The master of the Chrysolite

== THE MASTER OF THE "CHRYSOLITE” ==
=== By G. B. O'Halloran ===
Originally published in The Gentleman's Magazine. 1893
Captain Anderson
stood alone in the world. But he was one who could stand alone, for his will
was strong and his affections were weak. Those who thought they knew him best said
he was hardy. The remainder said he was hard, his heart a stone. Still he was a
human being, for like others, he cherished hobbies. His hobbies, however, were
not of that class which is compassed about by rest and roses. In stead, they
were clothed with a stern delight born of defiance and danger. To work his ship
across the Bay in the teeth of an adverse gale; to weather a lee shore ; to
master a rebellious crew single-handed — these were the wild diversions which satisfied
him. Once, in the 
seas, his men grew mutinous; said the ship was “leaking like a lobster-pot,” and
straightway put her about for 
; swore they did not care what the skipper thought, in fact would like to talk
to him a bit. The skipper was below when the first mate brought down the news
and a very pale face as well. 
“Tell the men to
muster !
So soon as the
mate's back was turned, John Anderson took a revolver from a locker and charged
it; then, ascending the companion ladder, he walked to the break of the poop, with
his hands buried in the pockets of a peajacket. Down below him were the men,
lolling about in a sullen crowd on the weather side of the quarter-deck. They
were thirty or forty in number, and were a vicious-looking set. 
“Now then, my men!
Half an hour ago we were steering due north-east. Who was it dared to lay the
ship's nose the other way?”
The burly
boatswain swung his way out of the crowd, planted his foot on the first step of
the poop ladder, and stared up at the captain. 
“I did, and be
damned to you!” roared he. There was a loud report. The boatswain dropped, shot
in the leg. And the crew shivered under a gleaming eye and a gleaming weapon. 
"All hands
'bout ship!”cried the master.. The wounded boatswain, raising himself for a moment
on one hand, piped faintly and fell back unconscious. But the men were already at
their stations, and in five minutes more the Chrysolite was heading north-east
again. 
Such incidents
as these gave John Anderson an unenviable reputation amongst sailors. It was
seldom that the same crew served him twice. Two voyages under this tartar were more
than could be stood, and from his subordinates, there fore, he gained nothing
but hatred and fear. 
It was very
difficult, then, to find out where Captain Anderson's weakness lay. Everybody,
of course, has his weak ness. But this man appeared to be all strength. His
whole life seemed like a rod of burnished steel — passion-proof life, a
fire-proof rod. The owners of the Chrysolite Messrs. Ruin & Ruin, of ,
piqued themselves on knowing his tender point. He was avaricious, thought they
; he would do much for money, and they would some day try him in the furnace.
It was true, indeed, that the old sailor had amassed considerable wealth during
his frequent voyages to the East. It was true also that he was sparing and
saving; that he drove bargains to the verge of perdition, and clinched them at
the crucial moment But it was equally true that he was free from fraud. His
teas were what they pretended to be, his silks unimpeachable, and no man ever
came back upon him with complaints of their genuineness. The world allowed that
he was at least commercially honorable, but felt fully convinced that he was
eaten up with the desire for gold. 
But the world
was wrong. The captain himself was some times given to metaphysical
speculation, and even he was puzzled to know if his heart had a whit more
feeling than any other pumping-engine. Women he looked upon as frivolities of
vanity to which he could not reconcile his stern nature ; and men he regarded
as instruments to be rigorously disciplined, not failing at the same time to
discipline himself. His heart was of no use to him except to circulate his
blood. In default, therefore, of loving anything, he fell naturally to pursuing
a difficult task — the piling up of a mountain of gold. This was congenial
solely because it was difficult, and difficulties overcome were his only
sources of satisfaction. 
Now it happened
that a new firm trading to the East, in competition with Messrs. Ruin &
Ruin, had made advances to Captain Anderson with a view to engaging him in
their service ; and as they offered liberal terms, including a hand some
percentage, it was not long before the old seaman was won over. Here is a
chance, thought he, of heaping up my mountain so much the more quickly, and I
am determined that my actions shall not be hampered by sentiment. Not
withstanding this last threat, he found it a very unpleasant thing to break
with his old employers, one of whose ships he had commanded for a score of
years. But he would get scot free of them before he finally concluded
negotiations with the new people. And so it came to pass that one morning he
walked along 
with his twenty-year-old commission in his pocket. 
It is curious
how fond real old salts are of dress when ashore. Here was John Anderson in a
top hat and kid gloves, looking anything but at home in them. The glossy hat
was a mockery to his bold sea-worn face, and his big knuckles were almost
bursting through the soft kid with indignation at the affront put upon them. 
He reached the
chambers in which the firm of Messrs. Ruin & Ruin was established, and
ascended the staircase — for the office was on the second floor. The senior
partner was within, and the captain was admitted into his room without delay. 
“Glad to see
you, Captain Anderson,” said Mr. Ruin in an unusually cordial tone, at the same
time shaking hands. “You've made a capital passage, and freighted the
Chrysolite well.”
Mr. Ruin was a
big fat man, who spoke oilily. His clean shaven face was never without the
remnants of a smile — a smile, though, which was not remarkable for its
sincerity. Still, it had its value — in the market — for it was a commercial
smile. A pair of small grey eyes were almost hidden by the obese curves of his
checks ; but you learned in a very short time that they kept a sharp and shrewd
lookout from behind those ramparts. The two men sat down at opposite sides of
the table, the owner guessing from the Captain's manner that there was
something in the wind, and the cap tain thinking his employer's exuberance of
civility betokened more than was manifest. 
“Yes, I brought
her a quick passage,” replied .
Then, looking straight at the owner, “and it's the last she'll make under me.”
The remnants of
a smile coalesced, ploughing up Mr. Ruin's cheeks into greasy furrows. 
"My dear
captain, we could not hear of it! We're too old friends to part like that. “
“Well, sir, I've
come this morning, for private reasons, to throw up my commission,” said the
captain, simultaneously throwing down his commission before the senior
partner's eyes. 
“I can't accept
it, Mr. Anderson; I can't, indeed,” replied the owner, picking up the
parchment. “And I'll tell you why. My brother and I have been thinking matters over,
and we've really been obliged to confess, for con science' sake, that the
Chrysolite is getting old.”
“Devilish old!” muttered
the captain, forgetting himself for a moment. 
“Well, now I
think of it again, I believe my brother did say she was * devilish old * — a
strange coincidence. Still she is a fine model of a boat. What d*ye think
yourself? “
"She has
rare lines,” said the other, with a slight approach to grave enthusiasm. 
"The very
remark I made myself only yesterday. Yes, we agreed she was a pretty boat; and
I admit, from sheer sentiment, I cannot bear to think of her being chopped up for
firewood. So inharmonious, don't you think? “
The old sailor
looked sullen, and said nothing. 
Mr. Ruin leant
his elbows well on to the table in  a
confidential manner, and reduced his voice to husky whispering. 
“My brother told
me he should not mind seeing her end her days as a picturesque wreck, but to
sell her for match wood was barbarous. I was really of the same opinion. And — and
— couldn't it be managed for her, Captain Anderson?”
The two looked
at each other narrowly. “If you can get anyone to do it, of course it can be
done. But / would sooner “
“Now before you
judge, hear me, captain. I feel sure you could find that man if you chose. See,
the Chrysolite is insured in the Jupiter Insurance Company for  9,000 pounds. Here is the policy. And the man
that saves her from the axe, and makes a picturesque wreck of her, will earn
the gratitude of Messrs. Ruin & Ruin, and 3,000 pounds besides.”
For once even
the remnants of a smile had disappeared from the senior partner's face, and he
stood confessed — the type of a cool financial scoundrel. 
The sailor, on
the other hand, was agitated as no one had ever seen him before. The veins
stood out on his brawny throat like rope. His eyelids were purple. For a few moments
his head swam. Then he righted himself as suddenly, with an emphatic refusal
ready on his lips. But the wily partner had left the room. This gave Anderson
time to think, and the more he thought the more that pile of gold forced itself
before him, until forsooth he fell to thinking how such an end could be
compassed — by another com mander. He saw clearly that a skillful seaman might
achieve this thing with slight danger to himself and his crew. And all this
time the three thousand pounds shone so lustrously that his moral vision was
dazzled, and the huge iniquity of the whole affair was rapidly vanishing from
sight. 
When Mr. Ruin
re-entered, 
was looking ashamed and guilty. 
“Well, captain,
can I help you to a conclusion! "came from the oily lips. 
“It's this way,”
replied the old man, turning round but keeping his eyes fixed on the carpet, “I
can't do it. No, I can't.”
Mr. Ruin eyed
him dubiously, and rubbed his chin gently. “I'm sorry — very, very sorry! 3,000
pounds won't go long begging though. And I shall have to accept your
resignation, captain.”
only took up his hat and walked slowly out of the room. He had not
descended many steps, when he turned back and re-opened the door. 
“No, sir,”he
said, “it can't be done. I must think it over, and — no — it can't be done.” With
that he went his way, miserable. 
The same night
he received a letter by post. It contained his old commission, reinstating him
in the command of the Chrysolite, 
Four months
later the Chrysolite was unloading a general cargo in .
Captain Anderson had thought it over. 
The quay was
quickly covered with Manchester bales and Birmingham cases; and it was not long
before the tackle at the main yard arm was set a-clicking, as the baskets of sand-ballast
were hove up to be poured into the empty hold. 
No such luxuries
were there as steam-winches; not any of those modern appliances for lightening
labour. Instead, five or six hands plied the ponderous work at the winch
handles, the labor being substantially aggravated by the heat of a vertical
sun. A spell at the orthodox hand-winch in the tropics is an ordeal not to be
lightly spoken of, and sailors have the very strongest objection to the work.
It requires the utmost vigilance on the part of the captain, therefore, to
prevent the feebler spirits from deserting. He was able, however, to reckon a
full crew as he steered out of harbor and shaped his course for . 
Some of the
hands had grumbled at not having more liberty to go ashore. In an excess of
passion 
made answer, — 
"To your
kennels, you dogs! 1*11 put you ashore soon enough, and I'll warrant you'll
stay there longer than you care for.”
It was
indiscreet language, and the men puzzled over it. They concluded that the skipper
meant to obtain their imprisonment at the next British port they should touch,
for mutinous conduct, and knowing he was a man of his word they assumed their
best behavior. 
Captain Anderson
had not changed for the better. Hitherto he had maintained a firmness of
discipline boarding upon severity, and he certainly had never relaxed from that
attitude. Now he had become an incomprehensible mixture of indulgence and
cruelty. The two elements were incompatible, and the more intelligent of his
officers were not long in perceiving that there was a vicious and variable wind
in their superior's moral atmosphere, under which his canvas strained or
flapped unaccountably. They imagined, to pursue their own figure, that his hand
did not grasp the reason-tiller with its customary grip, and that his bark was
left more or less to the conflicting guidance of other influences. Many a time
since his departure from 
had the old sailor been stung with remorse at the unwritten tenor of his
present com mission. He would frequently try to look the whole thing in the
face — would endeavor to account for the acceptance of an office against which
his whole self revolted. He would recite the interview in the Billiter Street
Chambers with his employer, passing rapidly over the preliminary parts until he
came to the reward. No ! he was not false enough or euphemistic enough to call
it a reward ; he would regard it as a bribe. But he could never get further. He
always grounded on his reef of gold, and no tide of indignation or regret, no generous
current of honor, had power to sweep him off again into the saving waters. Here
the fierce rays of desire shot down upon the resplendent heap, whose reflected
glory filled the whole vision of the water with its lustre. Blame him not too
much, nor it. For after all man is but man, and gold is a thing of comfort. 
But had Captain
Anderson followed his mental inquiries to a conclusion, had he demonstrated to
himself the depth of moral degradation into which he must be plunged, his pride
would never have allowed him to do anything but redeem his unuttered word. 
As an
illustration of the captain's lately acquired habit of indulgence, the most
remarkable was his treatment of the watch on deck during the night. The man on
the look-out, for instance, was in the habit of going to sleep if the weather made
it at all practicably. The rest of the watch, some fif teen or twenty hands,
followed suit, or even skulked back into the fo'castle, there to stretch
themselves out on their chests and smoke. These things the captain connived at,
and the men were only two glad of the relief to inquire too curiously into his
reasons. The main object of a sailing-ship sailor is to gain as much sleep as
he can by whatever means, and in pursuit of this end he will evade even those
duties which are most essential to the safety of the ship. 
One night,
during the middle watch, the captain came on deck, and took to walking up and
down with the second mate. The night was clear, though dark. The Chrysolite was
close-hauled on the starboard tack, and was making good headway under a
clinking breeze. She was an old-fashioned, frigatebuilt, full-rigged ship, such
as one seldom happens on now, her quarter-galleries, chain plates, to'-gallant
bulwarks and single topsail yards being all out of date amongst the shipbuilders
of to-day. It has been said that she had '' rare lines,”and the remark was
just. A more imposing pile of timber was possibly never floated. She had plenty
of beam to cope with the 
wave-giants, and not too much sheer. Her fiddle stem was gracefully cut, and
harmonized to perfection with the slight rake aft of her lofty masts. Her
spars, also, were finely proportioned to the breadth of her hull. So that, with
her canvas spread in an unwavering breeze, the Chrysolite was a stately
creature and "a thing of beauty.”
''Mr. Grant,”said
the captain addressing his subordinate officer, ''be good enough to take a star
and work out the ship's position. “
The second mate
quickly brought his sextant, and took the altitude of a star convenient for his
purpose. He then went below to the cabin to perform his calculations. The look-out
man, a ready sleeper, was in a heavy slumber, upon which the stiffening breeze
made no effect. The rest of the watch had disappeared in the customary fashion.
Captain Anderson was practically alone on deck. 
He walked
forward, leant over the weather rail, and directed his glass. He saw just
exactly what he expected to see. There, right ahead in the distance, the
binoculars showed a long, thin streak of sparkling silver, appearing like a
lightning flash held fast between the darkness and the deep sea. It was
phosphorescent water playing on a sand bank. 
put the glass into his pocket. He was sullen and determined. He
stood motionless for full half an hour, trying to repress the workings of an
aroused conscience, but his thoughts would not let him alone. There was
something behind them, some new sensations, which set them buzzing in his mind.
These sensations were his finest feelings, ennobling emotions which had been
cramped in the grip of discipline for forty years. He could not comprehend it,
but he found himself pursuing a train of thoughts of finer sensibility than he
had ever experienced, and in which the great* bribe had no place. He
foreshadowed in his mind's eye the tragic events over which he was now
presiding. He foresaw the danger to life and limb with a fresh clearness of
vision. He pictured to himself the possible agonies of his fellow creatures
(never once thinking of his own) with a sentiment much akin to pity — strong,
too, but not sufficiently strong to overcome that unbending pride which forbade
him for honor's sake to go back upon his promise. Then there was the doom of
the ship itself — 
The man is not
angry, much less fearful ; but his lips are quivering and his nostrils widening
with a passion hitherto unknown. He sees the picture vividly — a majestic,
gallant ship done to destruction — a rich ruined seaman wandering on earth with
a broken heart in a dishonored bosom. Not only a gal lant ship, but a lifelong
pride and the fullness of a heart's de sire swept recklessly into limbo. Here,
at last, had his love revealed itself. 
“No, by God, she
shall not perish! “
With a rapid
movement he gains the fo'castle, and roars into it: “All hands 'bout ship!
Quick now, for your very lives! “
There is no
mistaking his tone. It is not one of driving tyranny, but of urgent agony, and
it goes right home to every man. 
Up they tumble
in a ready crowd, many in their shirts alone. They are all sleepy, but the
business on hand will soon cure them of this. 
They stand by.
The helm is put down, and quickly the Chrysolite veers round in process of
reaching the other tack. Will she do it? No! She trembles almost in the teeth
of the wind, misses stays, and falls off again on to the old tack. 
cannot understand it, old sailor as he is, puts the helm down once
more; once more she misses. 
“Back the
mainyard ! Shiver the foreyard ! “
Soon every
stitch of canvas on the mainmast is swung about to face the breeze, while that
on the foremast is hauled in. Although she be going at eight knots, that should
check her. 
But it does not.
“Mizen-topsail
braces, then! “Quick as thought the lee braces are slacked off, and those on
the weather side made taut. Still she is not checked. Strange, too, for the
breeze is stiff. 
feels she is in the stream of a strong current. 
There had been
no need to say what was the cause of danger. The heavy boom of breakers rose
above the tread of feet, the clashing of spars, and the chorus of curses. 
Meanwhile Mr.
Grant has finished his calculations below. He has found for a result that the
ship is among the Maldive reefs. He is certain there must be some error in his
work, and he sets himself to revise his figures. But the breeze sweeps into the
cabin with a faint command from the upper air — “Back the mainyard!”— and he
shrewdly guesses that his calculations are correct. 
The captain is
everywhere at once urging and aiding. He sees the whole canvas aback, and yet
the Chrysolite drifts on. He cannot 'bout his ship nor back her. 
The reef is
quite within appreciable distance now. The hands can do nothing more, so they
gaze at the dancing line of phosphorescent atoms, and curse tremendously —
though these may be their last moments. 
“All hands wear
ship! “comes sharply from .
“you and your
orders,”cries someone. “To the boats, to the boats! “
Although the
Chrysolite carried five boats, no less than four of them were unseaworthy. In
those days the examination of an outward-bound ship was slurred over, with the
natural con sequence that the marine law was more frequently broken than
observed. The only boat on board the Chrysolite worth launching was the lifeboat,
which stood bottom upwards between the main and mizen masts. At theory “Tothe boats!”there
was a rush for her. But 
is first. He carries in his hand a small axe, meant for clearing away light
wreckage. With a vigorous blow the lifeboat is stove in. The men stop short,
daunted. He turns about and faces them, looking like an angry Titan. 
“Now then, you
hell-hounds, wear the ship or sink!” They see he means to be master to the end.
It is too late
even for imprecation. The men literally spring to their work, with an alacrity
begot of desperation. Every moment is of the utmust value, for the reef is very
close and the horrible breakers are in all ears. 
Anderson himself
holds the wheel. He has put the helm up, and soon the great ship with swelling
sails breaks out of the current. He feels the change in an instant ; the hands know
it too. But the danger is not past. Leaving the wheel to another, he runs
quickly forward to lean over the weather rail. As he passes through the crowd
on the fo'castle, the poor fellows cheer him ringingly. The fine old seaman
doffs his cap and makes them a grand, manly bow. 
He glances at
the reef and then mutters quietly to himself, "She will never clear it,
and God forgive me!” Then, wheeling round, he gives a command. 
“Let go both
anchors! It is our only chance ! “
Many hearts sink
at the order, but in as few moments as possible the cables are smoking through
the hawse-pipes. 
The anchors
touch bottom, and hold. All hands clutch the stanchions or shrouds in anticipation
of the shock. It comes. The ship, racing on, is brought up with a round turn of
such sudden force as to shake every nail in her timbers. Aloft there is crash
upon crash, and the lighter spars come showering onto the deck, bring along
with them ragged remnants of canvas. One man is struck down. The hawsers hum
with strenuous vibration. The timbers at the bluff of the bow crack almost
vertically, until the ship's nose is well nigh torn out. The tension is too
great and the port cable snaps. The starboard one is tougher. But were it ever
so tough it would not save the ship, for its anchor is dragging. Back she sags,
gathered into her doom by the whitening waters; until at length, thus lifted
along, her keel rests athwart the bank, and she heels over. Her sailing days
are done. As the consecutive seas sweep up the reef, she lifts her head and
drops it again and again, like a poor recumbent brute in its death hour. But
the wind must sometime cease, and the waves forget their anger. Then will she
take a long repose, leaning on her shattered side — the very type of a picturesque
wreck. 
About this time
Messrs. Ruin & Ruin were more than usually interested in the shipping news,
and one morning they saw, under the heading of Wrecks and Casualties, this : 
“Minicoy (). — The ship Chrysolite of
London, went ashore yesterday night on the southern reefs, and is now a total
wreck. All hands saved except John Anderson, master, who was killed by a
falling spar.”
The result of
the whole business had far exceeded the owners' expectations. It had been so
neatly done ; and the greatest comfort of all was that no one was now left who could
tell tales. They did not exactly thank God in so many words for the death of
their faithful servant. That was very sad, as of course it should be. But they
thanked Him in all humility for a certain sum of $3,ooo, which would have gone
elsewhere but for . If he, Anderson, had had wife or children, Messrs. Ruin
& Ruin felt almost certain they would have made provision for them. But
they thanked God again that he had never married. All that was necessary to be done
now was to send in a claim for the insurance money, and, if well advised,
retire into private life. 
Messrs. Ruin
& Ruin talked the matter over between them, congratulated themselves upon
their prosperity, made no end of choice little plans for the future, and
finally decided to forsake the commercial profession. And, indeed, they would have
done so, but that the evening papers contained an item of intelligence, which,
though less expected, and therefore more startling, contained just as lively an
interest for them as the report of the wreck. It ran thus : 
“It is currently
reported that the Jupiter Insurance Company has failed heavily, and is only
able to meet its liabilities with a composition of sixpence on the pound”
Messrs. Ruin
& Ruin still carry on business near , but their offices are
now on the top floor in a very back alley 
==