Australian Tales - Setis

them, or if there is it is considered obsolete. An unconscionable owner
could send any old clumbung to sea; in fact he might rig out a
weatherboard barn, and no one would stop him. There was an old hooker
lying abreast of us this morning; her crew had been pumping her nearly
all night; all her sails were as patched as Paddy's breeches; and there was
scarcely a fathom of her running gear strong enough to hang a monkey;
yet she put out to sea as deep as a sand-barge.”
“But how is it that owners find crews for their old clumbungs, as you
call them, Captain? Sailors love their lives, I suppose, as all other mortals
do.”
“Why, sir, sailors don't always know the character of ships before they
get to sea, and then it is pump or sink, of course. But there are always
men hard up, and glad to earn a crust; and hunger sometimes blinds men
to hazards. Hope is a strong trait in a sailor's character, and he has much
need of it, too. I was talking with the skipper of a little schooner the other
day; he was waiting for a change of wind, with his vessel loaded almost
to sinking point. I asked him why he loaded so deep? when he told me
that his owner insisted on it that his vessel would carry one hundred tons,
and if he did not take that quantity on board — though she could only
safely carry ninety tons — he would be walked ashore as soon as he got
to Sydney, and another master would be put in his place, while he went
whistling for another ship; and very likely he would be tauntingly told he
was no sailor, simply because he valued his own life and the lives of his
crew.”
“But is there no remedy for those monstrous evils?” asked Mr. Moans,
looking very fierce, and dashing his red nightcap on deck as though he
were hurling an imaginary anchor and cable on the toes of the niggardly
owner just alluded to.
“Of course there is if it were applied,” said the captain, “and that is a
nice little job for a philanthropic legislator to take in hand; but I can't
stop below any longer, I must go on deck and shorten sail again. Take
care of yourself.”
“Humph! Take care of yourself indeed! that's what Paddy said to his
wife, just before he dropped a sack of potatoes on her head,” mumbled
Mr. Moans, then he lay down again, and amused himself, considering
what he would do to the owners of “old clumbungs” if he were “monarch
of all he surveyed.”
* * * * *
After a stormy passage of twelve days, he arrived safely in Melbourne;
and though he had had such an extraordinary tossing about, he was glad
of it when the danger was past, for it had wonderfully added to his
nautical experience, and opened his eyes to the risks which many of our