A Romance of the Docks

Introduction

"A Romance of the Docks.” The Boy's Own Paper. 1, 1 (1896): 27-28.

"A Romance of the Docks" capitalizes on the Victorian preoccupation with tourism and exoticism, their fascination with unknown cultures, foods, lands and practices. This interest in the exotic was spurred by the British colonization of India and eastern Asian nations but also extended to Africa and other countries. Furthering these ideas also were the great technological advances of steam and machine which made travel not only possible but accessible to more people and paradoxically shrunk and expanded the globe. Hence the current story appeals to not only the younger audience of The Boy's Own Paper, speaking of sea travel, machinery, wildlife and supernatural tales, but also resonates with the broader Victorian intrigue in the exotic and foreign.

Transcription

A Romance of the Docks

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Nowadays when parties of our boys make periodical visits to the “Zoo,” the natural History Museum, and other similar places, with a view to amusement and instruction combined, it has often seemed to me a pity that the great docks at the East End of London could not also be thus visited.

Some may raise the cry at once that the docks are so “dirty.” Be that as it may, on this particular day of which I am speaking, the bright May sun was shining on the water, and glistening through the masts and cordage, transforming the usually dull wharves into brilliant Turneresque pictures. There was, moreover, an indefinable smell – if it could be so called – pervading the air, a combined essence of much and varied merchandise, seasoned with that rotten, marsh-gaseous odour, peculiar to riverside premises, which, strange as it may seem, is far from disagreeable.

Down one side of the quay there were moored several large ocean-going steamers, discharging cargo, accompanied by an unceasing rattle of chains and much shouting.

Here was a vessel just arrived from the East Indies, with a cargo which seemed to be composed of a miscellaneous assortment of odds and ends. Piles of mangy-looking hides, fantastically distorted timber, and huge bundles of rattans were scattered about in choice profusion. By the way, these piles of timber are often responsible for many curious stowaways – not of the two-legged kind, but of the six, eight, ten and “nobody knows how many” legged kind, who make their way on board, and stow themselves snugly away in some dark corner.

I remember once seeing coming up from the hold of an old tub of a sailing ship, just returned from Burmah, one of the largest spiders I have ever set eyes on. It fastened itself on the arm of one of the men unloading, who screamed like a woman at the touch of the repulsive thing, while his mates hung round, too frightened to offer any assistance. At last, however, it was knocked off, and fell into the water, from which it never returned, thus robbing the “Zoo” of a valuable and rare specimen. Centipedes, and other fearsome beasties turn up galore, while snakes are very often discovered.

Farther down are two American cattle-boats. They have discharged the cattle lower down the river, and are now unloading miscellaneous cargo. Half-sacks of flour, bearing somewhat euphonious titles on their sides, are coming rapidly down a shoot over the ship’s side. It would be well if those rabid spirits who talk so glibly about war with the United States could take a walk down to the docks and see the thousands and thousands of sacks of flour that come into this country every week, the number of which is increasing by leaps and bound. It would soon be seen by what ties the two countries are bound – ties, not only of kinship, but of mutual dependence.

Standing in one of the sheds are some round dark brown objects. These are cakes of greaves, or tallow scrap as it is called in America, being the remnants from tallow-melting pressed into cakes and imported over here, to be used principally for dog-and poultry-feeding.

Those floating grain-elevators, for unloading and measuring grain in bulk, are marvellous in the rapidity with which they unload the ships. There is not space enough here to explain the method of working. Suffice it to say that the elevator is floated alongside, a pipe is let down into the loose grain, which is forced up by pneumatic pressure into hoppers, which, immediately the requisite quantity is obtained, open automatically, and the grain is shot into the lighter below.

Though harmless enough to look at, these bales of compressed jute form very treacherous cargo as the ss. Missouri found to her cost some time ago, when a fire broke out in her hold, caused by the heating of some jute bales, and in spite of the strenuous efforts of all concerned it could not be got under (in a double sense) until the ship had been scuttled in Swansea harbour.

What a strange, worm-eaten ship this is unloading cocoanuts, by means of a hand-worked derrick! On her stern there is an undecipherable name, written in straggling yellow characters. A shaggy-looking dog prowls up and down the dirty deck, barking ferociously at all new-comers. The crew are still more shaggy and uncouth, and there seems little in common between them and the smart, well-dressed men of the Atlantic liners lower down. Yet these men are fine sailors, and the rotten little vessel has braved many a terrible storm, that has sadly crippled her powerful sisters.

What a strange fascination these old wooden sailing ships have! Like old manor-houses, there always seems some mystery lurking with them. I remember once the captain of a vessel which at one time ran between Singapore and Borneo, and other ports in the Eastern Archipelago, telling me the story of the strange mystery which had occurred on his ship.

As is often the case, several of his men had deserted while in one of the ports, and he was hard pressed to find substitutes. Among the miscellaneous lot he was compelled to engage, was a rat-faced little Chinaman, with an unpronounceable name, whose whole earthly possessions appeared to be contained in a square box, made of some pungent smelling word, which he guarded with jealous care. Many of the men endeavoured to draw from him the secret of the box, but they were met with such threatening scowls that they soon left him alone, with one exception. This was a half-bred Dyak, who persistently pestered the evil-looking Celestial with his clumsy jokes.

Nothing, however, came of it, until one night the sleepy watch were awakened by a shrill yell, of such import that it almost paralysed its hearers. Rushing forward, quickly followed by the men from below, they found the Dyak lying face upward, with wide-open eyes gazing into space. By his side was the Chinaman’s mysterious box, with one side ripped out; while in his hand was a short knife, which he had evidently used to force open the box. There was no wound on his body, but his face was swollen almost beyond recognition, and the eyes, shining ghastly in the moonlight, were almost starting from their sockets.

The box lay undisturbed, until at last one of the men, taking a lantern, peeped into it. Inside there was absolutely nothing save a tiny heap of dust, like pale-coloured snuff;[ but strange to say, while it was being examined, a peculiar breeze came through the rigging, and the next moment the dust was gone! And so was the Chinaman, for he was never seen again. Whether he was killed and fell overboard in the scuffle, or whether, as the sailors believed, the box contained an evil spirit, which, after killing the Dyak, had spirited away the Chinaman, was never known. One peculiar circumstance was that on the deck, by the side of the box, there was burnt in the wood a peculiar round mark, as if it had been seared with a hot iron.

This tale, although it may cause some merriment by reason of the supernatural in it, was told me in perfect seriousness and good faith, and I firmly believe the main incidents are true.

We now pass over a swing-bridge, and there in front are the timber sheds. These huge baulks covered with grime and dust are mahogany; and they have been lying here for many years, maturing. The large piano-forte and billiard-table makers have here a stock worth a fabulous amount.

Some of the logs are so huge, that it looks almost impossible to move them. But overhead is a powerful travelling crane, and this comparatively small machine will haul one of these massive logs from place to place with a dexterity almost human.

To those boys with a taste for mechanics, this is indeed a paradise. Cranes of all sorts and sizes, hydraulic and steam; swing-bridges which, by the movement of a small lever, swing round as easily as a well-oiled garden gate; and many other wonderful devices, such as floating derricks, capable of lifting many tons, steam dredgers, etc., which alas! I have no space to describe here.

The younger children, I am afraid, will be disappointed at not seeing anything of a more animated nature. I know one little chap who seemed to think that the “docks must be a kind of free-and-easy Zoological Gardens, where wonderful birds, beasts, and reptiles wandered free. He was shown the big ships; but they failed to impress him. The big cranes were as nought and at last he collapsed with a sorrowful wail of “There ain’t no parrots!”

No, “there ain’t no parrots” to be seen. In fact, this trade in living animals is principally centred at Liverpool, although even now the naturalists’ shops in St. George’s Street will supply one with anything, from lions to Lepidoptera.

Although this trade is nothing nearly so profitable as it used to be, yet there are many men who still make considerable additions to their wages by bringing over various wild creatures. There is, however, a terrible waste of life in so doing, as fully ninety per cent. of these poor birds and animals die on the voyage over.

Here is something that will please Master and Miss “Sweet Tooth.” These sticky-looking brown blobs are “skins” of Muscavado sugar from Barbados. Most of the skins are broken, and the quays are covered with a vile treacle-like substance. There is not much resemblance between this stuff and the white, sparkling cubes used at teatime; such a vast difference in appearance does the refining process make.

“Raw” sugar comes from a variety of places, and each different sugar carries its own price in the market – “Demerara,” “Peruvians,” “Mauritius,” “Surinams,” “Egyptians,” “Barbados,” etc.The finest sort of Demerara sugar is, I believe, styled “Choice Bloomy.”

Only the other day this particular spot was inundated with currants (kindly remember to spell it with an “a,” Mr. Printer, or I may be accused of dishing up an antiquated pun). They had been shipped in barrels, which later appear to have been somewhat damaged in transit; and consequently the place was covered with this toothsome grocery.

It is a marvel to me how the sticklebacks exist in the filthy water in the basins; yet they do, and appear to thrive; and these “sparrows of the water” may be seen swimming about, as cheeky and perky as if they were in the waters of some beautiful clear stream, instead of this thick, muddy liquid.

But we must now depart, as it is nearly closing time; but ere we pass through the big gates, let us not forget the small iron box which silently appeals to us for our help in maintaining the lifeboats round our coasts. Need I say there is nothing more deserving of our sympathy than this grand and noble cause? and if, my lads, you should at any time visit the docs, and have some coppers burning big holes in your pockets, don’t forget to exercise a little self-denial in aid of the lifeboats and their crews.

Notes

Edited by: Murphy, Ben: section 1, Fall 2011

From: Volume 19, Issue 2 (''The Boy's Own Paper'')