Part 11

The captain had many opportunities of hearing from this voluble person of the magnificent mismanagement shown by the way the transports were kicking about in different parts of the Bosphorus and in the Black Sea. Many of them would sail to Kertch or Sevastopol and come straight back without their cargoes being broached. They anchored in a snug spot where the shore was easy of access, and would remain for months in peaceful indolence. The Boadicea had been dismantled, and her anchor was never seen for six months. How the men were to be kept employed became a tax on the resources of the officers. Her sails, ropes and rigging had been thoroughly overhauled, repaired and made equal to new, and the hull showed indications of great taste and care. Not a speck of dirt or disorder could be seen anywhere; and notwithstanding the jolly entertainments, vocal and otherwise, they had on board each others' vessels almost every night, the life of inactivity became so dreary that they longed for the time when orders would be given to proceed to the Crimea. It was not mere change they longed for, but they craved to see the fighting on shore, and, better still, the bombardment of towns and ports by the warships from the sea. Many of the merchant sailors would have enjoyed taking part in the struggle.

Although the life at the Scutari anchorage had become a weary monotony, it was not without incidents of excitement. Constantinople at that time was overrun with the most daring brigands, who paid irregular visits to the different roadsteads between midnight and the early hours of the morning. They were armed with the most deadly weapons, and their secret movements frequently evaded every precaution of watchfulness. The sneaking caique, manned by accomplished emissaries handling muffled oars, was rowed through the anchorage in advance, and for the purpose of finding out the most vulnerable object of attack. Occasionally they selected the wrong ship, and met with a sudden determined resistance from the crew, who were eager for an opportunity of wreaking vengeance on a gang of murderous ruffians who kept the men of the whole mercantile fleet in these waters in a state of perpetual expectancy. Most ingenious methods were planned for their destruction. An anchor, for instance, would be hanging to the rail of the topgallant forecastle, or the cathead, and, as the caique came dropping down with the current, if they drifted her under the bow, the stopper and shankpainter was let go simultaneously, and the anchor landed on their heads and then through the bottom of the boat. Nothing more was ever seen of that batch! Another plan was to drop large stones or pieces of heavy iron into the frail craft; and in that case also no more was ever heard from them. These chances seldom came, however, as they were a wily lot, who nearly always made sure of their ground before embarking on a hazardous expedition. The crews of vessels were warned to keep a vigilant lookout, and sometimes the anchor watch succeeded in giving the alarm in time to frustrate a boarding.

But even this, and the open encounters that occurred, became a very monotonous business to a large number of crews. They were itching for some other sensation to be put into their lives, and they had moods of gloomy forebodings that the great war would be ended without their being able to say that they had seen anything of it; and, in fact, many of them never did, and it is fair to say some never wanted to. Poor Captain Wilkins of the Seaflower and his crew were among the latter. The captain was a highly religious person who had imbued his men with anti-war proclivities. He had a simple faith in the righteousness of making large profits in consequence of the war, but never failed to proclaim the originators of it as a gang of unholy rascals. His faith had become strong in the belief that the robber was destined never to set foot on the Seaflower's decks. She had been lying there for several months without ever having been interfered with. Captain Wilkins was not unduly sympathetic when he heard of any neighbouring vessel being pillaged during the night. In fact, he became so impressed with his own virtue that he frequently fell into the error of speaking contemptuously of his less fortunate brethren. Captain Macvie had warned him against indulging in self-righteousness, and never to pin his faith on immunity from attack.

"It may come," said he, "when you least expect it; and in order that you may cultivate a more generous spirit towards your neighbours when misfortune befalls them, always keep in mind the proverb: 'Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth, lest the Lord see it and it displease Him.' These are words that ought to be burnt into our minds and hearts."

"Yes," said Wilkins, "I appreciate your goodness in quoting them. They have reminded me that I have not been sufficiently charitable in judging others, while I have been at the same time professing to have the spirit of the great Redeemer."

Captain Wilkins held a prayer-meeting in his cabin each evening before the watch was set, and his friend Macvie nearly always attended, and professed to receive great spiritual benefit therefrom. At those devotional gatherings there was a simple petition offered to the Giver of all good that He should guard them during the night from the crimeful visitations of wicked men who coveted that which did not belong to them, and who did not shrink from murder in order to get it. Captain Wilkins had a profound belief in the efficacy of prayer, and was therefore staggered when he realized about two o'clock one morning that a giant of coppery colour stood over him with a revolver, while his compatriots helped themselves to all that was of value. At the time this was going on in the cabin, there stood an armed man at the entrance to the sailors' forecastle, and another in the galley in unpleasant proximity to the eldest apprentice, who had fallen asleep before the fire, and while he had slept the vessel had been boarded. Had he attempted to move or shout or make a noise of any kind whatsoever, his life would have been instantly taken, and his body thrown into the rushing stream. Poor fellow! I have often heard him speak of the dull terror that took possession of him when he awoke and saw that his own life and the lives of the whole ship's company depended on his submission and silence. The chronometer, every piece of brass, and every sail and rope of any importance was taken out of her, and this included the sails that were unbent. In fact, there was not a single article of that kind left aboard when the brigands went from alongside. This was one of the most daring and gigantic robberies that had taken place during the whole time the fleet had lain at anchor. Naturally it created a great sensation both afloat and ashore. Captain Wilkins was the object of much genuine sympathy. The whole of the personal losses of his officers and himself were promptly made good by subscription, and a good deal of the vessel's loss was contributed for as well. Never a finger was put on the perpetrators, though it was said the authorities were cognizant of their whereabouts. It was also whispered that they had accomplices in persons holding high official position, but this was never in any degree proved, and I should say it had no foundation in fact. The idea may have originated in consequence of the lethargic attitude of the officials whose duty it was to see that they were captured. At this time lawlessness was rampant in those parts, and it would have been beyond the capacity of even a more alert and energetic officialism to subdue its ferocious and determined attacks. In addition to the open brigandage that was carried on, several captains who for some reason were detained ashore until after dark were obliged to engage caiques to take them off to their vessels, and when in mid-stream the boat's crew, consisting as a rule of two Turks (or Greeks in Turks' clothing), would lay their oars in and demand them to give up all their money and valuables, or they would be thrown into the Bosphorus. And if they had the good fortune to have as their passenger a timid man they demanded that every article of dress should be given up so that they might be assured that nothing was concealed. Some of the more courageous and defiant, instead of complying with this peremptory request, took a revolver from a pocket, pointed it at the gentlemen at the oars, and suggested that as soon as they ceased to row they would have a lump of lead put into their heads. Whereupon they usually did as they were told. In cases of this kind the oars were taken from them as soon as the captain was put aboard and they were then set adrift. It was believed that several captains who never turned up were overpowered, robbed, and then thrown overboard.

The weather from the middle of October had been fitful and treacherous. On November 14, 1854, a terrible hurricane burst on the Crimean coast and wrecked nearly the whole of the British transports which lay at anchor in the roadsteads. Several warships and transports belonging to the French were wrecked. The British war vessels suffered severely, but none were said to have been lost. The loss of property was estimated at over a million, and the loss of life between 1,500 and 2,000. The devastation and suffering ashore was also very terrible. The news of the frightful disaster came to Constantinople on the night that the Seaflower was pillaged. Instructions were given to send on supplies; the captain of the Boadicea was among those who received orders to proceed off Sevastopol without delay. Wilkins was in great distress at having to part from the man whom he regarded as his friend and faithful adviser. Tugs were sent to tow the vessels through the Bosphorus into the Black Sea. A fresh wind blew from the west, and in four days after leaving, Captain Macvie anchored his ship in Sevastopol Roads, and many weeks elapsed before a particle of cargo was taken out and landed for the benefit of the much neglected soldiers--such was the disorganized condition of the service. Macvie and his crew saw many a skirmish and several pitched battles during their five months' stay in the vicinity of wild wreck and ruin. In April, 1855, the cargo had been all landed and instructions were given to sail at once for Constantinople. In due course they arrived there, and received orders to go on to Smyrna, to load hay and oats. Six weeks after passing down, she anchored in Scutari and lay there until peace was declared in 1856, when orders were given to take the cargo to Portsmouth. After about two years' absence the Boadicea arrived in England; and on squaring up her accounts it was found that she had cleared more than twice her original cost. Mr Rockfeller received his fortunate and esteemed captain with much favour, and was not many minutes in his presence before he intimated with an air of generosity that he would sell his shares at par.

"I think," said he, "that you ought to hold half the vessel."

"Very good," said Macvie, "I will pay you cash for the number of shares I require to make up my half share, but you must not ask me to pay the original cost price."

"Macvie," said Rockfeller, "I wish you to be reminded that I gave you eight shares to work off when you joined me. I fear you allow your national love of money to lure you into forgetfulness."

"No, no," said the shrewd Scotchman; "you are wrong. I do not forget you having done what you say, nor do I forget that I have paid you a good price for what you were good enough to give me, and it is as well that your attention should be drawn to the fact that, owing to my foresight in chartering with the Government, the vessel has more than twice paid for herself in less than two years. Besides, if you are not satisfied with my services I have a very tempting offer from another firm."

At this stage Mr Rockfeller showed signs of nervous twitching, and interposed by assuming an injured air:

"Really, Captain Macvie, you must be reasonable, and not talk of other firms bidding for your services. I feel you are more than a match for me, and the thought of it makes me wish I had been born and reared a Scotchman. I know I am weak, but you may have the shares at any price you name; only don't be too exacting."

"Very good," replied Macvie, "they are mine at L1,000."

Rockfeller looked aghast, and again appealed to his sense of justice. The bargain was closed at L200 more.

Mr Rockfeller became transfixed with the thought of his own generous simplicity. He soliloquised, "I think I must have been born to become the victim of a stronger will than my own. Nature, I am assured, has freaked with me. Yes, Captain Macvie, you are in many ways the antithesis of myself; and my experience of you is very similar to the description given of a horse by the melancholy though eloquent Arab. I think these words describe our relations, my young friend, though the superb old philosopher who is reported to have said them never anticipated that they would be used in any such way: 'Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men: he mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted: neither turneth he back from the sword. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha! and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains and the shouting.'"

"If," said the commander, "you mean these words of holy writ to apply to me, I am gratified, but fear you have under-estimated their grandeur and their real meaning. They pulsate the air, and make the heart throb with a conviction that the world of literature would have been poorer had they not been written. And now, Mr Rockfeller, let us cease further attempts at satire, and get to business. I wish to visit my parents who are very old; but before doing so I should like to have our little transaction settled and the future employment of the vessel arranged." The request was duly complied with in both respects.

The reunion of every branch of the Macvie family to do honour to the Captain and his wife was the occasion of great rejoicing. He had promised, long years before, on the eve of entering upon the real battle of life, that he would not return until he was a Captain, and may-be an owner, and he now presented himself with pride and modesty at the old homestead, thronged with a vast number of friends who came to welcome and congratulate him on having become both. After the flow of greeting had subsided, he requested a private interview with his father and mother. He informed them that a great joy had come into his life in being able to give a bankers' order for the payment of four pounds per month to them as long as they lived. The saintly couple's mental process became confused. They entered upon a long disquisition of how much affluence might affect their humility and endanger their religious life. The noble son urged that their faith in God was too strong to allow the possession of money to betray them into indifference. The father being spokesman replied on behalf of his wife that they accepted this bountiful goodness, "And believe me, my son," he said, "our hearts are too full to say all we feel; but may the great God have you in His holy keeping, and preserve you from the snares and fascinations of worldliness."

And the aged mother interjected by adding a supplementary petition that he should be saved from succumbing to the dangers of his profession.

"Take this present from your father and me," she added, handing him a new Bible which she had kept concealed under her black silk apron until the opportune moment came, "and when you are tossed on the troubled ocean, read about Jesus and the sea, and trust in the Lord to bring you back to us."

These simple words were delivered with compressed vehemence. A big lump stuck in Archie's throat, for he felt that it was his mother's farewell benediction, and that he would never see either of them on earth again. He would have liked to have responded in a few endearing phrases, but a dumb pain seized his heart and made him inarticulate. He tenderly embraced the old people and passed from their presence with a heavy heart, impressed with a consciousness that their next meeting would be beyond the tomb. A large procession of townspeople met at the station, in order to give the Captain and his wife a hearty send-off. Even the Provost came to say good-bye to them.

On their arrival home they found a letter had come from their friend Captain Wilkins. It was dated from Malta, and told a sickening tale of many disasters before getting away from Scutari. Two attempts at robbery had failed at the cost of one of the crew losing his life, and another being seriously wounded. Wilkins wrote: "It was bad policy making any noise about the big robbery, as it only made them revengeful." This news distressed the Macvies, but they could do nothing more than extend their sympathy, and this was tactfully and ungrudgingly given.

Captain Macvie had a long clean record of success. His popularity among his contemporaries was a growing process. No signs of rivalry were seen. He was looked up to as an authority, not only on nautical matters, but social, political and religious questions were well within his grasp. On one memorable occasion, when he was at home, a church meeting was called to consider the minister's relation in regard to his people. It was thought that he was not sound on sanctification, and one or two little matters that did not exactly bear on sanctification--a love affair, in fact. The gallant captain took the side of his minister, and put such a convincing case before his audience that a large majority declared the accusation not proven. There was wild excitement at this meeting; the hostile faction were rancorous about the captain being put up, as they assumed he could not possibly know all the facts; but both sides were one in admitting that his fame as a debater and an orator was established. So general was this belief that many of his adversaries congratulated him on having delivered a most eloquent speech.

The desire to sail with this distinguished man seized me like a vice. I determined as soon as I was free (for I was at that time an apprentice) nothing would prevent me from asking him to allow me to serve as an able seaman in the vessel which now entirely belonged to him. In a few days after making the memorable speech at his church, the Boadicea was sailing down Channel on her way to the Black Sea. Mrs Macvie was aboard. She nearly always accompanied her husband, and was a good English woman, to whom the captain owed much for her thrifty habits and sound judgement. All the officers and most of the crew had sailed continuously with him since he took command. Curly, who had served aboard a pirate schooner, became quite an institution. He was very popular, and so were his pirate stories when he could be persuaded to tell them. He had served Macvie as A. B., boatswain, and was now steward. They had been to Taganrog and loaded a cargo of tallow for London. A gentle levanter was wafting them through the Archipelago. When they got abreast of the north end of Zea Island they observed a brigantine coming romping up to them under a cloud of sail. In light winds the Boadicea did not sail fast. The breakfast bell had been rung, and as the captain was passing into the companion, Curly, who was standing close to, intimated that the following vessel was a pirate ship, and that she would soon overhaul them if the wind did not strengthen. Curly was always addressed as "Johnny" by Mrs Macvie, who was very fond of him, and as "Jake" by her husband, with whom he was a great favourite. The lady observed the concerned manner of the captain, and requested him to confer with Johnny as to the method of resistance should the schooner run alongside and the pirates attempt to come aboard. "He knows all about their tricks, and what they like and what they don't; let us hear what he has to say, Archie," said Mrs Macvie. So forthwith Jake was called into their presence. This resourceful gentleman was quite elated at the prospect of having some fun, as he termed it. His recommendations were of a very painful and drastic character. He talked of putting them into practice in a cool, frosty-blooded way which caused the lady and her husband to shudder. "It is too dreadful, Johnny," remarked Mrs Macvie; "surely what you say has never been resorted to, even to defeat the objects of pirates?"

"I don't suppose it has," said the sanguinary John; "but if you wish to save your property and the lives of yourselves and your crew, you will have to stick at nothing. My advice is, do your best to show them a clean pair of heels. If you get plenty of wind in the narrows you will easily do it; but be prepared for the worst. This is my plan: have everything that will hold in, filled with boiling water, boiling oil, and boiling pitch; have the old muskets ready for firing. If they ask you to shorten sail, don't do so. They will then run alongside, and as soon as they put their hands on the rail, blind them with boiling liquid. Then shoot with the rifles, and they won't want much telling to go away."

The chase was long and exciting. Sometimes the pirate vessel was very nearly within gun range, then the breeze would strengthen and she would fall astern. This alternate gaining and losing continued all day, until the sun went down behind the mountains far away to the north of them, and seemed to carry with it the breeze on which they had to depend for their safety. The chasing vessel gathered way as soon as the wind fell light, and the people of the Boadicea saw that all hope of avoiding a fight must be discounted. Curly advised having it before darkness came on, but there was no need to wish for this as the stern inevitable had come. The pirates had almost within their grasp their expected prize, but were doomed to meet with a terrible penalty. They put their craft alongside, and about a score of men made a jump for the rail, when the intrepid Jake, who had full charge of the plan of defence and attack, shouted: "Now boys, pour it on them smartly!" and in an instant the pirates were an agonized rabble. Some of them jumped into the sea; others fell back on to their own vessel; two got on to the Boadicea's deck, but were promptly put over the side. Boiling oil and pitch as well as boiling water were thrown aboard the schooner, so that even those who did not attempt a boarding did not escape the awful consequences of their piratical invasion. As soon as Captain Macvie saw that the punishment had been so great that they would more than probably never fight again, he tried to steer clear, but found the braces and other ropes had become entangled with the foreyard, which broke, and then the vessels separated. The stillness of the night was made a horror by the piteous moans that floated over the level sea, and excited the sympathy of the men who were compelled to inflict the suffering in order to preserve their own safety. They felt an instinctive desire to launch a boat and go to the succour of their victims. Curly, who knew the desperate character of these fearful men, advised his shipmates to have neither remorse nor pity. He assured them that the lesson given to the miscreants would not prevent those who might recover or those who had received no injury from taking to their trade with the same thievish and murderous zeal as they had practised heretofore.

"Do not talk of your conscience when you think of these devils," said he, "for, believe me, theirs are frozen, and all they want is a new crew and fresh opportunity, and they won't mince matters with us or any other ship's company. There is one thing, they won't be deceived in a hurry into the belief that they have a soft thing on because no apparent resistance is made; they will try to do some shooting first. They won't forget the effects of boiling oil and pitch. But let us cease chattering about them and get our rigging and sails repaired. We may need to have everything staunch and strong, as the sky is threatening mischief."

It took the crew four hours to repair the damage, and as they did so the wail of the suffering wretches became fainter and fainter, until it had faded away into space, or it may be that their hearts had ceased to throb. After things were settled down and the vessel was slashing through a passage which leads into the Mediterranean Sea with a fresh easterly wind, the faithful steward, who had provided a substantial meal for the captain and officers, was informed by the former that he and his crew were indebted to him for the ghastly achievements of the day. "But Jake, my boy, I almost wish we hadn't done it."