THE Mahratta was a good ship built to last by Denny. But she was twenty years old, her engines were cranky, her boilers worn and old-fashioned, her speed and tonnage not enough for the new conditions of the trade. We had been two years on the China station. When orders for home came early in May we were neither surprised nor sorry, and the skipper wanted to be off at once. We were to call at Singapore for coal, and at Colombo if there were passengers, and at Bombay, and it was advisable to get out of the China seas before the rough weather began, for the engines could not be trusted to force the ship through the tail of a typhoon.

The company's agent at Shanghai, however, looked at the matter from another point of view. It was his business

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to make the voyage pay, and he kept us a fortnight while he collected a cargo of tea. When we left the harbour in the middle of May, we had as much tea as she could carry. Her holds were full and the forward saloon and cabins, choke-full of tea-chests, were shut off from the aft part of the ship, which was given up to the passengers, fortunately not many. There were thirtysix in all, of whom two were ladies and one a sick man, very ill of abscess of the liver.

They had a bad time, for the heat was great, as there was no through draught, and the after-saloon and staterooms were like a stoke-hole without a ventilating shaft. What wind there was was astern and erept along with us. The passengers, all but the sick man who could not be moved, lived on deck, only

T

eat.

At Singapore we took three passengers, and filled up the bunkers with coal. As for cargo, we could not have stowed 8 ton more unless we had rammed it down the funnel. Soon after we put to sea again our troubles began. The coal was dirty Indian stuff, making more smoke than steam, and the log did not show more than eight to nine knots. There

was no wind and the heat was killing. The skipper was evidently anxious, always looking at the log and speaking from the bridge to the engine-room. Unless we could knock a few more knots out of her we stood to be caught by the monsoon before we could clear the Laccadives, and any little mishap then might endanger the ship. The chief engineer, on the other hand, thought more of his engines and was unwilling to force force the pace. Although nothing was said before us it was easy to see how the matter stood. It was a choice of evils. Captain Jones knew his business and thought his best chance was to make all speed.

The result was that the Sidi boys in the stoke - hole were hustled up. The foul smoke poured from the funnels as if they were chimneys of a smelting furnace in the black country. The chief engineer and his mates danced about in the engine-room like bears on a hot iron floor, oiling here and screwing up there. The engine groaned and creaked, and had to be nursed and

at all.

Next day's run was the best we had made. We had not to stop at Colombo, but kept a straight course across the Indian Ocean well south of Ceylon. And for the first three days all went well. Some fifty miles south of Cape Comorin the bearings heated and a crank broke, and the ship had to be hove-to for the better part of a night. When the mischief had been repaired we had to go as slow as any rotten down-by-the-stern tramp forging up the Red Sea against a head wind. We soon lost all that we had gained by forcing the pace. The skipper looked glum. The chief engineer smiled but said nothing. He did his level best all the same, and was hardly ever out of the engine-room. Do what he could, the pace did not improve. She went creaking and wheezing along, seeming to feel her way for all the world like a gouty old admiral trying to swagger down Piccadilly as if his feet were sound. After rounding Cape Comorin the ship's head was kept nearly due west for fifty or sixty miles so as to get clear of the current that runs southward down the west coast of India, and is very strong in the monsoon. The weather was very good and showed no signs of change. The course was altered to the north. If all went well for another twenty-four hours the great danger would be past. We were going slowly, no doubt, but the sea was smooth. The wind was weak,

but it was aft. Things began to look more cheerful.

The sun that evening went down as red as fire, and just as he touched the sea a dark band of cloud showed right across his disc. Early in the night the wind began to freshen from the south-west, and every now and then came a gust which rippled the surface of the sea and made the ship heel over a little.

At this time I was the officer on watch. The glass was falling fast. Although the night was clear, the moon bright, and not a cloud to be seen, every seaman on board knew there would be a taste of weather before the morning. Near midnight the wind fell. The stillness was ominous. As I stood on the bridge I could hear every pulse of the engine and the ripple of the water as the ship cut through the oily sea. The heat had become suffocating. It seemed to wrap me round, to choke me if I tried to breathe, and coated my skin with a clammy moisture impervious to air.

I was walking the bridge, fighting the deadly drowsiness begotten of the heat, when I saw lightning flash low down on the port quarter. Thunder followed after a long pause, and I knew it would not be long before the storm was on us. I ordered the awning over the after-deck to be furled and everything to be made ready to close the hatches. Big dark clouds came rolling up into the clear night, but rushed on without dropping their burdens. The passengers sleeping on

deck were roused, and they went below, grumbling at having to face the heat of the stifling cabins.

The full force of the storm struck us just before dawn. There was little wind at first. The rain fell not in drops but in heavy streams, leaping up again from the decks and making the sea boil. The lightning danced about the ship in vivid forks that seemed to cut into the water. Thunder, no longer in distinct peals, roared continuously. We were steering a little west of north. The storm caught us almost broadside on, when the first rush of wind came and heeled the ship over so suddenly that the captain, who had come on the bridge, and I had to hold on to the rail for dear life. The ship groaned, the engine hammered and oreaked, and the screw raced. It was necessary to ease the strain. The captain ordered the quartermaster at the wheel to let her go, and she swung sharply round and went before the wind. At the same time the engines were slowed down a bit. By noon the storm had passed over. Heavy rain still fell, and the great monsoon clouds rolled over us fast and low, with ragged fringes hanging down like the beginnings of waterspouts. So we went all that day and the night that followed it. Before morning the weather thickened. The sea was very heavy now and there was no break in the clouds. The captain was afraid of being carried out of his course too far to the east. But

with the engines going slow her head could not be kept nearer to the wind. After some consultation with the chief engineer the order passed to go full speed ahead.

I was off duty at sunset and turned in. In spite of the heat, which was pretty bad, as hatches were down and ports shut, I was soon fast asleep. How long I slept I do not know. I awoke suddenly with a start. The engines had stopped. The ship was rolling twenty-five degrees. I pulled on my jacket and ran up the companion. The seas were pouring over the side of the ship, and I gained the bridge with difficulty. The captain and the first officer were there. He was talking with the engineroom through the tube, and we could not hear what was said. "What does he say, sir?" asked the first officer.

"Shake out a sail forward," said the skipper, without answering the question. "We must get enough way on her to steer by."

The Mahratta, like most of the steamships of her time, carried some sail and was schooner-rigged. The big sail forward was soon shaken out, and when it filled she answered her helm and steadied herself. "Keep her as close to the wind as she will come," was the order.

It was soon known that the propeller shaft had broken. As we did not carry a spare shaft, there was nothing for it but to do the best possible with the sails. They were of some use to steady the ship,

with a wind astern to help the engines, but to be compelled to depend on them alone was not a cheerful prospect. The Mahratta could be brought no nearer to the wind than a Burman craft on the Irrawaddy. She could not be kept to her true course. It was two days since we had been able to see sun or star, and we had only the dead reckoning to go by. So far as that went, we must be nearing some of the Laccadive group. Two of the keenest men we had were put to keep watch in the bows, and during the first part of the night the captain and first officer remained on the bridge, while the second officer and I were allowed to go below.

I relieved the first officer at eight bells, and the second officer came to join me, but the captain would not leave the bridge. The wind had fallen somewhat, which made the ship slower to answer her helm. It was dirty weather. A fog, or rather a thick mist, floated above the water, so that it was very difficult to see more than a few hundred yards in any direction. The captain went below for a cup of tea and a little rest, but just as it was beginning to be light he

came

up again. At At that moment the look-out in the bows called "breakers ahead.” The helm was put hard aport. But she did not answer well, and it seemed as if we must drift on the reef. The captain then let her go before the wind straight for the reef. must strike, it was better to go bow first and get a hold of the