Mac and several of the men forward are very bad still with cramps in the stomach.
I think it must be the water, which, as we get nearer the bottom of the tanks, is becoming very foul.
We have only got five weeks water left, and out of one tank it comes up thick and muddy, and out of the other a dark red, from the rust, so I think the dark red water must be like a very strong iron tonic, and thus perhaps causes the cramp.
Lat. 12°.40 N., long. 27°.46 W.
I have got the worst wheels this week, the second dog watch and the 4 to 6 A.M. wheels being considered the worst two tricks to have; my other wheel is a good one, though, the 10 to 12 in the forenoon watch.
The second dog watch was the one I hated most, as I could hear the fellows singing and having a good time on the main-deck whilst I was stuck by myself at the wheel.
The 4 to 6 A.M. wheel is really considered the worst by sailors, as those are the two sleepiest hours of the whole twenty-four.
But there was one great compensation I found in this trick, and that was, that every morning you saw a most superb sunrise whilst the rest of the watch were dozing on the main-deck.
A breeze sprang up this evening in the second dog watch whilst I was at the wheel, and it gradually increased in strength.
Poor old Mac, who was as strong and fit as a buck rabbit a few days ago, is now as weak and ill as a far-gone patient in consumption. His cheeks have fallen in, and he really looks very bad.
Monday, 4th December.—Lat. 13°.39 N., long. 28°.12 W. Course—N. 24 W. Run 62 miles.
There is a fine little breeze this morning, and weare going course steering N. ½ E. by compass.
Painting is now nearly finished, and to-day the varnish appeared, and we varnished the poop-rail and stanchions.
Tuesday, 5th December.—Fine breeze all night; going course N. by E. by compass, with a heavy swell setting in from N.E.
Lat. 15°.22 N., long. 29°.20 S. Very hot again to-day, and wind falling.
I have fallen upon a soft job, painting the name of the ship in a blue riband on the poop buckets.
The wind freshened up again in the afternoon, and we passed a three-masted schooner painted white, a brigantine, and two barques, all outward bound.
The second mate has fallen a victim to cramps in the stomach, and was in great agony the whole of the second dog watch whilst I was at the wheel.
He leant helpless most of the time over the rail, as sick as a passenger on a channel boat on a choppy passage.
Directly the watch changed I gave him a terrific dose of chlorodyne, which seemed to pick him up a bit.
Mac is still bad, and has not been able to touch any food since Sunday, and he is a fair wreck of his former self.
Wednesday, 6th December.—A welcome change has taken place; the wind is blowing fresh, and the sea is rough, and we are fast making up for lost time.
A heavy squall came up upon us whilst I was at the wheel about 11 A.M. It came out of the N.E., and went away until it hung a black cloud on the horizon to leeward, then it came swooping back upon us.
I put the helm up and held it there, but was too late, and in a moment we were caught aback before we had time to go off.
The crossjack and mainsail were hauled up, and the staysails taken in, but as it blew harder we had to take in the royals.
Lat. 17°.40 N., long. 29°.29 W. The wind freed a bit about 1 P.M., and the mainsail and crossjack were set again, the royals and staysails also being set in the first dog watch.
We are going 7½ knots through the water on the port tack.
Thursday, 7th December.—Fairly piping under all sail, except flying-jib, on our course and going over 10 knots.
I was at the wheel this morning from 4 to 8, steering through my trick and Jamieson’s, whilst the watch were busy sending down the mizen-royal, which had split, and bending another one.
The helm is very hard, and kicking like a horse with the stiff sea running, into which we were shoving our nose and boring our way at a great pace. It took me all I knew to hold the wheel steady, and several times she lifted me right off my legs; but I thoroughly enjoyed the trick, as I exerted all my strength to fight the kicking demon.
It was a pretty heavy four hours’ spell, and by eight o’clock my arms felt as if I had been riding a runaway horse.
A good helmsman has to be born, not made. Every boat and every ship steers differently. Some steer very badly, some steer very easily; each has its own peculiarities, which a good helmsman finds out at once.
The Royalshire was not an easy steerer at all—very few long four-mast barques are—but what made her worse than usual was the load of wheat aft, and the foulness of her bottom.
Every day she steered worse, and required a great deal of watching, and the other day one of the dagos in the port watch was turned away from the wheel.
The most difficult task of all, is to steer a large ship running before a gale of wind in a big sea.
A bad helmsman in such a case will have his spokes flying round the whole time; first his helm will be hard up and then hard down, and the ship will be swinging a couple of points on each side of her course.
This is because he probably watches his compass too much and his ship too little.
A good helmsman will know instinctively when his ship is beginning to come up, and will at once meet her with the helm a second or two before the compass shows the fact.
Never watch your compass too much, as the compass is slow always, and very deceiving.
At night, if it is clear, and you are steering a compass course (by which I mean that you are not steering by the wind, and the ship is able to lie her course), take a star at a yardarm and steer by it.
Always try to keep the wheel as still as possible. In steering the ship by the wind, a spoke or two occasionally is all that ought to be required to keep the ship dead on her course, if the wind is steady.
Steering like I am now, the ship going over 10 knots with the yards off the backstays, once she is steady she ought not to require a spoke once in half an hour.
When steering by the wind, you ought to keep the weather clew of your royal just quivering.
A landsman will no doubt wonder why, if the royal leech is flapping, the other sails are not doing the same: but that belongs to another branch of the art of sailoring, that of trimming your yards properly.
The royal should be braced up the least bit more than the topgallant, and the topgallant more than the topsail, and the topsail more than the course.
A good quality in a mate is to be a good sail-trimmer.
But to return to steering. The steering of a big square-rigged sailing-ship is I think a most fascinating job, whether you are standing bare-footed in flannel shirt and dungarees, watching the flying-fish as your ship hums through the trades with the maintack boarded, or whether you are running before a gale of wind with lashings on your oilskins, working like a donkey-engine, and hardly daring to look behind you. You know that if you take your keenest attention off for a moment, your ship will run two or three points off her course, and will ship a huge sea, which, washing the decks fore and aft, will perhaps smash a boat to matchwood, or wash out the galley, or even carry some of the watch over the side.
It is terrifying to a weak-nerved helmsman to see a huge mass of water with a foaming top rear itself up behind and chase him, trying its best to poop the ship, and ready to fall on top of him if he makes the least mistake.
It is for this reason that some ships have wheel-houses to hide the following sea from the fearful helmsman. This is the time when the good men come to the fore and the indifferent helmsmen are turned away disgraced.
Liverpool in the other watch, who relieved me at eight bells, got turned away from the wheel, as the old man coming on deck found him a couple of points off his course, and there was the deuce of a kick-up. Liverpool said that it was not his fault, as he could not hold her.
It is a lovely sunny day. The old man is hanging on to his royals, and dollops and sprays are once more coming aboard, one, of course, flooding into the half-deck.
Lat. 21°.6 N., long. 30°.22 W. Run 217 miles.
We passed a ship in the first dog watch homeward bound like ourselves, under three lower-topsails and main upper-topsail, and we were under all sail.
I bet her old man looked at us in amazement as we surged by, going close on 12 knots.
Friday, 8th December.—Lat. 25°.01 N., long. 30°.46 W.
These are champion trades, and in the last twenty-four hours we ran 236 miles.
A heavy squall came down about 9 A.M. We stood by the royal halliards, and hauled in the head of the spanker, but the old man held on to his royals, and she fairly lay over and smoked through it, the spray flying in sheets over the starboard bow.
It was my wheel from 10 to 12. At 11.30 they set the spanker again, and it was wonderful what a difference that extra bit made to the steering. Before they hauled out the head of the spanker she was steering nice and easy, being well balanced, but the extra cloth just made her uncomfortable and disagreeable.
Seventeen more days to Christmas, and the great question is, Shall we get home in time?
Saturday, 9th December.—Lat. 28°.16 N., long. 31°.54 W.
It was squally all night, and we clewed up the royals in the first watch, but set them again before midnight.
Old Slush was sent up on to the main-royal yard to overhaul the gear, and the old rascal stayed skulking up aloft in the maintop whilst we were working on deck until the watch was over, when he sneaked down on deck; but the second mate was up to his tricks, and sent him up again, and kept him up aloft overhauling gear until half an hour of his watch below had passed.
This morning, after my trick at the wheel, the second mate sent me up on to the fore-royal yard to see if there was any sail in sight, and also to put in a couple of rovings.
As I was shinning up the royal halliards, my good old felt hat (which I have had all this time, and which I had got quite fond of, with its faded ribbon, and splashed as it was with paint of every colour), blew off my head and went sailing away to leeward.
I was very much annoyed to lose it, as, besides being my last hat, except for my sou’wester and a Klondyke fur cap, it was such an old friend.
I had worn it on the prairie, in mining camps in the Klondyke, and even played cricket matches in it in England.
We started shifting sail again this morning; shifted the crossjack, main upper and lower topsails, and mizen upper-topsail.
I am out of luck to-day, as on the crossjack yard the buckle of my belt carried away, and away went my belt overboard. My knife luckily dropped out of the sheath on to the deck, and I got it again; but I was almost as sorry at losing my belt as my hat, as it was a good old pigskin belt, and had been companion to my hat in all kinds of adventures.
I was very pleased at not losing my knife, though, which bears a charmed life; several times I have lost it and found it again; three times has it fallen from aloft, and off the Horn it was afloat in the half-deck for several days.
Scar gave me an old deep-sea cap this morning, and so I have still got head gear, and have not been brought to making caps out of canvas, like Don, Jennings, and one or two others.
It is blowing pretty hard, and makes shifting sail very heavy work; but the old man dare not wait any longer, or we shall find ourselves in the Western Ocean with only our summer suit on, and we are looking forward to a bad time in the stormy, wintery Atlantic.