Читать книгу Titanic and Other Ships - Charles Herbert Lightoller - Страница 12

For some reason I changed over to the Holt Hill, sister ship to the Primrose Hill, and of the same Line. My cousin was Third Mate; I was then second voyage apprentice, and beginning to feel my feet. We were bound for Rio, and proud to sail under Captain "Jock" Sutherland, one of the greatest crackers-on out of Liverpool; in fact, he made a boast that he never allowed a ship to pass him with any of his sails furled. He certainly was a sailor to his finger tips; and it was great to see him lying that ship over in half a gale of wind, with scupper holes and wash-ports well under water, the water even swirling through the sheave-holes half way up the bulwarks; this used to thrill us boys to the bone.

He knew exactly, to the last ounce, what she would carry, and woe betide anyone who voiced a thought that sail might be shortened. To first voyagers it was pretty terrifying I'll admit, for many a time and aften it seemed as though nothing could save the ship from going over on her beam ends, or, alternatively, the masts being taken out of her.

On one occasion old Jock heard some of the crew cursing at the way he was carrying on. He just went down below, and arrived back on deck, with a camp chair and a revolver, and dared any man to even whisper about shortening sail, much less touch a halyard. He followed this up with a threat that, unless they went about their work and stopped their grousing, he would "put the helm up and sail the whole damn lot of you to hell." And, knowing the man, I wouldn't have put it past him. It was not exactly that he was altogether a daredevil in his cracking-on, it was just sheer knowledge of his ship, and confidence in what she could stand.

Beyond minor incidents that will happen to any good cracker-on, old Jock had, up to that time, run free of any serious smash up, but this voyage proved to be his undoing. The first bad break (and, as it turned out afterwards, there were to be three) was off the Western Isles, one filthy dirty night; carrying on as usual to the last ounce, under six t'gallant sails, when really she should have been under six topsails--backstays like harpstrings, and every rope straining to its limit. Suddenly a man got washed overboard from the lee braces. In response to old Jock's whip crack orders, we dropped the upper t'gallant yards with a run and let fly the lower t'gallant sheets, as he flung the ship up in the wind, nearly taking the masts out of her, but the case was utterly hopeless.

We even got a boat away, by sheer good luck, but in the pitch darkness, and in that sea, it was a wonder we didn't lose both boat and boat's crew as well.

It was no fault of old Sutherland's that the man went overboard, except that the ship had far too much canvas on her--but who would blame him for that: All sailors know the danger in shipping a lee sea. Each man must look out for himself. On the other hand, to be dubbed a cracker-on would be the ambition of every skipper worth his salt. We lost our man, but he was the first and last to lose his life, from being washed overboard whilst under Sutherland's command.

The second misfortune came about just outside Rio, off Cape Frio, at eight o'clock one morning, driving hard as usual, every stitch of canvas set. A sudden squall sent the ship heeling over, ropes and chains cracking, yard parrels groaning, till she was ripping it up like the proverbial Flying Dutchman.

Whether what happened was due to a sudden shift of wind, or to the skipper giving the order to luff, and the man at the wheel giving her too much helm, was never known--(Sutherland would never explain, nor make any attempt to justify himself)--but the fact remains without a moment's warning, we were caught back and then a moment later, the sails suddenly filled again and twisted the fore and main t'gallant masts clean out of her.

That meant both fore and main t'gallant, royal and skysail masts with all their attendant yards and gear, came crashing down on or near the desk. No one was hurt, marvellous to relate, though the main skysail yard dropped and hung within a few feet of a bunch of us boys, who, despite the fact that it was our watch below, had turned out to see the fun, and to be perfectly frank, in the hopes that something would happen.

It did, and no one had another meal, or spell for twenty-four hours. The gale, which had been brewing, and of which the squall was the fore runner, came down on us, and did its best to put us under altogether. Nothing but the superhuman efforts of Mates and crew saved the ship (as it turned out, only for a later fate). It was in emergencies like this, that one appreciated a British crowd. As a rule they are the greatest grumblers on earth, but you can always rely on them when the time comes and you are in a tight corner; which you can't on Dutchmen--the broad term applied to all Continental foreigners.

On one ship of which I was Second Mate, the Mate was a Dutchman (actually a Swede) and had a watch of his own kidney. Down round the Horn one night, with the Skipper laid up, the Mate had to "wear ship" himself, an "all hands" job. I had to take his Watch at the Main Braces, and the Third Mate take mine at the Cro'jack Braces. Wearing Ship is a ticklish job at the best of times, particularly the bracing up when she comes to. At the crucial moment, the whole Watch got a dose of sheer funk and cowered at the braces, and when I got amongst them with hands and feet, cursing them to all eternity, they simply vanished, and hid in what they considered safety.

We saved her, but only because half the British Watch broke off and did the "Dutchmen's" job at the Main, whilst the other half of the Watch carried on at the Mizzen.

Having, at last, cleared the wreckage of masts, yards, and sails, cut away the last wire back stay, saved what we could, and let the remainder go by the board, we squared away the remaining yards, and limped into Rio.