfeatured figures shrouded in tobacco smoke, we lounge on our sea-chests in the fo'c's'le, waiting for the order we know will come at any moment. Gone is the jollity that marked the dogwatch hours in the tropics. There is griru work before us, hardship too, and we face the future silently, thankful, though, that we have seen sufficient of each other to have confidence in the efficiency of our watch to deal with whatever emergency may crop up.

A whistle shrills and we tumble out into the now pitch blackness. We are heeling over to it in good style, our wake foaming astern in the darkness like a dusty trail on a wide prairie. " Haul down the flying jib, clew up the mainsail and make it fast!" A few of us stagger up the fo'c's'le-head ladder and feel our way out on to the jib-boom footropes, where, suspended over the bottomless surges that snatch at our feet, we do battle with the slatting jib. A slip of the hand or foot, a moment's carelessness on the part of the steersman bringing her head up into a sea, and our names will be added to the legion who have been " lost from the jib-boom at sea." Our task here completed, we leave the look-out man to his chilly vigil and join our mates on the main yard. Eight bells strike while we are still struggling with the recalcitrant monster, and we breathe a prayer of thanksgiving that our fellows of the opposite watch have come on deck to relieve us of a portion of the work that still remains to be done. Our topgallantsails are shaking now. The wind is drawing ahead as it increases, and reluctantly the order " Lee fore brace " is given. We backstay the yards with much doleful yo-hoing, and proceed to shorten right down to main lower topsail and mizzen staysail. A tremendous sea, lumping up, pours on board in foaming cataracts, sweeping everything before it and leaving us clinging like, monkeys to the' nearest handhold. We are " hove to "at last. What should have been our watch below has almost, expired, and we have scarce time for a biscuit and a pipe of tobacco ere we are summoned on deck again. Rolling, Rolling. Clustered beneath the fo'c's'le head, we listen to the howling of the gale and the strumming of the rigging, waiting for eight bells and the comparative comfort of our bunks. Who can say we have not earned the brief period of forgetfulness that comes to our tired spirits as we snuggle beneath our scanty blankets, leaving the last man in to extinguish the pale flicker of our single kerosene lamp ?, Morning again: a grey dawn, wind falling light and drawing aft, seas mountainhigh, falling on board from all directions. Without waste of time we set all sail once more and square our yards in. Lighter falls the wind and lighter. With no steerago way to steady her, the ship begins to roll, dipping alternately both rails under. Some demon has left a collection of loose bolts in our hollow steel yards. With every long roll tnev commence the descent of their sloping prison, slowly at first, but finishing tip with a belter skelter that creates a deafening din, through which none but a tired seaman could sleep. Now the reason for the dislike of thwart-ship bunks becomes apparent. One moment one is standing on one's head as the ship rolls to port; with the roll to starboard one's feet fetch up with a bang against the foot board, and one wonders if one is about to juake the complete circle, So, with varying fortunes, we edge further south into the roaring forties and the kingdom of the albatross.