(continued from part 3) – “The officers and boats’ crews needed no such incitement, , for the old sea-dog was greatly beloved, and they rushed to their stations, striving to see who could first get their boat into the water. Triphook was hauled into a boat without ceremony, together with his dog, Chance, who had jumped in after his master, as a matter of course, and a rope being thrown to him, he came up the ship’s side hand over hand, and so reached the deck, where he was overwhelmed with the condolences and congratulations of his old friend.
“Taking no notice of these, the old man pulled out his watch, looked at it, and exclaiming, “H’m ! Four minutes – not so bad ! Now you’ll have to stand me that dinner ! ‘ went to his cabin to change his clothes.
“While the men were absorbed in their firedrill, he had taken the time, stepped outside the railing of the paddle-box, and dropped feet foremost into the water-a drop of over thirty feet-singing out as he went down. A little after this, by the smartness of one of his boat’s crews, he saved two men from an overturned boat, as the mail-boat was leaving the harbour, in much about the same time.
“I remember one time when the Ulster was in mid-Channel, going half-speed in a dense, impenetrable fog, though the wind was blowing half a gale, some vast, mysterious white bulk suddenly loomed up amidships. As always in a fog, the engineers were standing-by below, and the captain was on the bridge. With that ready presence of mind which never failed him, the old man instantly set the telegraph at ‘Full speed ahead,’ and the mail-boat sprang forward like a racehorse. It was not a moment too soon, for the next second a full-rigged ship, running before the wind, with every stitch set, dashed past his stern -so close as almost to graze the paint.
‘Nearly had my tail that time !’ said Old Trip, looking round with his genial smile.
‘If that there meteor flag of England had been flying front the staff, she’d have torn it !’ and those who were astern at the time afterwards said that this was a literal fact. Had he hesitated for a second, or attempted to reverse his engines, a frightful collision would have resulted.
“It was a great sight to see Old Trip bring his boat alongside. When all was fast, no one dared to stir, as they never knew whether he wouldn’t move his engines ahead or astern
again, till he shouted ‘Mail ho !’ whereupon Chance lifted up his head and gave one short bark of satisfaction, Then the captain on his way down from the paddle-box stopped to pat his dog, and remark, ‘Very well brought alongside, Chance ! Very well, indeed !’ and proceeded on his way, distributing smiles as he went.”
“And what became of this fine old fellow after he retired in ’76 ?” asks a passenger.
“He died not long after-I think something under two years – his retirement; to the last beloved and honoured by all who had ever met or served with him.”
There was silence for a moment.
“Captain,” someone else inquires, “wasn’t the Connaught once in a rather strange sort of collision ? It was a very queer fix, wasn’t it ? ”
“Well, it was rather remarkable,” says the captain, smiling and looking at his watch, “but I shall only have time to tell you about it briefly before I must go topside.
“The Connaught was taking the Irish day mails from Kingstown to Holyhead, during a very thick fog, and proceeding dead slow. About half-passage a vessel was suddenly sighted on the port bow, close aboard, going in the opposite direction, and before either vessel could check the little way they had on them, the two ships were in collision. One of the paddle-boxes of the Cambria – a cargo boat belonging to the London and North-Western Railway Company – had smashed into and under the port paddle-box of the Connaught. She, being the larger and higher vessel, went partly over the sponson beams and paddle-wheel of the other ship, breaking it in; and thus they were locked together with the iron and wood o[ the Cambria’s sponson beam forming a sort of bar in through the Connaught’s wheel, and in such a jam that neither vessel could move or free herself from the other.
“The sea was calm, so the ships lay quite quiet beside one another, while the engineers went into the wheels, and by working hard with hammer and cold chisel and crowbar
for eight hours, slowly cut through all the iron and wood of the Cambria’s smashed paddle-box and sponson beams, till at last the ships were freed, and both proceeded slowly to Holyhead – the Connaught standing by the Cambria until safely inside the harbour.
“And now, gentlemen, it is time to look out for the light” : and so saying, the captain goes up on deck, whither we follow him.
We have been three hours out from Holyhead, and it is time for the Bailey Light, it the end of Howth Promontory, which is like a small Gibraltar and forms the north side of Dublin Bay – Kingstown Harbour forming the south – to make its appearance.
Presently this is sighted, and the next to look out for is the Kish Lightship. warning mariners off the Kish Sandbank which is like the Goodwins, only that it never dries. It is about half-past five in the morning as we pass close to the lightship, tossing and tumbling about in the murk of the early dawn, and now we shape our course to clear the Burford Bank, two and a half miles further in.
At last we’ve entered Dublin Bay, and the sea is much smoother, though the full force of the wind is felt blowing off the low lands on the west side of the bay, which indeed
afford no shelter from the wind. The hardy passenger of last night here turns up, just as we sight Kingstown East pier head light, and now all hands are going to their stations for
entering harbour – and going ‘longside.
The chief officer goes to the bows, the captain to the bridge, and as we enter, the telegraph rings the order “Stand by, below…” to call the engineers to their posts.
Now the order is “Starboard !” and with the starboard helm she rnakes a grand sweep into the harbour, flying by the lighthouse still at full speed.
Just inside the lighthouse “Half-speed”, is commanded, immediately followed by the steering order, “Steady !” and a few seconds afterwards “Port!”. At this moment the telegraph rings to “Slow” and two seconds after that ,”Stop her !” The captain has gone on the paddle-box-and here are the lamps, paling in the grey dawn, all along the jetty to which we almost secm to be rushing, till we fear that they’ll never be able to stop her in time, or keep her from dashing on to that grim wall of rock ahead.
About fifty yards from the stopping-place the order is “Full speed astern !” and at the same time ropes are hove and caught by men on the jetty – and now the captain sings out,
“Hold on forrard” and “Stop her!” to the engine-room.
Now she’s berthed steady alongside, and gangways are run on board. The telegraph rings, “That’ll do, below !” – the releasing order to the engine-room ; the captain comes down from the paddle-box, and the first officer returns to the bridge from the bows to note the time of landing the mails, the first bag of which is landed three minutes from
passing the East Pier Lighthouse. The passage has occupied three hours and fifty minutes, and the entry in the log is “Nor-west strong gale, with rain, squalls, and heavy sea.”
The ship is blowing off steam; the valves are opened, and the steam is roaring out of the pipes. Here we are, safely arrived in Kingstown, and I hope you enjoyed the crossing.
I have !
Kingstown Harbour