A Sailor's Purgatory

Painting by Alfred Drew - see Art Gallery section

Bob Salmon

It was that most pleasant of times, the early evening, and the elderly whaler, the 'Susan Thompson' out of New Bedford and bound for the Antarctic whaling grounds, gently creaked and groaned to herself as she rolled to the South Atlantic swell.

The small group of *idlers* were in their usual evening spot, in the long shadow cast by the starboard longboat. The mugs were out and the boatswain was well into his yarn about an infamous voyage in the guano trade many years earlier. The other members of the group - having heard the tale countless times before - nodded and tutted as they followed his description of high seas and hard living.

A solitary seagull shrieked and flew close by and the boatswain lashed out at the interruption with a "ger off, yer filthy bugger"

"Now, now, lad" remonstrated Eziah Hands, the sailmaker. "That's no way to talk to the soul of a fellow seaman"

"You don't really believe that old story do you Mr. Hands?" asked James, eldest of the apprentices and the only one permitted to speak to his seniors without first being invited. With a show of bravado he held up his mug of rum and called out to the seagull, "Will e take a drink with me then sailor?"

In a flash the seagull was perched on his arm, beak deep into the mug, and then while the startled and speechless group looked on, a deep and husky voice croaked "Cor blimey Mate, you fair done an old sailor a favour there, and that's no lie. That's the first drop of rum as has past me lips in three years or more"

James was the first to break the silence. "It's true then is it, seagulls really are the souls of lost seamen?"

"Blooming heck no Lad" replied the gull. "Most of em are just ruddy birds, and a right miserable lot they are too. You see, I was 'Bucko' Mate of the old 'Maid of Orleans' as was lost with all 'ands rounding the Cape in the Winter of 87. Well, we all lines up to sign articles in that other place and when I gets before the Purser he says to me 'Oh, no Mr. Bucko Mate Briggs, you've been a real bad one and I really don't think you are ready for this place yet".

"Well, tell e the truth mates, I never expected to go up there anyways so I sez to im 'Off down below with me is it?' E just laffs and says 'there ain't no other place Mr. Briggs, we just keeps you waiting a while till you are really ready. In your case we thinks some time spent as a seagull will give you pause for reflection".

"Now that's all well and good Mateys, but I never did like bloomin seagulls, so I arsks im like, 'Ow long's that going to be then', and e says 'Well, since you were never one to help another, we thinks you should fly the Oceans until someone does you a kindness.'

"Now I arsks you Mateys, ow often is someone going to do a blooming seagull a kindness? I tells e, for a seaman to be just flying around the place, without a sound deck beneath is feet, to be without his baccy and his grog, not even to ave a yarn with is mates, that's Pugatory. There may not be no Hell Mateys but certainly there's Purgatory waiting for us bad uns."

With a wistful look at the mug he sad sadly, "And that's the first bit of kindness anyone ever showed me."

Not slow to take the hint, James said "Please, take another pull if you likes Mr. Briggs."

"Thank e Lad," says the gull. "Thank e kindly Lad." The seagulls head sank deep into the mug, and then with what could only be described as a smile on its beak, it just keeled over and died.

Now this story was told to me on my first voyage in the barque 'Claris' by her Sailmaker, James Betters. He was in his seventies then and I never heard him blaspheme or tell an untruth, so I recons that's just the way it was.

 

* Idlers * - skilled, seagoing tradesmen such as the cooks, sailmakers, the lamp trimmer etc., whose duties did not require them to stand watches and who were often accused of idling away their time by the other seamen.

 

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