12/22/03

Overboard in the Red Sea. An ocean of milk. Homeward bound. Back to Portsmouth.

We left Bombay under forced draft and headed for Aden, at the mouth of the Red Sea. There we took on supplies and mail from one of the P. & O. boats, and continued to Suez.

The Straits of Babel Mandeb were passed in the evening with all sail set and a spanking breeze. I was called for the middle watch, and on reaching deck noticed that the wind was strengthening. At four bells the boatswain’s mate pipe:

“In royals and mizzen t’gallant sail!”

Under such an order my station was in the mizzen top, and on reaching the crosstree I saw that one man was missing from the lee side. Without waiting for him to appear, I swung out on the yard and prepared to furl the sail. The yard had not been pointed to the wind, and as the jackstay had been nailed down so that I could not get my fingers under, I leaned over, using my elbow for a brace. Before I could bring up the slack of the sails, a vicious gust of wind caught it from below, bellied out the canvas, threw my arm off the yard, and I dropped, yelling “Man overboard!” as I fell into the sea.

The lifebuoys of the Glasgow hung at the stern. They were released by a bell-like arrangement, and as they fell a cord would snap a friction tube, which in turn would ignite a port fire laid on a plate over the center of the buoy, in order to light up the sea and show up the man overboard to the rescuers. In this case the ignition was out of order, and when the sentry on duty pulled the bell, neither of the two struck a fire, and I saw nothing of them.

The lifeboats’ crew had already been called, and as I rose to the surface I saw a cutter drop from the davits with a crash that almost swamped it. A second lifeboat was called, and in the distance, as the ship sailed away from, I heard the order to shorten sail and “Bout ship!” as more boats were lowered for my rescue. I lay on my back paddling, making no attempt to swim but reserving my strength for the time when a boat should come near. The first cutter started to make a wide sweep around where I lay, and I counted seven more that were launched, but none of them came within hailing distance. The inky darkness made the illuminated ship stand out in bold relief, and I could hear some of the orders from the quarterdeck as they wafted to me by the gale. The upper sails were being taken in as the ship was being brought into the wind.

All this had taken place in less time than it takes to write it, and the frigate was not more than a quarter of a mile away. Her head was slowly passing the eye of the wind, and the sails were beginning to backfill when the order came:

“Raise tacks and sheets; let go to’ gallant bowlines!”

The lower corners of the course were raised so that they would clear the hammock nettings.

“Haul well taut the main brace!”

“Mainsail haul!”

With four hundred men on the ropes double-banked, running head long in different directions, the great fabric of timber and canvas was swung around as if on a pivot, and the ship was now hove to and drifting back on her wake. Meantime, one by one the boats were working back to the ship and were hoisted on board, while I, still paddling myself over the combers, was reviewing my past life and wondering if this was the spot where the Egyptians met their Waterloo when chasing Moses and his Israelites into the Land of Canaan. I also wondered whether sharks went to sleep at night.

At last all the boats had trailed back to the ship except the first cutter, which had made a wider sweep than the other and was also turning to go in, leaving me to my fate. As it came on I calculated when it should be nearest to me as it made for home, and then it was that I began to fight for life and strike out with all my strength. Rising on a high wave I gave forth a blood-curdling yell, and was rewarded by hearing “Give way starboard! Back port!”

At that moment I knew my voice had been heard, and I fought my way towards the boat with every cause of strength. The cutter was pointed directly for me, and as I slipped under the oars the lieutenant in charge caught me by the hair and towed me to the stern, where strong arms pulled me into the lifeboat.

In the cutter was one of the life buoys, but the other was lost and they came near losing me. We closed in on the ship and I was hoisted on board, put into my bunk with dry clothes, and given a tot of rum. The next day I was running around the ship relating my adventure.

Arriving at Suez, the Viceroy’s casket was transferred to the “Enchantress,” the paddle-wheel yacht of Queen Victoria, which had been waiting for us at the canal entrance, and this done the “Glasgow” started on her return to our station.

We had then been over two years in India waters, and for the following twelve months we flitted from one port to another, mostly to isolated places that had known the presence of a warship for years, finally winding up at Trincomalee to refit for the home voyage and await the coming of our relief ship, the “Undaunted.”

The land-locked structure of Trincomalee harbor gives it acoustic qualities of high order, so that when the “Undaunted” arrived and made her anchorage half a mile away, we had concerts at night in which every sound on board one ship could be heard by the other. As both ships had instrumental music, the effect of the singing of song on one ship, with the chorus by the other, gave us an entertainment not equaled by our present-day radio.

The day at last came to leave for England, and the route was to be through the Suez Canal. The two ships were dressed for the occasion with flags from stem to stern, with the addition of a homeward bound streamer that reached far into our wake from the main royal. As we steamed out of the harbor our yards were manned in honor of the Admiral we were leaving behind, and I, with a signal flag in each hand, was standing on the main royal truck with the lightening conductor between my legs for a brace, waving the flags. No one noticed this freak of mine, but the vibration of the propeller gave me all I could do to keep in balance.

We were nearing the bar at the mouth of the harbor, which at high tide we would not have noticed, but now it was only half tide, and although it was a sandy bottom it gave the ship such a jolt that I was left without a foothold, and dropped like a plummet into the maze of ropes around the topmast. Instinctively my hands grasped one of them, which checked my fall and at the same time burned a channel across the palm of my hand, the scar of which I carry to this day. For this monkey trick of mine I had to do double duty for three days.

On the fourth day out we passed through one of those rare sights that occur in the Indian Ocean, known as “milky sea.” In the daylight the water had a grayish hue, but after nightfall it was white as milk. No one on board had heard of such a phenomenon before, and the thought that we had run into an area of submarine disturbance and shoal water gave us a scare. Drawing a bucket of it revealed phosphorescence in exaggerated form, and stirring the water made it resemble a bucket of disintegrated flame. We ran out of it before midnight.

The next day we called at Aden, and a week later dropped our anchor at Suez. Passing through the canal, we called at Malta, Gibraltar, and Vigo, having completed the circling of the continent of Africa during our absence.

The “homeward bound” feeling on board was quite different from the atmosphere on our way out. Then the men, while not despondent, had a resigned look as if they regarded the coming four years at a foreign station as one of the breaks in the game; but going home instilled in them a hilarity that did not wear off, and they made the skies ring with the song:

“When we arrive in the Portsmouth docks,

The pretty girls come down in flocks.

And one to another you’ll hear them say:

‘Here comes Jack with his four years’ pay,

‘Hurrah! He’s homeward bound!’”