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 Introduction to Computation
and Programming Using
Python
with Application to Computational Modeling
and Understanding Data
 Introduction to Computation
and Programming Using
Python
with Application to Computational Modeling
and Understanding Data
third edition

John V. Guttag

The MIT Press

Cambridge, Massachusetts
London, England
© 2021 Massachusetts Institute of Technology

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or
mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval)
without permission in writing from the publisher.

This book was set in Minion Pro by New Best-set Typesetters Ltd.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Guttag, John, author.

Title: Introduction to computation and programming using Python : with application to
computational modeling and understanding data / John V. Guttag.
Description: Third edition. | Cambridge, Massachusetts : The MIT Press, [2021] | Includes
index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020036760 | ISBN 9780262542364 (paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Python (Computer program language)—Textbooks. | Computer
programming—Textbooks.
Classification: LCC QA76.73.P98 G88 2021 | DDC 005.13/3—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020036760

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

d_r0
To my family:

Olga
David
Andrea
Michael
Mark
Addie
Pierce
 CONTENTS

PREFACE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
1: GETTING STARTED
2: INTRODUCTION TO PYTHON
3: SOME SIMPLE NUMERICAL PROGRAMS
4: FUNCTIONS, SCOPING, AND ABSTRACTION
5: STRUCTURED TYPES AND MUTABILITY
6: RECURSION AND GLOBAL VARIABLES
7: MODULES AND FILES
8: TESTING AND DEBUGGING
9: EXCEPTIONS AND ASSERTIONS
10: CLASSES AND OBJECT-ORIENTED PROGRAMMING
11: A SIMPLISTIC INTRODUCTION TO ALGORITHMIC
COMPLEXITY
12: SOME SIMPLE ALGORITHMS AND DATA STRUCTURES
13: PLOTTING AND MORE ABOUT CLASSES
14: KNAPSACK AND GRAPH OPTIMIZATION PROBLEMS
15: DYNAMIC PROGRAMMING
16: RANDOM WALKS AND MORE ABOUT DATA
VISUALIZATION
17: STOCHASTIC PROGRAMS, PROBABILITY, AND
DISTRIBUTIONS
 18: MONTE CARLO SIMULATION
19: SAMPLING AND CONFIDENCE
20: UNDERSTANDING EXPERIMENTAL DATA
21: RANDOMIZED TRIALS AND HYPOTHESIS CHECKING
22: LIES, DAMNED LIES, AND STATISTICS
23: EXPLORING DATA WITH PANDAS
24: A QUICK LOOK AT MACHINE LEARNING
25: CLUSTERING
26: CLASSIFICATION METHODS
PYTHON 3.8 QUICK REFERENCE
INDEX

List of figures

Chapter 1
Figure 1-1 Flowchart of getting dinner
Chapter 2
Figure 2-1 Anaconda startup window
Figure 2-2 Spyder window
Figure 2-3 Operators on types int and float
Figure 2-4 Binding of variables to objects
Figure 2-5 Flowchart for conditional statement
Figure 2-6 Flowchart for iteration
Figure 2-7 Squaring an integer, the hard way
Figure 2-8 Hand simulation of a small program
Figure 2-9 Using a for statement
Chapter 3
Figure 3-1 Using exhaustive enumeration to find the cube root
Figure 3-2 Using exhaustive enumeration to test primality
Figure 3-3 A more efficient primality test
Figure 3-4 Approximating the square root using exhaustive
enumeration
Figure 3-5 Using bisection search to approximate square root
Figure 3-6 Using bisection search to estimate log base 2
Figure 3-7 Implementation of Newton–Raphson method
Chapter 4
Figure 4-1 Using bisection search to approximate square root
of x
Figure 4-2 Summing a square root and a cube root
Figure 4-3 A function for finding roots
Figure 4-4 Code to test find_root
Figure 4-5 Nested scopes
Figure 4-6 Stack frames
Figure 4-7 A function definition with a specification
Figure 4-8 Splitting find_root into multiple functions
Figure 4-9 Generalizing bisection_solve
Figure 4-10 Using bisection_solve to approximate logs
Chapter 5
Figure 5-1 Two lists
Figure 5-2 Two lists that appear to have the same value, but
don't
Figure 5-3 Demonstration of mutability
Figure 5-4 Common methods associated with lists
Figure 5-5 Applying a function to elements of a list
Figure 5-6 Common operations on sequence types
Figure 5-7 Comparison of sequence types
Figure 5-8 Some methods on strings
Figure 5-9 Translating text (badly)
Figure 5-10 Some common operations on dicts
Chapter 6
Figure 6-1 Iterative and recursive implementations of factorial
Figure 6-2 Growth in population of female rabbits
Figure 6-3 Recursive implementation of Fibonacci sequence
Figure 6-4 Palindrome testing
Figure 6-5 Code to visualize palindrome testing
Figure 6-6 Using a global variable
Chapter 7
Figure 7-1 Some code related to circles and spheres
Figure 7-2 Common functions for accessing files
Chapter 8
Figure 8-1 Testing boundary conditions
Figure 8-2 Not the first bug
Figure 8-3 Program with bugs
Chapter 9
Figure 9-1 Using exceptions for control flow
Figure 9-2 Control flow without a try-except
Figure 9-3 Get grades
Chapter 10
Figure 10-1 Class Int_set
Figure 10-2 Using magic methods
Figure 10-3 Class Person
Figure 10-4 Class MIT_person
Figure 10-5 Two kinds of students
Figure 10-6 Class Grades
Figure 10-7 Generating a grade report
Figure 10-8 Information hiding in classes
Figure 10-9 New version of get_students
Figure 10-10 Mortgage base class
Figure 10-11 Mortgage subclasses
Chapter 11
Figure 11-1 Using exhaustive enumeration to approximate
square root
Figure 11-2 Using bisection search to approximate square root
Figure 11-3 Asymptotic complexity
Figure 11-4 Implementation of subset test
Figure 11-5 Implementation of list intersection
Figure 11-6 Generating the power set
Figure 11-7 Constant, logarithmic, and linear growth
Figure 11-8 Linear, log-linear, and quadratic growth
Figure 11-9 Quadratic and exponential growth
Chapter 12
Figure 12-1 Implementing lists
Figure 12-2 Linear search of a sorted list
Figure 12-3 Recursive binary search
Figure 12-4 Selection sort
Figure 12-5 Merge sort
Figure 12-6 Sorting a list of names
Figure 12-7 Implementing dictionaries using hashing
Chapter 13
Figure 13-1 A simple plot
Figure 13-2 Contents of Figure-Jane.png (left) and Figure-
Addie.png (right)
Figure 13-3 Produce plots showing compound growth
Figure 13-4 Plots showing compound growth
Figure 13-5 Another plot of compound growth
Figure 13-6 Strange-looking plot
Figure 13-7 Class Mortgage with plotting methods
Figure 13-8 Subclasses of Mortgage
Figure 13-9 Compare mortgages
Figure 13-10 Generate mortgage plots
Figure 13-11 Monthly payments of different kinds of mortgages
Figure 13-12 Cost over time of different kinds of mortgages
Figure 13-13 Balance remaining and net cost for different kinds
of mortgages
Figure 13-14 Simulation of spread of an infectious disease
Figure 13-15 Function to plot history of infection
Figure 13-16 Produce plot with a single set of parameters
Figure 13-17 Static plot of number of infections
Figure 13-18 Interactive plot with initial slider values
Figure 13-19 Interactive plot with changed slider values
Chapter 14
Figure 14-1 Table of items
Figure 14-2 Class Item
Figure 14-3 Implementation of a greedy algorithm
Figure 14-4 Using a greedy algorithm to choose items
Figure 14-5 Brute-force optimal solution to the 0/1 knapsack
problem
Figure 14-6 The bridges of Königsberg (left) and Euler's
simplified map (right)
Figure 14-7 Nodes and edges
Figure 14-8 Classes Graph and Digraph
Figure 14-9 Depth-first-search shortest-path algorithm
Figure 14-10 Test depth-first-search code
Figure 14-11 Breadth-first-search shortest path algorithm
Chapter 15
Figure 15-1 Tree of calls for recursive Fibonacci
Figure 15-2 Implementing Fibonacci using a memo
Figure 15-3 Table of items with values and weights
Figure 15-4 Decision tree for knapsack problem
Figure 15-5 Using a decision tree to solve a knapsack problem
Figure 15-6 Testing the decision tree-based implementation
Figure 15-7 Dynamic programming solution to knapsack
problem
Figure 15-8 Performance of dynamic programming solution
Chapter 16
Figure 16-1 An unusual farmer
Figure 16-2 Location and Field classes
Figure 16-3 Classes defining Drunks
Figure 16-4 The drunkard's walk (with a bug)
Figure 16-5 Distance from starting point versus steps taken
Figure 16-6 Subclasses of Drunk base class
Figure 16-7 Iterating over styles
Figure 16-8 Plotting the walks of different drunks
Figure 16-9 Mean distance for different kinds of drunks
Figure 16-10 Plotting final locations
Figure 16-11 Where the drunk stops
Figure 16-12 Tracing walks
Figure 16-13 Trajectory of walks
Figure 16-14 Fields with strange properties
Figure 16-15 A strange walk
Chapter 17
Figure 17-1 Roll die
Figure 17-2 Flipping a coin
Figure 17-3 Regression to the mean
Figure 17-4 Illustration of regression to mean
Figure 17-5 Plotting the results of coin flips
Figure 17-6 The law of large numbers at work
Figure 17-7 The law of large numbers at work
Figure 17-8 Variance and standard deviation
Figure 17-9 Helper function for coin-flipping simulation
Figure 17-10 Coin-flipping simulation
Figure 17-11 Convergence of heads/tails ratios
Figure 17-12 Absolute differences
Figure 17-13 Mean and standard deviation of heads - tails
Figure 17-14 Coefficient of variation
Figure 17-15 Final version of flip_plot
Figure 17-16 Coefficient of variation of heads/tails and
abs(heads – tails)
Figure 17-17 A large number of trials
Figure 17-18 Income distribution in Australia
Figure 17-19 Code and the histogram it generates
Figure 17-20 Plot histograms of coin flips
Figure 17-21 Histograms of coin flips
Figure 17-22 PDF for random.random
Figure 17-23 PDF for Gaussian distribution
Figure 17-24 A normal distribution
Figure 17-25 Plot of absolute value of x
Figure 17-26 Checking the empirical rule
Figure 17-27 Produce plot with error bars
Figure 17-28 Estimates with error bars
Figure 17-29 Exponential clearance of molecules
Figure 17-30 Exponential decay
Figure 17-31 Plotting exponential decay with a logarithmic axis
Figure 17-33 A geometric distribution
Figure 17-32 Producing a geometric distribution
Figure 17-34 Simulating a hash table
Figure 17-35 World Series simulation
Figure 17-36 Probability of winning a 7-game series
Chapter 18
Figure 18-1 Checking Pascal's analysis
Figure 18-2 Craps_game class
Figure 18-3 Simulating a craps game
Figure 18-4 Using table lookup to improve performance
Figure 18-5 Unit circle inscribed in a square
Figure 18-6 Estimating π
Chapter 19
Figure 19-1 The first few lines in bm_results2012.csv
Figure 19-2 Read data and produce plot of Boston Marathon
Figure 19-3 Boston Marathon finishing times
Figure 19-4 Sampling finishing times
Figure 19-5 Analyzing a small sample
Figure 19-6 Effect of variance on estimate of mean
Figure 19-7 Compute and plot sample means
Figure 19-8 Sample means
Figure 19-9 Estimating the mean of a continuous die
Figure 19-10 An illustration of the CLT
Figure 19-11 Produce plot with error bars
Figure 19-12 Estimates of finishing times with error bars
Figure 19-13 Standard error of the mean
Figure 19-14 Sample standard deviation vs. population
standard deviation
Figure 19-15 Sample standard deviations
Figure 19-16 Estimating the population mean 10,000 times
Chapter 20
Figure 20-1 A classic experiment
Figure 20-2 Extracting the data from a file
Figure 20-3 Plotting the data
Figure 20-4 Displacement of spring
Figure 20-5 Fitting a curve to data
Figure 20-6 Measured points and linear model
Figure 20-7 Linear and cubic fits
Figure 20-8 Using the model to make a prediction
Figure 20-9 A model up to the elastic limit
Figure 20-10 Data from projectile experiment
Figure 20-11 Plotting the trajectory of a projectile
Another random document with
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garrison was soon given up, the colony abandoned, and all returned
to the Cape of Good Hope, except a Scotchman, named Glass, who
had been a corporal of artillery, and his wife, who was a Cape
Creole. As time went on other families joined them, and thus a
nation on a small scale was formed, Mr. Glass, the founder, being the
chief law-giver for all. The little colony increased as the years passed
away, a considerable number of children having been born since the
settlement. The different families built cottages and thatched them
with the long grass of the island, and they had every appearance of
English cleanliness and comfort. The north side of the island was
well-cultivated by them, they are a quiet, industrious, social lot of
people. The last time I came this route there were 107 people living
on the island, 61 men and 46 women, they possessed 114 head of
cattle, 37 sheep, 70 pigs, and about 300 fowls. They also have a
Commonwealth Government, with a vigilance committee to keep
order. The produce of the island, you will see for yourselves, as four
whale boats are being put off from it now.”
As Mr. Weeler finished speaking we thanked him, and turned out
attention to the boats now rapidly approaching us, and it was not
very long before they came alongside the ship and we saw that they
were loaded with potatoes, cabbages, lettuce, water-cress, eggs,
fowls, young pigs, birdskins, and a few large albatross eggs,
weighing about two pounds each. For this stock they wanted in
exchange tea, sugar, peas, molasses, and rice, and, of course,
wanted twice the value of their own stock, needless to say they did
not get this. They also gave us another interesting item of news,
which, to Jones and me, who had been listening to Mr. Weeler’s
graphic description of the island and its history, made it doubly
interesting, a clergyman had arrived on the island a few weeks
before to take up his residence amongst them, and during his first
week on the island had the pleasure of uniting thirty-three couples in
marriage. They seemed very pleased to impart this news, and after a
great deal of hand-shaking and many “hurrahs,” they got into their
boats again, well pleased with their bargains, and pulled for the
shore. Our yards were trimmed to the wind, and with a brisk breeze
we continued our voyage.
A few days after leaving these islands the weather became very
rough and boisterous, with mountainous seas running after the ship
and threatening to swamp her every moment. But she rose nobly to
her duty and remained staunch and tight. Our sails were reduced to
lower top-gallant-sail and the dear old ship was staggering under the
pressure of her canvas. I was in my element, as happy as a bird, and
in the best of health. How I loved the sea in all its moods, whether
wild and restless or calm and still, and the life on board with its ups
and downs seemed to entwine itself more and more around my
heart every day. The more I saw of the work of the ship the more I
loved it, and put my heart into all I did, and I was making good
progress, and was a fair helmsman in moderate weather, fairly
proficient in making all sorts of knots, splices, etc. Both officers and
sailors were doing their best for me, and were quite as willing to
teach me as I was to learn, and I felt that there was nothing to
complain of and much to be thankful for.
On the fourth of September we sighted the desolate islands of St.
Paul and Amsterdam, passing close to them to see if there were any
shipwrecked seamen on them, so many vessels and their crews were
lost on that track, that the English Government have built a hut and
erected a flagstaff on the island. A man-of-war visits the island and
leaves provisions at intervals, with written instructions that anyone
who has the misfortune to be shipwrecked, may use the provisions
but not waste them, and they are requested to hoist the flag on the
flagstaff, as all vessels going that route are expected to be on the
look-out for the flag and take off anyone who may be stranded
there. These islands are volcanic and have nothing on them to
support life. As the flag was not hoisted when we passed, we
concluded that there was no one there.
From thence we had a succession of westerly gales right up to
Snares Rocks off the South Island of New Zealand. The crew were
merely standing by to attend sails if required, the wind and sea
being too rough to do any work about the decks, and many an hour
did I spend under the forecastle head listening to their yarns of
other lands and of other ships they had been in, of hairbreadth
escapes and shipwrecks. How eagerly I listened and how it stirred
my heart, until I almost fancied I had been through such adventures
myself.
On the night watches the second mate kept me aft on the poop to
pass the word along if the men were required. One night when
about a hundred miles off the South Island of New Zealand, the gale
suddenly died away, and it fell dead calm, with a high sea, such as I
had not seen, running. The ship wallowed and rolled unmercifully
until every bone in our bodies ached with tumbling about. The
officers were afraid of the masts coming down with a crash. All night
the water fell on her decks in huge green seas, sometimes it seemed
as if she had settled down, then she rolled and rose gradually, the
water washing from side to side like cataracts, until about a foot
remained on her decks, then another sea would sweep aboard, and
under its sudden weight the ship would quiver and stagger like a
frightened steed. Sometimes she literally seemed to buckle fore and
aft, at others she laboured like a frightened animal, the tumult of
seas literally leaping aboard the ship, until she seemed a mere
plaything of the elements. And so the night passed and the day
slowly followed, now and then the sea would rise above the rail so
high that it looked as though nothing could save us from being
engulfed, but by a merciful Providence the vessel lived through it.
Then, towards evening, the gale moderated a bit, the night came on
with a densely eerie darkness—pitch-dark the sailors called it—with
the sea still like a boiling pot, still tumbling on board and filling the
decks.
About midnight we heard a loud report to the south, and
immediately out of the blackness great flames shot up, and we saw
huge columns of smoke with flames darting here and there. As the
fire increased we could see the outline of a large sailing ship. It was
on fire and we were powerless to render her any assistance. There
was not a breath of wind, the night was pitch dark, and no boat
could have lived five minutes in the sea that was running. We could
only look on and pray to God to help them. All hands were kept on
deck ready to work the sails should a breeze spring up or the sea go
down sufficiently to allow of the launching of a boat.
It was a terrible night, one never to be forgotten. “Oh, for a
breeze!” was the cry of all on board our ship, but no breeze came
and for four hours we had to watch a terrible struggle with death,
and feel we were helpless. We could see the flames like angry
demons leaping from shroud to shroud, and from yard to yard, then
only great dense volumes of smoke lit up by the flames behind.
Then again the awful flames would belch forth and light up the
whole heavens above them. We were too far off to distinguish any
human beings. God alone knew their sufferings and heard their
prayers, He alone saw that fight with death, and while we looked,
our hearts wrung with a sense of our helplessness, without a
moment’s warning, the ill-fated vessel disappeared, and the night
was black as before.
Our captain ordered several lights to be hung about the rigging, in
case there were any boats, rafts, etc., afloat, but none were seen,
and when towards daylight, a breeze springing up, our ship cruised
about to pick up anyone who might have escaped by any means, not
a vestige of the ship or boats could be seen to tell what ship she
was, and what port she was bound for, nothing but a quantity of
loose wreckage, so we continued our journey with sad hearts
thinking of the unfortunate ship and her ill-fated crew.
Towards noon the following day the sea fell dead calm, and
became as smooth as a millpond. A light breeze sprang up from the
north-east, and presently we ran into a large shoal of bottle-nosed
whales and grampus. The sea became thick with them, all leisurely
lolling and tumbling about on the surface, and many apparently
standing upright like great posts, or milestones in the sea. There
must have been hundreds of them. The sailors, on seeing them, said
we were in for a dressing down, the presence of the grampus on the
surface being a sure sign of dirty weather, and their instinct or
superstition, whichever it is called, was correct again, and presently I
noticed that Mr. McLean, our chief mate was looking with earnest
eyes at the horizon astern. I looked too and saw a large black cloud
sailing up the sky exactly on a line with the course we were making.
I have never before or since seen a body of vapour wear such an
ugly look. Its hinder parts wore the true aspect of thunder; its brow
of pale sulphur, darkened into a swollen livid curve, its dreadful
shape made one think of some leviathan, a flying beast, a mighty
dragon, such as one reads about, or some huge horrible creature
descending from another world, casting its strange shadow over its
prey ere it descended to its work of destruction.
Little by little the cloud overtook us and then it overhung the
vessel like an immense black canopy plunging us and the sea around
into gloom and then passed on, but before midnight we were in the
midst of a fierce north-east gale or hurricane. Fortunately for us we
were partly sheltered by Stewart’s Island and did not get the high
sea that we should have got had we been further to the westward.
On it came with awful speed and fury. At first there was a stifling
heat in the atmosphere, then the clouds spread over the sky,
shutting out the stars, mysterious changes seemed to be taking
place in nature around, noiselessly for a time, then the war of the
elements began with a burst of heaven’s own artillery. At first it was
distant, muttering, prolonged and fitful, like the rattling musketry of
advancing skirmishers, soon a roar of deafening thunder rent the
sky, another and another followed with blinding flashes of lightning
between, corposant lights were seen on the yard arms, and the tips
of the masts, then the rain came down in torrents. For twenty-four
hours the hurricane lasted and the ship kept dodging under the lee
of the south end of Stewart’s Island, then gradually the storm
abated and the wind veered into the north-west, the ship was put on
her course for Wellington, where we arrived safely in a few days.
 CHAPTER IV

New Friends

I shall never forget the sensation that passed over me when the
“Bertie” dropped her anchor, and made fast to the railway wharf on
arrival at Wellington. It was my first foreign port, and we expected
to be there for four weeks before sailing for home. The sun was
setting as we dropped our anchor in what looked to me like a picture
I had seen of the Lake of Galilee, with the hills surrounding it, and
this was Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, the land of the
Maori Chiefs. There amongst those hills they had lived and fought
and died. I wondered if I should see any of them, or if there would
be any time to see something of the surroundings. I could scarcely
take my eyes off the hills, with their lights and shades of purple and
gold, bronze and scarlet, as the sun passed over the various strata of
which the hills are composed. Before turning in, Jones and I had
planned to go on shore together and see, as far as lay in our power,
all that there was to be seen.
The day after we arrived two ladies and a gentleman came on
board and asked if there were any boys or apprentices on the ship.
The first mate called Jones and I to where they were standing and
introduced us to them, and the ladies immediately gave us both an
invitation to tea that evening, at the same time telling Mr. McLean
they would look after us each evening during our stay to save us
from getting into bad company, of which there was too much round
the seaport. You may be sure Jones and I thanked them heartily,
and almost counted the hours that must elapse before we could go
over the shipside, after having been at sea three months.
 When they had left the ship I asked Mr. McLean who they were,
and why they troubled about two youngsters like Jones and I whom
they knew nothing about?
“My lad,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, “there are
plenty of kind hearts in the world, and here in Wellington several
ladies and gentlemen from the different churches have banded
themselves together for the sole purpose of looking after all the
sailor boys and apprentices that come into this port. Many a boy has
been saved from destruction by their kindness and care, for in a
place like this temptations abound, and before you know where you
are you are led astray.”
At five p.m., when the day’s work was done, we tidied ourselves
up and donned our best clothes, and at five-thirty two gentlemen
came on board for us, and we were soon walking along the wharf,
our escort pointing out all the places of interest as we left the
shipping behind us and came into Queen Street, and then turned
into a large house, at the door of which stood the ladies who had
given as the invitation. They gave us a hearty welcome, and hoped
we should feel at home with them. To our surprise and pleasure we
found there were eight boys, besides us, belonging to other ships
lying in the harbour. You may be sure any shyness we felt soon wore
away under the influence and the kindness of our hostess, the good
tea, and the exchange of views regarding our ships amongst us
boys, each, of course, thinking his own ship the best. After our
hostess had returned thanks to God for the meal we had just
finished, we went into another room. We then had some music and
sang a few hymns. Some of us played draughts, some dominoes,
and other parlour games, until seven-thirty, when one of the
gentlemen asked us if we would like to join the Order of Good
Templars. He explained to us what it meant and pointed out to us
that by belonging to this Order we could visit any lodge, if there was
one in a port that we called at, we should be made very welcome,
and at once find ourselves amongst friends. We both agreed, and
the other boys, who had already become members were very
pleased, telling us that we should like the lodge they were sure. At
eight o’clock we all went to the Temperance Hall a few doors further
up the street, there we were made members of the Order. The
members vied with each other in making us feel welcome and at
home, and I felt that if this was a sample of the evenings spent in
the “Good Templars’ Lodges,” that would be where mine would be
spent in any port where there was a lodge held. At the close of the
evening several of the members walked down to the ship with us,
and so ended one of the happiest evenings of my life.
It was with light happy hearts that Jones and I did our work the
next day. Both the chief and second mate asked us how we had
spent the evening, and seemed very glad that we had met with such
friends. My work seemed nothing, so much did I long for evening to
come.
At five-thirty our two friends came for us, and also some of the
other boys and we set off to see the places of interest. That night
we saw the Government Official Buildings, Lambton Quay, the
General Post Office, Custom House Quay, and the Public Hospital,
New Town. These buildings were all very imposing. We were also
told about the two earthquakes that had wrought such havoc in the
years 1848 and 1855, and how that it was a long time before the
effects had faded from the minds of the people, but once having got
over it, the buildings had gone on quickly, and where, a few years
ago, small farms stood, handsome villas and private residences had
sprung up.
Another time we went to see the Parliament Buildings. We also
had some side trips, to Lower Hut, and had tea at the Belle Vue
Gardens, then to Wainmomata on the Saturday, going by rail to
Lower Hut, and I had my first ride in a buggy to finish our journey.
Again some of the Lodge members made a party up, and we went
by steamer to Seatown and Haraka Bay, each day brought its work
and its pleasure, and each Sunday afternoon Mrs. Hamilton, our kind
friend and hostess, gave us writing materials and made us write to
our friends at home, she paid the postage, and herself posted the
letters for us.
 I had also seen several Maoris, one was a great, chief named Te
Araroa, he had his face tattoed all over, this was considered an
ornament, but I thought differently. Our last outing before leaving
the port was to the Lighthouse on Somes Island. Before leaving for
the ship that night Mrs. Hamilton gathered us all together and, after
singing a few hymns, she asked us to kneel with her in prayer. Never
shall I forget that prayer, and how she pleaded for us to be kept safe
from sin and shipwreck. May God, whom she loved, bless and
reward her for the great kindness she showed me and hundreds of
boys who came to the Port of Wellington.
We finished loading at last, and had to say good-bye to our kind-
hearted friends. Many of them came to see us off. Captain Crosbie
seemed very pleased, and when they had gone he turned to me
saying with a smile:
“You seem to have had a good time, boys.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, “a time I shall never forget, or Jones either.”
“That’s right, enjoy life while your hearts are young, it will help
you to do your work better, and give you pleasant things to think of
when you are old. Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything
beautiful, drink it in with all your eyes; it is a charmed draught, a
cup of blessing. It is God’s handwriting.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, and went to my work with a light heart.
We left the wharf in the early morning with a full cargo of wool,
tallow, hides, rabbit skins, etc., for London.
 CHAPTER V

Stormy Weather

We had fine clear weather when leaving Wellington, the sea was
smooth so that the “Bertie” made fair speed through the water with
every stitch of canvas set. When passing Chatham Islands we saw in
the distance an unusual disturbance on the surface of the water,
which, on our getting nearer, we found to be caused by a school of
bottle-nosed whales. Hundreds of them were playing about, turning
over and over on the surface of the water. The sailors said we should
have a gale before the day was out, and sure enough we had. At
sunset heavy woolly-looking clouds began to rise in the south and
the wind had a moaning, sad sound.
In search of information as usual, I went to the second mate, and
asked him how they could tell that a gale was near while the
weather was so beautifully fine.
“Ah, my boy,” he replied, “there are many signs that warn a
watchful seaman of the coming storm, first, the falling barometer,
then the appearance of the sky, then the swell, and the height the
seabirds fly. The sea, too, has a peculiar smell like stale kelp. Nature
has many ways of warning mariners to prepare for rough weather.
The Almighty never sends a storm without first warning his children
of its coming—look at that,” he continued, pointing to the sunset, it
was a showering of gold under the raven black wing of a cloud, and
the rolling sea was black and golden underneath that rain of
splendour. “That is another warning given to us by the great Master
Artist, much of the beauty and wonder of the sea lies in the lights
and shadows which the mighty mirror borrows from the heavens
above, many and marvellous, some awe-striking as the miracles of
old, are drawn by the pencil of the Great Hand.”
I looked up into his face, and dimly read the earnest thoughts
there, I felt more and more convinced that if there was on board the
“Bertie” a good man and a gentleman it was Mr. Weeler, and besides
this he was an ideal sailor and knew his work.
The storm was gathering force, the dancing white-capped waves
had given place to huge seas, the wind began to howl menacingly
about her as she bent over to the bidding of the swift succeeding
blasts. The heavy seas were at times breaking over the rail
amidships and flooding the decks, the crew were merely standing by
and reducing sail as the gale increased. Day after day the gale
lasted; the ship was under topsail and foresail, labouring heavily and
ploughing her way through the black waves, while the snowy foam
flew high over her stout bulwarks.
“Looks as though we are in for a hard time getting round, Mr.
McLean,” said Captain Crosbie to the chief mate, as he eyed the
barometer somewhat apprehensively, “the glass is still going down
and the air is thickening fast.”
“It looks like it, sir,” responded the chief mate grimly, “but the
‘Bertie’ is a good staunch ship, and she’ll weather it all right.”
There certainly was something weird and depressing about the
environment of the ship. The sky was hanging dark and lowering
above her, with never a ray of sunshine to pierce the gloom,
mysterious shapes darted hither and thither through the sullen
waters at her bow, while the mollymawks screeched through the
rigging and in her wake in scores.
Through those days of storm and stress, while the “Bertie” fought
bravely with the wind and the waves, I learned a lesson that was
stamped indelibly on my mind. Uncomfortable as it was on deck, I
could not bear to be cooped up below, and though there was no
work for me to do, yet I kept in the open air, loath to miss anything
of that gallant contest.
So fiercely did the seas break over our bows that the men could
not stay forrard, but were driven back to the waist of the ship, where
they stood against the bulwarks, each one, however, having taken
the precaution to secure himself with a bowline at his waist to
prevent him from being swept into the scuppers by the heavy seas
that leaped aboard from time to time.
Captain Crosbie had called me to the quarter deck and given me a
post at the foot of the mizzen-mast, where I was safe from the seas,
but partly exposed to the wind and spray, which I did not mind.
“Are you getting enough of the sea, my lad,” he said, standing
beside me, “you did not reckon on having such a time at this, I
expect?”
“Well hardly, sir,” I replied, “I thought the hurricane we had before
we reached Wellington bad enough, and had no idea a storm could
be so dreadful or keep up so long; but don’t think, sir, I’m wishing
myself ashore for all that, I’ve just got to learn to get used to all
weathers, that’s all about it.”
“That’s the only way to look at it, my boy,” Captain Crosbie replied,
and his voice sounded as if he was pleased, “sailors need stout
hearts, and those that haven’t them should stay on land, there are
no back doors at sea, but there are no slates and chimney-pots to
fall around our ears. The “Bertie” and I have weathered worse
storms than this.”
Time and again it seemed to me that this must surely be the worst
storm that ever raged, and that, good ship as the “Bertie” was, she
must give in to the terrible buffeting. In spite of our running under
almost bare poles the ship would again and yet again be pressed
down and down through the force of the blast, until her going over
on her beam ends seemed only a matter of another few seconds.
Then, if the wind eased for a moment, she would right herself, only
to be met by a yeasty surge leaping madly aboard, ready to sweep
the deck clear of everything that was not lashed beyond the
possibility of moving.
It was well that the men had secured themselves to the rail by the
bow-lines, or the waves would surely have washed them off the ship
to a watery grave. The cook had a terrible time, for the men had to
have meals, even if the storm still raged, and he was at his wits end
how to prepare them, and more than once his big pot of soup that
we were all looking anxiously for, was sent flying into the lee
scuppers by a wave bursting into the galley, and the getting of the
captain’s dinner into the cabin was a gymnastic display, at the
conclusion of which we all breathed freely. But on the last day of the
gale, even Tommy’s acrobatic feats were not sufficient to avert the
catastrophe, for it happened that a leg of fresh pork had been boiled
for the cabin dinner, and, as everyone knows, there is nothing more
wobbly to carry in calm weather than that joint. Tommy had
managed two or three journeys from the galley to the cabin under
difficulties. With an anxious look on his face he came out of the
galley with the leg of pork smoking on the dish, the cook coming to
the door to see its safe transit, when, as if in protest against such a
comfortable meal being enjoyed by our much harrassed captain, a
huge sea broke over the ship, down went Tommy and the dish, and
the tasty leg of pork went slithering along the deck and through the
main deck port, and was lost to view before one of us could make an
attempt to stop it, leaving Tommy still clinging to the dish.
The weather moderated as we drew near the dreaded Cape Horn,
and we soon repaired the damage done by the gale we had just
passed through. We had a splendid crew, mostly, as I said at the
beginning, Scandinavians, steady and willing men. The ship was
rolling and surging along at about 9½ knots, the weather was
clearer, but getting much colder. When within about two hundred
miles of Cape Horn, running before a strong south-west wind, with a
light haze, it was about 3 p.m., when one of the seamen, Johan
Hansen went aft to the second mate, who had charge of the deck.
“Sir,” he said, “I think we are close to ice, and I think this haze is
thicker than it seems to be.”
Mr. Weeler was alert instantly.
“Can you see anything, Hansen?”
“No, sir, but I was several years in the Iceland trade, and though I
cannot tell why or how, I feel that we are near field ice.”
“All right, go on the lookout and tell me if you can see any.”
 Then calling me to him, Mr. Weeler told me to ask the captain to
come on deck. I did so, and he was up in a few minutes. He was
engaged talking to the officer, when a tremendous yell came from
Hansen on the lookout.
“Hard a-port,” he cried, “hard a-port! Ice ahead!”
In a moment every man aboard was on deck, the helm put down,
the top-gallant halliards let go, starboard braces slacked away, the
yards flew forward, and, as the ship came up with the wind, she
heeled over and a heavy sea struck her amidships, shaking her from
stem to stern, and filling the decks with water. Then came a crash
aloft, and we found the fore and main top-gallant masts had been
carried away and fallen alongside. A dozen hands were soon cutting
away the wreckage, and looking to leeward, we were horrified to see
the terrible fate we had just escaped. There, within a mile of us,
floated a gigantic iceberg about 700 feet long and 300 feet high,
shaped like a church, with a square tower at one end. Presently the
haze lifting, the setting sun cast its rays on the iceberg filling it with
flaming jewels of light, kindling all kinds of rich and glowing colours,
the effect was beautiful, and truly magnificent. It seemed to stand
on a mountain of pure crystal, bathed in silver radiance. We were
not allowed much time to admire it, however, for there was work to
be done, the wreckage to clear away, and the gear to secure for the
night. We then wore ship, and stood towards the Horn again.
We had a marvellous escape for our ship had been pointed directly
for the berg, in another few minutes our bows would have been into
it, and the ship would have ground herself to splinters. Until
daybreak came we went on our way very stealthily, and then we saw
vast fields of ice to the south of us, stretching for miles away to the
eastward.
When passing Cape Horn there was an awful sea running, the
shadows of black clouds whirling overhead and darkening the air
with heavy snowfalls, which blew along in thick masses like the
contents of a feather bed. The tops of the dark green waves were on
a level with our upper topsail yards, and their white roaring heads
seemed to brush the flying scud of the heavens as they came
rushing madly upon us. In no place in the world have I seen such
mountainous waves as are met with off Cape Horn, the rigging was
glazed with ice, the decks full of water, to let go of a rope, or obey
an order, was to do so at the risk of life and limb. At one minute the
vessel was on a level keel in the trough, in a valley, with moving
walls of water on either side of her, then for a brief moment there
would be a lull, and you heard nothing but the howl of it on high,
and the savage hissing of the foam. Then she would sweep up the
huge liquid incline, up and still up with a sickening rush, until the
deck looked like the roof of a house, then with the shrieking anew as
she soared into the full weight of the gale, another moment’s
breathless pause, as she hung poised on the peak of the sea that
had hoisted her up, when once more she would slip down again,
reeling as she went, shuddering like a frightened thing, into the
heart of the valley of water, with its terrifying interval of calm below,
and uproar of storm above. But the “Bertie” was a splendid sea-
going boat, buoyant as a bird, rising and falling like a thing on wings
and full of life, and as I stood by the mizzen rigging watching those
giant waves I thought of Christ on the sea of Galilee, and His words
to the angry billows, “Peace, be still.”
From Cape Horn we had a run to Falkland Islands, thankful to
have escaped after our dressing down, but passing to westward we
ran into another snowstorm, and in a remarkably short time the ship
was covered with a thick white mantle.
 CHAPTER VI

The Southern Cross

It was still snowing as we were nearing the Falkland Islands. I was

on the quarter-deck with Jones and some of the sailors. We had just
finished taking in some of the sails, when Peterson called out to us:
“I say, boys, just look astern at the fireworks, there’s a sight.” It was
a truly magnificent sight, there above the horizon was a splendid
display of southern lights. Imagine about twenty rainbows all
clustered together, the centre one being straight and those on either
side curved outward like an open fan, their prismatic hues lighting
up every spar, rigging and sail with a wonderful glow of colour, the
pure white snow with which the ship was coated reflecting the
colours from a thousand points. It was indeed a wonderful and a
splendid sight, one that I shall never forget, and it is one I have
never seen since.
After passing the Falkland Islands the weather moderated, and we
had a spell of fine bright days, then began the usual overhauling of
the rigging, sails, etc. This is the work that all true sailors like; Jones
and I were delighted at the prospect of getting plenty of it. The
officers and men were always ready to teach us boys anything we
wanted to learn, and I must say we tried to do our best to repay
them by always shewing ourselves ready and willing to oblige them.
Nothing troubled us, we scarcely knew what it was to be tired, and
as for a kick or a blow, or any unkindness from any of the men, we
never experienced any such thing during the whole of the voyage.
One night in the first watch, the night being calm, with a cloudless
sky, the second mate called me aft, and, pointing to the beautiful
constellation of the southern cross, said:
 “By the look of the cross, it must be close to four bells.” (10 p.m.).
“Go and look if I am right,” he added.
I went into the cabin, and looking at the clock found it to be five
minutes past ten. I struck the bell, and wondering how Mr. Weeler
could possibly tell the time by looking at the stars; I went back to
him and asked if he would tell me how this was done.
“Certainly I will,” he said, “I am glad you have asked me this,
there is no part in a seaman’s training so fascinating and so
wonderful as the study of the stars, the more you learn about them,
the more you will want to learn, that is, of course, if you want to get
on in your profession, and from what I have seen of you I don’t
think you’ll be contented with the forecastle all your life.”
“No, indeed, sir,” I replied, “I hope to work up to be an officer like
you, sir, if you don’t mind my saying it.”
Mr. Weeler smiled.
“Here,” he said, “in latitude 28° south, the cross rises in the east
and sets in the west At midnight, or six hours after rising, it bears
due south, and this is the only time the cross seems to stand
upright, so you see, when I called you, I had noticed the cross was
about two-thirds distance between a horizontal and a perpendicular
position, which would happen about 10 p.m.”
I thanked him, and from that day he regularly gave me lessons
about the stars, and I grew more and more interested in them and
in other heavenly bodies, as I learned more about their wonderful
system as time went on.
All that night and the next day we lay becalmed, and the next
night was as black as pitch with a light easterly wind. Towards
midnight the sea became one perfect sheet of phosphorus—a silver
sea, overhead the sky was quite black, but the light thrown off from
the surface was sufficient to read a book by. We seemed to be a
phantom ship sailing on a silver sea. After gazing for some time at
the wondrous sight, I went aft to the poop, where I saw Mr. Weeler,
bent on satisfying my curiosity as to the why and the wherefore of
all I saw. He saw me as I got to the poop ladder, and calling me aft,
asked how I liked the silver sea.
 “I was wondering what caused it, sir,” I answered.
“It is caused by myriads of tiny fish like shrimps and jellyfish,” he
replied, “and it is only on a night like this that we can see them.”
I stood and looked at it for some time, it was so beautiful, and
through my mind passed the words from the “Good Old Book:”
“They that go down to the sea in ships, these see the wonders of
the Lord.” I felt how true it was, for every day shewed me some new
wonder.
After crossing the doldrums, we had fairly good weather right up
to the Island of Antonio—Cape Verde Islands. Here we got the
north-east trade winds.
And then the work began in earnest—lockers, rooms, forecastle,
cabins were all turned out in turn, cleaned, painted and polished up
like a new pin, and woe be to the man who upset his paint, or made
a mess after the place was once cleaned. Yards, masts and bulwarks
each in their turn received attention, and then the decks were
scraped with sharp steel scrapers, and afterwards holy-stoned fore
and aft, until you could eat your food off them, they were so spick
and span.
We passed a number of outward bound ships, among them the
“Ivanhoe,” “Roderick Dhu,” “Portia,” “Commonwealth,” etc. We
signalled them, and they all wished to be reported all well.
Our ship was sailing along at about nine knots per hour; the crew
were making paunch, mats, sinnet, etc., and standing by to work
sails, all the painting being done, and the stores expended, there
was nothing much to do.
We lost the trades in 33° north, and then we had two days calm.
On the morning of the second day, the sea being calm and smooth,
an unusual disturbance arose on the water about a mile distant. A
large fish was seen to spring about twelve feet out of the water, and
go down head first. Then we saw the huge tail of a sperm whale rise
out of the water and thrash the surface. As we drew nearer, we
could see that the disturbance was caused by an encounter between
a sperm whale, sword fish, and a thrasher. We now saw what looked
like the vanes of a windmill revolving in the foam, and a wet black
arm rose and fell out of the white seething water, like the blades of a
propeller rotating under the counter of a light steamer.
“See that,” shouted the chief mate, who was on the poop, “there’s
a fight that you don’t often see, a fight between a whale, a thrasher,
and a swordfish.”
We all rushed aft to look over the side. As we got nearer the
spectacle grew in magnitude and proved to be one of the most
terrible pictures the imagination could conceive, even of the sea,
that vast theatre of wonder and terror. There was so much fury of
foaming water, the monster whale thrashing the water with his tail,
spouting, and doing his best to dive below the surface, but his arch
enemy, the swordfish, was there, watching his every movement,
probing him with his terrible sword and keeping him on the surface;
now and again we caught sight of a large space of the gleaming
body of the huge whale, upon which the great arms of the thrasher
were beating its blows, as it leaped out of the water and came down
on the top of him, cutting great gashes in his side, the blows
sounding like the blows from a giant blacksmith’s hammer on an
enormous anvil. Attacked as he was above and below, the whale
seemed powerless between his two small, yet terrible, foes. The
water around grew thick with blood and sperm. Presently, however,
by a quick move on the whale’s part, he caught the thrasher a blow
with his tail, and killed it. Then he dived, and as far as we could see,
the fight was over.
A breeze springing up from the west, we were heading for the
Channel. The wind and sea steadily increased, until we were
staggering under the pressure of canvas, heading for the Lizard.
Three days afterwards we sighted and passed the famous Lizard’s
lights, and running up the Channel, before a westerly gale, were
soon off the Ness. A fine cutter came alongside of us, and a pilot
climbed out of her and over our side. With what interest and
admiration did I look at his weather-beaten visage and survey his
stout coat and warm woollen comforter, then a tug picked us up, and
before long the coast of our dear old home lay fair and beautiful
upon our port beam and bow. Two nights after we entered the West
India Dock.
Finding the crew would not be paid off until the third day after our
arrival, I went home to Liverpool by the Board of Trade
arrangements, and they forwarded my wages on to me. Besides my
wages, I received a sovereign from the captain, and one from Mr.
Weeler. The captain spoke very kindly to me, and said he was
pleased both with my work and conduct. He also gave me an
ordinary seaman’s discharge, and said he would be pleased to take
me another voyage if I wanted to go.
I felt very sorry to leave them all, for a better crew it was never
my good fortune to sail with. The captain was all that anyone could
wish, and Mr. McLean’s, the chief mate’s, bark was worse than his
bite; Mr. Weeler I felt leaving more than all, for he was as good a
friend as it was possible to be to me, and to all young sailors that he
came in contact with, and many of his words and actions I shall
never forget.
Thus ended my first voyage at sea. I thought then, as I think now,
with all its ups and downs, its fair weather and foul, there is no life
like a sea life, when one is young. Talk about danger, there is far
more danger on land than on sea, and there is no place on God’s
earth where one sees the wonderful works of Almighty God as on
the boundless, restless ocean.

“The twilight is sad and cloudy.

The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of the seabirds,
Flash the white caps of the sea.”
 CHAPTER VII

The Stone Begins to Roll

When I reached home after leaving the “Bertie” in London, a hearty

welcome awaited me, every one exclaiming “my word, how you have
grown.” The boys that I had known at school would come up in the
evening and listen with eyes and ears wide open as I told them all
about the voyage. I, of course, went to see Captain Watson, and
spent the best part of one day with him, he was pleased at the way I
had got on, and on my leaving he said: “I suppose you are going
back in her, George? She is a good ship and has a good captain and
officers.”
I hesitated, for somehow I wanted to go further afield, and
already I was tired of being on shore.
“I don’t know, sir,” I said at length.
“You’re not tired of the sea already, are you?”
“Oh, no, sir, only I should like to go to some other part of the
world.”
“Of course you would,” he answered, “or you would not be a sailor,
but don’t leave your ship every time she comes into a home port,
make three or four voyages in her, it is not fair to those who have
taught you to leave them as soon as you know a bit of the work,
don’t be a rolling stone. When a chief mate looks at a man’s
discharges and sees each one has a different ship’s name on it, he
never thinks much of him because he feels he is only coming to suit
his own convenience. No, I say stick to your ship, if she is a good
one.”
I made no answer to this and said good-bye, neither did I mention
the subject at home, as I wanted to be free in this matter.
 I had now been at home a month. The “Bertie” had not come to
Liverpool, but had sailed from London, but I had decided not to
make another voyage in her. The roving, restless spirit was urging
me towards the sea again. Nearly the whole of the time I had been
at home the weather had been most trying, rain, sleet, snow or
blowing a gale of wind. I was getting tired of the sight of bricks and
mortar, and the dirty streets of Liverpool, I missed the regular life on
board ship, the sweet pure air of the ocean, the rolling restless
ocean, I was tired of the noise and bustle, and wanted to get away
from it all. The longing to see other lands, to cross other oceans
grew stronger each day, life to me at that time meant only one
thing, to see all there was to be seen, all that was worth seeing, to
verify all that I had read about India, China, Japan, Africa, Australia
and numberless other places.
But Liverpool, I found, was at this time the centre of a great strike
of seamen and firemen, and it was very difficult to join a ship, even
if you got a chance, without getting your head broken by some of
the loafers who infest our seaports, and who neither go to sea
themselves nor let others go. A seamen’s strike at that time was
rarely, if ever, organized for the benefit of the seamen, but for, and
by a lazy disreputable gang of crimps and boarding-house keepers,
and they were the only ones who reaped any benefit from it. It was
a sight to make one’s blood boil; all around the shipping offices and
along the line of docks these scoundrels would parade on the watch
to prevent any poor sailor from going on board a ship and many a
one, half starved with cold and hunger, was beaten and half killed by
these wretches for trying to get on board a ship to get away from it
all.
I had decided in my own mind to get a ship at once, and made my
way to the Salthouse Dock. There I saw a beautifully shaped barque.
She was, to look at, a perfect yacht, her tall tapering masts and long
jibboom with a cutwater like a wedge, shewed that she could exhibit
a clean pair of heels if driven. She was spotlessly clean, and her sails
were white as cotton. I took a fancy to her at once, a nice model
ship always appeals to a true seaman. Then I went to look at her
bow to see what she was called, and found it was the “Stormy
Petrel,” of Liverpool. Thinking how well her name would suit her
when she was out in the ocean with all sails set, I saw the mate on
deck, and as there were no crimps about, I went up to him, and
asked him if he had engaged his crew.
“No, my lad,” he said, “I wish I had. The confounded strike is
keeping the men away, and I want to get hold of some good men.
Do you want a ship?”
“Yes, sir, where is this one going?”
“To Callao, Peru,” he answered, “come down to-morrow morning
at seven a.m., and you can start work at once. As far as I can see
there are none but foreigners to be got in the port at present, if the
captain has to engage a crew of foreigners, I will let you live with
the carpenter, sailmaker, and cook in the half-deck.”
I thanked him, and promised to be on board at seven on the
following morning, and made up my mind that if a crimp, or anyone
tried to stop me from doing this, well, it would not be well for either
of them.
Leaving the dock, I walked towards the Sailor’s Home where the
strikers were congregated, to see if I could pick up any news. Here I
found the real strikers were mostly foreigners, and many of them
could not speak a word of English. There were Scandinavians,
Greeks, Turks, Spaniards, Italians, French, and some Manilla men,
the Scandinavians predominating. What a parody! The papers
described the dispute as a strike of British seamen, the prime
movers of the strike were boarding-house keepers and crimps, for
reasons best known to themselves.
Several shipmasters, to save time and trouble, had engaged these
same crimps to procure them a crew and bring them on board the
morning of sailing and they would get a shipping clerk to sign them
on on board the vessel. This was done by the captain of the “Stormy
Petrel” and on the following day the boarding master brought as
truly a cosmopolitan crowd of men on board, with their bags and
baggage, as it has ever been my lot to see. A clerk from the shipping
office attended with them to sign them on the ship’s articles, several
of them could not speak a word of English. Our crew, therefore,
consisted of the captain, the two mates and myself, British;
carpenter, sailmaker, and cook, Scandinavians; two Frenchmen, two
Spaniards, two Italians, one Greek, two negroes, three Turks, and
one Manilla man. I signed on as an ordinary seaman, at two pounds
a month.
The “Stormy Petrel” was, as the chief mate told me, bound for
Callao, Peru. I had a particular desire to go to Peru at that time,
having a relative out there whom I was very anxious to see. He had
left Liverpool some fifteen years previously as engineer of the s.s.
“Bogota,” of the Pacific Navigation Company and had found very
profitable employment at Lima, and like many others, had forgotten
the claims of those he had left behind.
We sailed from Liverpool on the Saturday morning. It was a
miserably cold raw morning, and the sleet was falling fast. As the
chief mate said, it was a day to drive a man to drink, or suicide,
enough to make one leave the country in disgust, and seek one that
had a climate, and not a bundle of samples.
Our crew, being foreigners, were sober, and that was something to
be thankful for, although six of them could not speak one word of
English, but, unlike Englishmen, they are remarkably quick at picking
up a language. Under these conditions, Captain Glasson deemed it
prudent to tow down until abreast of Tusker, in the meantime getting
everything secure about the deck.
The river was teeming with life—there were barges and wherries,
dark-sailed colliers, swarming along under full sail, ships in tow like
ourselves, bound either up or down, huge metal ships gliding to their
homes in the docks after days of strenuous passage through the
great ocean or floating majestically past us to the far west or east.
Everything being now made snug and secure, the men were told
to go and have a smoke, and in a little while all hands were called
aft on the quarter deck to pick for watches. For the benefit of those
who do not know, I may say that it is the custom for the master to
take the ship out to her destination and the chief mate to bring her
home, and as the second mate keeps the captain’s watch, he always
has first pick. The men were ranged in line across the quarter deck,
and the second mate, Mr. Ross, called George the Greek first, and
the first mate, Mr. Menzies, called a big Frenchman, and so on
alternately until the watches were completed. I was again in the
starboard watch, the carpenter, cook and steward always slept in,
unless in cases of emergency when it was “all hands on deck.”
The two Frenchmen, Old George the Greek and the two negroes
turned out to be thorough good seamen, but the others turned out
to be duffers—and disagreeable duffers at that.
We then had the usual short speech from the captain. Now
Captain Glasson was a bluff, hard, hearty, red-faced man in the
prime of life, proud of himself, and of his ship, and always, as I
found out afterwards, said the same thing each voyage to the crew
after the watches had been picked. Walking the quarter deck, and
dropping his words out between puffs of smoke from his pipe:
“Now men, if we get along well and work together we shall have a
comfortable time, if not, there will be trouble, and you’ll be in the
thick of it. All you’ve got to do is to obey your orders, and do your
duty like men. If you don’t you’ll fare hard, I can tell you that
beforehand. You do your duty to me and the ship, and you will find
things all right, if not, then I’m as hard as nails. That’s all I’ve got to
say. Starboard watch go below.”
We had a stiff breeze and a choppy sea crossing the bar, which
increased as we drew down towards Point Lynas. When off Lynas the
pilot cutter came in sight, and we hauled our courses up, dropped
our Jacob’s ladder over the starboard side, one of the men standing
on the rail forrard of the main rigging ready to heave a line to the
boat. Presently a boat manned by four oarsmen and a coxswain got
to windward, the bow man stood up on the fore grating, and when
the boat was abreast of our starboard rigging, the man in our main
chains whirled the right hand coil round his head and hove it
towards the boat with a mighty heave. It fell across her bow, and
with almost unerring precision, the bow man caught it and made it
fast to the thwart. The boat rose and fell on the choppy sea, and
nothing but the skill of her coxswain saved her from being smashed
to pieces against the side. At last came a favourable chance, and the
old sea-dog of a pilot caught the boat as she hung for a brief
moment on the top of a wave opposite the rung of the ladder on
which he was standing, and with the agility of a cat, he stepped on
to the after-thwart, sitting down in the stern sheets as she swept
into the trough of the sea, whilst the steward hove the pilot bag
after him. With a wave of his hand and a “God speed you all,” he left
us and went on his way, as they cast off our line.
By noon the following day we were off the Tusker Lighthouse, and
the wind being from the north-west, we set all square sail and cast
off the tug boat. All hands then laid hold of the tow rope and hauled
it in on the deck. It was then coiled up over the house to dry. The
tug, meanwhile, dropped on the weather quarter, and the usual
present of tobacco and brandy was passed on board along with the
returns. Then she gave three long blasts on her whistle, and three
cheers for the crew, and steamed back towards home.
During the next few days we were kept busy making and furling
sails, the weather being very unsettled and squally. Captain Glasson,
we found, never took a sail in, if the ship could carry it, so that when
the order came to furl sails, it had to be done quickly, if we expected
to get them in whole. The drilling with the sails brought out the
merits of both officers and men, and shewed up their defects and
tempers too.
 CHAPTER VIII

Various Kinds of Storms

The first mate, Mr. Menzies, was a man of wide experience and
knowledge. He was a great powerful man, a thorough old sea-dog,
with a face and fist like a prize-fighter. He was never happy unless
paddling about the deck up to his waist in salt water; all his clothes
were white with brine. He was always on the alert, and never caught
napping, in fact, he slept with his eyes open, which perhaps
accounts for it. Well I remember the first time I went to his room to
call him, and the fright he gave me. Opening the door gently, I was
going to call him, when I saw him lying in his berth with his eyes
wide open. Thinking he was awake, I closed the door and went
forrard without speaking. At eight bells he did not appear to relieve
the second mate, so I went aft again to his room, and after turning
his lamp up I found he was lying in the same position looking
straight at me with his eyes wide open, but the eyes had a glazed,
dull appearance about them. I began to feel quite nervous. Speaking
quietly I said:
“It has gone eight bells, sir.”
He never moved, but lay there with his eyes wide open. I gave
one jump and was out on deck trembling like a leaf. Rushing up the
poop ladder, I said to the second mate:
“Oh, sir, please go to Mr. Menzies, I think he’s dead.”
In a moment he had sprung down the ladder, and was at the
mate’s room.
“Mr. Menzies,” he called out loudly, as he opened the door—the
mate woke at once.
 “Hello, what’s up? What does this mean why are you off the poop,
Mr. Ross,” he asked?
The second mate ran up on deck again, and caught me by the
scruff of the neck, and was just about to strike me for telling him
falsely, as he thought, when the captain stepped out of the
companion on deck. Seeing the action of the second mate, he called
out:
“Here Mr. Ross, what’s this about, what has the lad done?”
“He told me a lie, sir, when I sent him to call the mate.”
“I did not,” I retorted, “I’m not in the habit of telling lies, I told
you I thought the mate was dead.”
Just then Mr. Menzies came on the poop and asked what was the
reason the second mate came off the poop at night to call him.
The second mate then told him what I had said.
“Oh is that so!”
Turning to me he said:
“When you come to call me in future, knock at the door loudly,
you need not come in. Now go to your berth.”
I did so at once, for I was rather upset, it being my first
experience of anything in the shape of a blow since coming to sea.
After I left the poop, the mate explained to the captain and
second mate that he often slept with his eyes wide open he had
been told, and no doubt it had given the lad a start. For my part, I
took care that I never went into his room again to call him.
The second mate, Mr. Ross, was a young officer of athletic build,
inexperienced, hot-headed, and stubborn as a mule. Overwhelmed
with a sense of the dignity of his position, he thought the only way
to impress a sailor was by knocking him down—a bad principle at
any time, (perhaps some of his ancestors had been slave-drivers,
and the taint clung.) He considered it quite beneath him to let a
sailor explain anything to him. The man might have far greater
experience, and might possibly be able to teach him far more than
he knew, but he would never admit he was wrong, and was
continually calling the men duffers and loafers. For instance, one of
his Frenchmen had been twelve years boatswain in the French navy,
and no duffer could hold that post, neither was he a loafer, for a
harder working man I never sailed with. George, the Greek, had for
years been acting second mate and boatswain in American ships,
and it is well known that a man may be a duffer when he joins an
American ship, but they will make a sailor of him before he leaves
her. And so it was with most of our crew, they were fairly willing
workers, but their knowledge of the Queen’s English was very limited
and the second mate had not patience to try and explain to them,
although the mate had no trouble with them at all. The second
mate’s arbitrary and tyrannical ways were causing a bitter feeling to
spread amongst the men, and I heard many a smothered threat
from them, growing louder after each outburst on his part, vowing to
be even with him some day when he least expected it.
Another thing I found out before we had been long at sea, and
that was that the crew were a lot of confirmed gamblers, and every
minute they could spare was spent in playing cards for stakes. I
have since watched an English crew gamble day by day and night by
night for weeks together, and never an angry word from the loser,
but not so with these men, they were like perfect demons while
playing, their eyes gleamed with the gambling fever, fairly starting
out of their heads, one hand meanwhile played with the sheath knife
in their belt, and the moment a man began to lose he at once
accused the others of cheating, and the end was a fight. They
cannot stand a losing game. When they come to blows they
generally grip the blade of their knife, leaving about half an inch of
the blade protruding, and always cut downwards, or across the face,
and arms, making superficial wounds that are rarely mortal or even
dangerous, but are horribly disfiguring. When things got to this
stage, Old George the Greek and the big Frenchman would step in
and quieten them. The officers very seldom had to interfere, which
was, perhaps, just as well.
One night, while running through the south-east trade winds, the
weather was very unsettled and squally, and a hard-looking squall
rose up to windward. Mr. Menzies saw it, and called out to stand by
the royal and top-gallant halliards. The watch were in the forecastle
playing cards, and did not hear him. The man on the look-out heard
the mate, and stamped his feet on the deck, but the watch were too
intent on their game, and either did not, or would not hear him.
Seeing no one stirring about the deck, and the squall rising fast, the
mate sang out to the man at the wheel, “Keep her off, hard up!” and
then, rushing along the deck into the forecastle he seized the
Spaniards by their throats, and fairly flung them out on the deck.
Just at that moment the squall struck the ship with all sail set, and
she heeled over until the lee rail was under water. I thought the
masts would have gone over the side, but the helm being up the
vessel rushed through the water like a frightened deer. But thank
God there was no sea running, or it would have been disastrous. All
hands now rushed on deck as fast as they could at the angle the
ship was lying over. The captain sprang to the wheel, but the
helmsman had already got it hard over, and the ship was paying off
before the wind. The royal and small stay sails had all blown to
ribbons. As the ship swung off before the wind, she came upright
again—by this time the squall had passed over. The mate and
second mate then set to with their fists and belaying pins, and laid
about the four men who should have been on deck, and in a few
minutes the deck was like the floor of a slaughter house with blood.
The captain came along the deck afterwards and ordered all hands
to stop on deck until the torn sails were replaced. This was done in
sullen silence, and the watch on deck, all cut and bruised with the
blood running from their heads and faces, were sent aloft to send
down the old sails and bend the new ones. By the time this was
done it was four a.m.
But our troubles were not yet over—one of the Turks standing by
me as the new sails were set, swore he would knife the mate for
striking him. I told him to be careful of what he said, or he would
get himself into trouble, if he had been on deck, as he should have
been when the mate called, the sails would not have been lost, and
there would have been no cause for the mate to strike him. No
sooner had I said this than he struck me in the mouth and knocked
me down, as I sprang up again I seized him by the ankles and