WISPS OF SPRAY

Southland Times, Issue 20002, 16 October 1926, Page 13 (Supplement)

WISPS OF SPRAY

THE -LAST BAG. - ’

(By R.

R.C. H.).

An episode in a Chilian nitrate port, 1895,

Two bells (one p.m.) had been struck almost simultaneously on the bells of the five vessels lying in the loading tier at the nitrate port, of Taltal, on the Chilian coast. “Turn to!” yelled the second mate of the full-rigged ship Kate Thomas, the- third vessel in the tier, as he nimbly took his place on the “stage,” an elevated platform flush with the top-gallant rail and built from rail to hatch coamings. Four apprentices took their places at the “dolly” winch, two at each handle, w'hile three able seamen went over-side into the waiting lighter to “sling” and “hook on” the solid looking 2001 b bags of nitrate. A fourth seaman took his stand by the second mate ready to receive the two bags of nitrate lifted by each hoist of the “dolly” winch, and guide them into the fore-hold of the ship, where they were landed on the “stack” in the square of the hatch by the bos’un and his two assistants who “guided” them on to the shoulders of the “Chiliano” stowers. These “Chilianos” were swarthy little men who had stowed the whole of the 2700 tons of cargo in the ship. They were hard-working natives who carried the 2001 b bags of nitrate with apparent ease, once a bag was placed correctly on their shoulders from the “stack,” but who would refuse to budge if it was not placed properly. In the bay, the calm water of which reflected in delicate tracery the masts and spars of the vessels, lighters, each carrying about ten tons were plying, under the influence of long sweeps, assisted by ships’ boats between the short jetty on shore and the loading vessels, while from further to the south-west came the roar of stone ballast being dumped overboard from two of Walmsley’s barques. Willingly the work of loading progressed on the Kate Thomas, for this was the last lighter, which meant also that the last bag was in sight and that to-morrow would bring the last day in Taltal and the start of the homeward run. When the bottom tier of bags was sighted, the second mate called to the mate, who was engaged discussing some repairs with the sailmaker on the poop deck: “The last bag is in sight, sir.” “Aye! Aye! Mister; send one of the boys to hoist the ensign,” immediately replied the mate. Young Hutton, one of the apprentices at the winch, was detailed for the job and soon had the pld “Red Duster” hanging from the peak of the signal gaff, and almost immediately all the other vessels in port had their ensigns displayed. When the last bag had been “hooked on,” the hoist rope was taken off the winch and tailed along the deck through a lead block. Then all hands were summoned aft where Captain John Jones superintended the issue of a tot of rum-to each man. With the exception of the captain and officers, all hands then “tailed on” to the cargo whip and Dan Woods, the “shanty man” of the ship started the song: “Oh! Sally Brown, I love yer daughter.” This intimation was answered by the whole crowd in chorus as they gave three long pulls on the fall: “I’ll spend my money on Sally Brown.” So the “last bag” was hoisted to the accompaniment of a mo?t remarkable tale of sailor love from Old Dan. Much of it was unprintable, but. it served the occasion and was lustily chorused by the crowd. Once the last bag was stowed the men made for the forecastle head in a body where they clustered round old Bill Tate, the bos’un. Some of the after guard then lowered the ensign to the dip, which was the cue for the bos’un’s lusty hail of: “Three cheers for the Inca,” and all hands joined in three hearty cheers for the next vessel in the tier, a little Liverpool barque, the “Inca.” Up to the peak sailed the Kate Thomas’s ensign and the Inca’s ensign was dipped as her crew gave three cheers in return. This ceremony was observed for every ship in the bay until the last cheer died away acrass the water from the barque Atacama, discharging her ballast at the dumping ground. Immediately after tea that night the forecastle was made ship-shape to receive visitors, the “half-deck” likewise received some attention from its occupants the apprentices. Soon ships' boats began to arrive alongside, mostly fine, well-kept, captain’s gigs bringing captains of the several ships in port, and manned some by apprentices and others by seamen. The various captains and their accompanying officers were received on the poop by the “Old Man.” Then the boats were hauled out to the boat boom and their crews came on board, apprentices finding a warm welcome in the half-deck and the seamen in the forecastle. Soon on the still night air there rose sounds of gaiety from the forecastle, the seamen were entertaining their visitors—sailor songs, songs of love and home, also songs of a dubious comedy type were bting sung to the accompaniment of the ship’s accordeon played by Cockney Thorp. Then somebody started a Sankey-Moody hymn. This did not mean that the gathering had taken a religious turn; it was merely a prelude of what was to follow. Soon both forecastle and half-deck was empty and on the deck there gathered a crowd of seamen ranged behind several men who carried weird instruments, mostly ship made. Cockney Thorp with his accordeon took his place at the bead of the procession and assisted by the ship's Fu Fu band, struck up “Oh! where is my wandering boy tonight.” After a triumphal progress round the decks the procession halted finally at the break of the poop, where three cheers were given for Captain Jones, who promptly appeared, suitably acknowledging the cheers of the men by ordering an issue of rum to be served. Then he returned to the cabin where he had been entertaining the visiting shipmasters and officers. After the rum issue the band and procession proceeded forward to the somewhat doubtful rendering of the tune “Cock of the North,” then sing-song and hilarity were renewed in- both the forecastle and the half-deck until the visiting captains called for their boats. So the ceremony of hoisting the last bag ended as the visiting boats left for their ships. The next day the cable was shortened to the tune of: As I was walking down Ratcliff Highway Aye! ho! Blow the man down. A charming young damsel I chanced for to see. Oh! Give me some time to Blow the man down. I ranged alongside her, she luffed up ter me. Aye! ho! Blow the man down. The men also roared lustily various cable shanties, such as “Rolling Home,” “Leave her, Johnnie, leave her” to accompany the work in hand, and then, as the off-shore breeze made itself felt about one pan., the Kate Thomas tripped her anchor, loosed and hoisted sail to the tune of “Paddy Doyle,” “Blow, my bully boys, blow,” and

“A Yankee ship sailed down the river.” Slowly she moved seaward, farewelled by the cheers of' all the remaining ships, as she started for her homeward run to Falmouth for orders.