Tales From The Dark Past Collection

Chapter 8

"A grey crow came and sat on our yards…which a few of the watch thought a bad omen."

A grey crow came and sat on our yards…which a few of the watch thought a bad omen."JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE TO BAFFIN BAY ABOARD THE SHIP THOMAS COMMANDED BY ALEX COOKE; JOHN WANLESS, 10TH APRIL 1833

THOMASLaden with ice, the February wind rattled the rigging of the ships that crouched miserably beside the harbour warehouses, their masts and spars stark as charity and their hulls half seen in the bleak dawn light. Intermittent sleet pattered the puddles on the quay as a train chugged past, spewing steam against the closed windows of the Seaman"s Hostel and the classical authority of the Custom House.

"Who the hell"s that?" A labourer paused from piling jute onto an already heavily laden cart to jerk a thumb toward me.

His colleague looked, shrugged and spat phlegm onto the ground. "f**k knows or cares, because I don"t." He returned to work, glowering at me as if at a mortal enemy.

When the train gave a sudden shriek of escaping steam, pigeons exploded from the Royal Arch that acted as a majestic backdrop and a reminder of the still lamented Queen Victoria. The echoes faded slowly from the dreary dockland of Dundee.

"Lady Balgay!" I hailed the small craft that lay forlorn between a great three master and a rust streaked coaster on whom the red ensign flapped like the duster of a Lochee housewife.

Lady Balgay"Aye," the reply sounded surly, as if the owner of the voice was reluctant to admit on which vessel he sailed. A tall man appeared; polishing the shine on his bald head with a filthy rag, he glowered a challenge at me. "What do you want?"

"I"m Iain Cosgrove. I"m sailing with you this voyage." I looked up, hoping for some encouragement or even acknowledgement before I added, "I"m the surgeon."

There was a few second"s hesitation as the bald man voice looked me up and down, spat over the side and eventually jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Are you, now," he said, and then, "Christ help you. You"d better come on board, I suppose."

Lady Balgay was much smaller than I had anticipated, with the vessels on either side towering over her two masts and the thin smokestack that seemed so out of place. On first sight the deck seemed dirty, littered with gear that the tattered crewmen were engaged in stowing away while a stocky, half-shaven man watched, his hands deep in his pockets and his eyes pouchy beneath a filthy cloth cap.

Lady BalgayAnother seaman, elderly, with a beard that matched the iron-grey of his eyes, was shouting obscenely and, waving his arms at a crow that perched on the deckhouse.

"Get away you dirty black bugger! I"ll not have you bringing your bad luck to this ship. Fly, you evil beast!" He swore foully when the bird refused to move, and threw a short length of tarred rope. The bird rose reluctantly, black wings flapping in a weary admission of failure as it retreated to the nearby quay and stood in dejected misery with its dark eyes never leaving Lady Balgay.

Lady Balgay"b****y black bastard!" The old seaman watched the bird with a mixture of hatred and fear, until the bald headed man pushed him roughly.

"Get back to your duty, Pratt! You"re not here to go bird watching!"

"But it"s a crow; they"re bad luck!"

"It"s a b****y bird, that"s all!"

I looked away, wondering what sort of life I would endure for the next few months if everybody were as surly as the bald man and this bearded crewman appeared to be.

Ignoring his swearing shipmates, the man in the cloth cap grunted and muttered something under his breath. Producing a broad-bladed knife from his pocket, he proceeded to probe the timber of the mast. He shook his head in apparent dismay at what he found.

"Excuse me," used to the shining brass splendour of my father-in-law"s steam yacht, I was not sure what to do next. "I am looking for the master. Captain Milne?"

"Aye," the man in the cloth cap stared at me, withdrawing the knife. "That"ll be me." His voice was like gravel under an iron-shod wheel.

Years of training in the Officer"s Training Corps had taught me to come to attention when addressing a superior, even one of such an unprepossessing appearance as Captain Milne presented. "Iain Cosgrove, sir, reporting for duty as surgeon."

"So I hear." Captain Milne looked up from beneath the peak of his cap; he appeared neither amused nor impressed. "Surgeon eh? Well, we"ve not much call for a surgeon, Mister Cosgrove, so you can just turn around and piddle off back to your mummy, unless you have any other more useful skills."

I had not expected peals of delight, but a handshake would have been acceptable. I took a deep breath. "I am willing to do anything, sir, if required, but…"

"You"re willing to do anything eh?" Captain Milne pounced on the words before they were fully free from my mouth; I wondered for what I had let myself in. "Well, that"s better. Are you sure about that, Mister Surgeon Cosgrove?"

"Well, yes, sir…" I said slowly.

"Well, you"re a hostage to fortune then, but you"ve given your word and I"ll keep you to it, by Christ. You"d better make yourself useful then, Mr Surgeon." Captain Milne looked along the deck, shaking his head. "You"ve no seagoing experience, I hear, so you"ll be no b****y good up here."

I was about to protest and explain I was a keen yachtsman who had sailed from the Tay to the Solent, but one look at Milne"s bitter eyes convinced me he would not be impressed.

"Lady Balgay is a seagoing craft, Mr Surgeon, despite her looks. She"s not your daddy"s steam yacht." Milne suddenly stopped; pointed to a boy who looked no older than fourteen and raised his voice in a ferocious bellow that scared the seagulls perched on the warehouse roofs. The crow remained, watching. "You! Mitchell, you wee bastard! Coil that rope properly or I"ll flay the skin off you! I"ll have no holidays on board my ship!"

Lady BalgayMitchell started, gave a scared little yelp and dropped the rope on which he had been working.

Captain Milne returned his attention to me. "Well, Mr Cosgrove, I have a job for which you are eminently suitable, as an educated man. I am a practical seaman, you see," suddenly his tone was wheedling, his smile so insincere that I nearly laughed, "and I am overburdened with paperwork. You have no idea how much paper is needed to sail even a small vessel like Lady Balgay; buckets of the b****y stuff, so I want you to take over the administration. As from right now."

Lady Balgay"But…" I wanted to explain that I had come on board to gain experience as a surgeon and to grow as a man. I wanted to observe the workings of the ship and deal with every possible medical and surgical contingency rather than scratch a pen across sheets of paper. Instead I found myself walking toward the cabin with my head down. I still do not know what power Milne had, but the master had already subdued me so I was acting as meekly as any schoolboy.

I will not write many details of the next few days, for in truth there was only one event worth recording, and that I will come to presently. What I will say is that it was dominated, not by seamanship and a flood of salty adventures, but by reams of paper.

Despite my stated intention to enlarge my experience as a doctor, after three days in Lady Balgay nearly all I had experienced was dipping a pen in an inkwell and filling in forms. By the time we rounded Rattray Head north of Aberdeen I knew all about loading documents, crew lists, custom forms, lists of stores, food, water and coals, inventories of equipment and details of pay. My medical experience had amounted to dealing with half a dozen hangovers and a brash young man named Albert Torrie who was pleased to believe he had caught a venereal disease from a Dock Street p********e. It was hardly an auspicious start for a man who had hoped for exotic diseases and intricate surgical problems.

Lady BalgayI started each dismal day by staring at the papers that piled on my tiny, swaying desk and wishing myself back home. If this were to be my life for the next few months, I thought I would be far better on land. I sighed often and glanced upward, where a smoking lantern circled with the motion of the ship, and I swore, dreaming of Jennifer and that single night we had spent together. What would she be doing now?

Knowing that such thoughts could only make things worse, I forced them away and admitted, however reluctantly, that working with these tedious documents had taught me much about the vessel on which I was sailing. I had learned that Lady Balgay was a fifty-eight ton ketch, two masted and with a crew of eleven, including myself. I knew the name and function of every one of these men, from Walter Learmonth, a veteran of over twenty Arctic voyages to George Ross the Clydeside engine-driver, who had never been north before. I knew that Robert Mitchell, the cook and steward, was only fifteen while bearded John Pratt, a fifty-nine year old able-bodied seaman, was the oldest man on board. So far, few of the crew had spoken to me, contenting themselves with a casual nod or an uncommunicative grunt. The bald man, Tom Thoms, had not uttered another word, but had a tendency to spit and grumble.

Lady BalgayI had also learned a great deal about the stores they had, from the raisins and cheese to the truly vicious seal clubs and harpoons and from Baxter"s finest quality sailcloth to the much more mysterious fibs, marline spikes and lowery tows that seemed to be indispensable to the well-being of the voyage.

However, there was one striking episode, and that had been a curious prequel to many of the events that would unfold as we journeyed north. It had been on the day we mustered in the Firth of Tay before venturing on to the northern adventure. Captain Milne, with his cloth cap pushed well back on his head and a cynical smile on his man-trap mouth, had passed round a bottle of rum and insisted that everybody take a drink.

"That"s the last sensible thing anybody will taste on this voyage, boys. The owner dictates that this vessel is run on teetotal principles." He had glowered around the hands, meeting their gaze until every man had dropped his eyes. "But now, raise your mugs and toast the success of the voyage!"

Every man had done so, from youthful Mitchell to ancient Pratt, and they had tossed back the rum in a single swallow before lifting the mugs high. I followed the rest, coughing on the raw spirit.

"Wives and sweethearts!" Ross the engineer roared.

"Wives and sweethearts," the others echoed, with the p********e-hunting Albert Torrie nudging young Mitchell in a secret joke.

"May they never meet," Learmonth the bosun supplied what I guessed was a traditional finish, and the crew gave the required laugh.

"And now we"ll request luck from the figurehead!" Captain Milne ordered, and sent every man scrambling forward to touch the n***d wooden buttocks of the woman who thrust out in front of Lady Balgay.

Lady BalgayIt had seemed strange that such a small vessel as Lady Balgay had a figurehead, but nobody answered my enquiry until the bosun, Walter Learmonth, usually known as Leerie, wrapped a sinewy arm around my shoulders and took me forward.

Lady Balgay"You see, Mr Cosgrove, figureheads are important for the morale of the ship. They carry her luck, you understand."

"Well, I do not exactly understand, Mr Learmonth." Used to being lectured by learned doctors with a string of letters after their name, I found it hard to be educated by a weather-battered man with the accent of a Hilltown tenement, but I forced myself to listen After all, I had signed on for different experiences. "Could you tell me more?" I tried, but failed to suppress my shiver. "And could we find somewhere warmer? We are shockingly exposed here."

"If you wish, doctor." Learmonth seemed amused by my feeling the cold, but he led me into the shelter of the funnel, the warmest section of the deck. "In a manner of speaking, a figurehead is a good luck charm. Our one, the n***d Lady, is doubly important because her udders, begging your pardon sir, her bare breasts, can calm the sea. The sea being a male, you understand."

"I understand," I concealed my amusement at Learmonth"s attempt to civilise his language.

"As long as we keep the n***d Lady happy by painting her regularly and making sure she"s in good condition, Lady Balgay will be a lucky ship, but if we neglect her, then anything could happen."

Lady Balgay"I see," I nodded, trying not a laugh at this blatant superstition. "But are there not practical considerations against having a figurehead in the Arctic? Will it…she…the n***d Lady… not attract ice?"

"Some seem to think so, Mr Cosgrove," Learmonth told me seriously. "There was a Hull whaler called Truelove that had her figurehead removed for that very reason, but there was also Arctic, a Dundee ship with a Yakkie, an Eskimo, as figurehead. Aye, Arctic was a good ship, a lucky ship, doctor, and I believe that was due to her Yakkie. Some say the Arctic Bar was even named after her."

TrueloveArcticArctic"She must have been popular then," I agreed. I could see old Pratt moving forward now, balancing on the bowsprit with the agility of a circus performer as he leaned forward to caress the n***d Lady. The crew were cheering, calling for the next man. This bonding with a carved piece of wood was exactly the sort of experience I had hoped for, and showed just how close these seamen were to their superstitious ancestors. I decided to delve further, for I had developed an interest in psychology and these sealers, these Greenlandmen, as I had heard them called, seemed to be first class examples of the primitive.

"But why? Why do we need such a symbol?"

Learmonth shook his head. "Well, doctor, the origins are lost in the mists of time. They say that ships once needed a human sacrifice, so they were launched across a human body, or a man was executed and his head stuck on the prow to prove the sacrifice to Neptune, but somebody fooled the sea god with a carved head and the tradition has carried on ever since." Learmonth shrugged, "I don"t know the real reason, doctor, but I do know the captain is watching us."

"We"d better join the others, then," I decided, wondering at the sudden relief in Learmonth"s eyes.

Young Mitchell was next to be sent forward. Slim and agile, he had walked along the bowsprit with his hands in his pockets, showing off his skill as he sought to gain the acceptance of the crew.

"Go on, Rab!" That was Albert Torrie, the muscular young fireman and would-be Casanova who was nearest to Mitchell in years.

"If you"re so clever, Mitchell, then you can hop! b****y hop!" Ross, the chief engineer, gave caustic advice in his Clydeside tongue and others had joined in so the youngster was soon bouncing on one foot along the length of the bowsprit. When a rogue wave caught Lady Balgay and she gave a sudden lurch, Mitchell nearly overbalanced, but he reached for the foretopmast stay, swung above the sea for an instant and returned to his position on the bowsprit, to the cheers of his audience.

Lady BalgayWhen he was correctly positioned Mitchell fastened both legs around the bowsprit and swung upside down to fondle the rounded buttocks of the n***d Lady.

"That"s the way, Rab," Torrie approved, "now give her a big smacker! Kiss her arse, man!"

Mitchell did so as the crew roared approval, and he returned with his reputation enhanced, although old John Pratt was not amused.

"Maybe that was a bit disrespectful," he said doubtfully, "the n***d Lady deserves better than that," but nobody listened to him; not then. There was a time coming when they would remember Rab Mitchell"s actions and shudder in horror, but that was in the unforeseen future.

"You too, doctor!"

"What?" I looked up. I had thought that my position and medical training made me immune from such horseplay, but Captain Milne was staring at me with his hypnotic green eyes. "You"re next. Up you go!"

It had been amusing watching the crew balancing on the bowsprit, but as I looked forward on that gyrating length of slithery, rounded wood I felt suddenly sick. If I slipped, it would be a short drop into the great green rollers of the Tay, but with the crew cheering me on and Captain Milne"s stern eyes watching, I knew I must.

I took a step forward and stopped. I knew I did not have the skill to balance on that slender spar, so instead I took the coward"s route and knelt on top, holding on with both hands as I inched forward on the tiny platform beside the figurehead.

"I want you to go all the way, Doctor." Captain Milne"s voice was as unrelenting as an Arctic storm. "All my crew must seek their luck from the n***d Lady."

Lady Balgay suddenly bowed her head to the waves, taking on gallons of cold water that drenched me to the skin. I yelled at the shock and some of the crew laughed as I emerged, shaking my head free of the bitter water and gasping painfully for breath. I looked up, noting who they were, for I fervently hoped they reported to me for an injection sometime soon. I vowed to use my longest and bluntest needle and it would not be their arm into which I thrust it.

Lady BalgayThat thought restored some of my courage and I inched onward, feeling my knees slide on the wet surface, and, reaching forward, I touched the smooth, white painted wood of the figurehead"s backside. It felt cold, completely unlike living flesh, but the crew still cheered.

"That"s the way doctor! Touch the n***d Lady for luck!"

The hands applauded as I returned, and slapped my back in somewhat forward good fellowship that completely removed my dark thoughts of only a few minutes previously. Soutar mumbled something about the success of the voyage now being assured, but then Captain Milne had shoved his cap forward on his head, tossed the empty rum bottle over the side and roared everybody back to work.

As I returned to my reams of paper, Learmonth the bosun had shaken his head. "The young lad shouldn"t have done that," he said. "No good will come of it. Touching Her Ladyship for luck is one thing, but kissing her is something else. Old John was right; there"ll be the devil to pay for that, mark my words."

The words had only strengthened my belief that these men were swamped by their own superstition, but I had not met her then, and I was very young and very, very ignorant.