The British Navy Book. Field Cyril

watch the signs of the stars and the sky". They have a chart, "an ell long and an ell broad, whereon the whole sea is drawn with thousands of lines". One of them was always on duty, watching the compass and chanting "a kind of sweet song, which shows that all is going well, and in the same tone he chants to him that holdeth the tiller of the rudder, to which quarter it ought to be moved".

      The mention of "astrologers and soothsayers" reminds us that sailors have always had the reputation of being exceptionally superstitious. I doubt if this is still true—at any rate as regards the Royal Navy. Take the proverbial bad luck of sailing on a Friday. My own sea experience, which goes back for a good many years, is that Friday was a very favourite day for going to sea. We often left harbour on Fridays. I think it was because on Saturday we got a good clear day for cleaning up the ship, then came Sunday—a quiet day—so that everything and everybody was nicely settled down by Monday morning, and we could start fair on the weekly routine.

      But from what we know of life in the Middle Ages it would have been indeed strange if seamen had not been superstitious. The wonders and dangers of the deep were very real and close in those days of cogs and galleys—veritably mere specks on the ocean. It is to be feared that seamen of later ages had not the same dread of going to sea in debt as De Joinville the Crusader,[14] or the expression "to pay with the fore-topsail" would never have arisen. Like Chaucer's seaman, some of them "of nice conscience took . . . no keep", and were very glad to escape their creditors by hoisting sail and putting to sea.

      "Sailors have ever been superstitious," says a French writer on the Middle Ages;[15] "their credulous brains are the parents of all the fantastic beings and animals that they persuade themselves that they have seen in their wanderings, and with which they have peopled the mysterious depths of the ocean. The syrens of antiquity, the monsters of Scylla and Charybdis, have been far surpassed by modern legendary creations, such as the 'Kraken', a gigantic mass of pulp which attacked and dragged down the largest ships; the 'Bishop Fish', which, mitre on head, blessed and then devoured shipwrecked mariners; the 'Black Hand', which, even in the days of Columbus, was despicted as marking the entrance to the 'Sunless Ocean'; and the numerous troops of hideous demons, one of whom, in the sight of the whole French Fleet of Crusaders, on their way to attack the Island of Mitylene, in the reign of Louis XII, clutched and swallowed up a profligate sailor who had 'blasphemed and defied the Holy Virgin'."

      Strange to say, the St. Elmo's light, or "corposant", was regarded as a heaven-sent vision prognosticating favour and protection. Knowing nothing of electricity, and being unaware that the gradual collection of the electric fluid into the weird luminous balls of light which, during thunderstorms, sometimes collect at mast-head or yard-arm, is supposed to render the ship less likely to be struck by lightning, one cannot help thinking it remarkable that this phenomenon, which certainly has quite a supernatural appearance, did not inspire more terror than confidence in the seamen of the Middle Ages. I remember two "corposants" appearing at the fore-top-mast head and at the yard-arm on board the old Nelson in a storm of thunder and wind, off the Australian coast. They remained—occasionally shifting their position a little—for some considerable time.

      It was doubtless something of this kind which William, Earl of Salisbury, saw one night, in a hard gale of wind, on his way back from the Holy Land in 1222. The storm was so fierce that he gave up hope of life, and threw his money and richest apparel overboard. Suddenly, when the tempest was at its height, all hands saw "a mighty taper of wax burning brightly at the prow". They also thought they saw the figure of a celestial being standing beside it, screening it from the wind. The ship's company were at once reassured of ultimate safety, but the Earl was the most confident of all, because he felt certain that he was being repaid for his piety at the time of his initiation into the honour of knighthood, on which occasion he had brought a taper to the altar, and arranged for it to be lighted every day in honour of the Holy Virgin.

CHAPTER V

       Table of Contents

      Some Mediæval Sea-fights

      "The King's own galley, he called it Trenchthemer That was first on way, and came the ship full near. . . . . . . . . . . . The ship cast hooks out, the galley to them to draw; The King stood full stoutly, and many of them slew; Wild-fire they cast, the King to confound; . . . . . . . . . . . The King abased him not but stalwartly fought. . . . . . . . . . . . The ship that was so great, it foundered in the flood; They counted fifteen hundred Saracens that drownèd were, Forty and six were selected, and were all that were saved there. The sum could no man tell of gold that was therein And other riches to sell, but all they might not win. . . . . . . . . . . . It sank soon in the sea, half might they not get. Richard bade, 'Haul up your sails, may God us lead, Our men at Acre lie, of help they have great need.'" Peter of Langtoft (modernized), thirteenth-century poem.

      One of the most interesting episodes of mediæval war afloat was the sinking of the great Turkish Dromon, off Beyrout, by King Richard I. After having effected the junction of his fleets off Messina, he had gone on to Cyprus, where fighting, and other matters with which we need not concern ourselves, had delayed him for some time. At length he and his "busses"[16] and galleys set out for Acre. The following day—6th June, 1191—the British fleet made the Syrian coast, near the Castle of Margat, and continued their way, pretty close under the land, for the town of Acre. About noon the day following, when near Beyrout, it was reported to the King, who led the fleet in his galley Trench-the-Mer, that an enormous ship was in sight. None of the English had ever seen such a leviathan. "A marvellous ship," says an old chronicler, "a ship than which, except Noah's ship, none greater was ever read of—the Queen of Ships!" It was a fine and beautiful summer morning, with but little wind. The strange ship showed no distinguishing colours, and was putting on as much sail as she possibly could; but she made little, if any, way at all:

      "The weather was full soft, the wind held them still,

       The sail was high aloft, they had no wind at will",

      to quote an ancient poem dealing with the fight that ensued. The big ship was of great bulk, painted green on one side and yellow on the other, probably to render her inconspicuous against either a sandy or a green background, or at sea, when her green side was towards the enemy. But in spite of this curious colouring she is said to have presented a very beautiful appearance, and her decoration was considered "very elegant".

      The vessel is stated to have carried 1500 men—an enormous complement—which included 7 Emirs and 80 chosen Turks, for the defence of Acre. She was equipped with bows, arrows, and other weapons, many jars filled with the dreaded Greek fire, and "200 most deadly serpents prepared for the destruction of Christians". Most historians consider that these "serpents" were some kind of firework used as a missile, since "serpentine" was an early name for one of the smallest-sized cannon. Personally, I do not see why we should not accept the word "serpents" in its everyday meaning. The adjective "deadly" is suggestive, and in one old account it is particularly stated that "the 200 serpents were drowned". There have been instances of hives of bees being hurled as missiles from war-engines, so why not baskets of deadly snakes? But it is more probable that these serpents—since none of them were expended in the battle that took place—were intended to have been introduced into the camps of the Crusaders after being landed at Acre.

      As soon as the big Dromon—as she is generally called by old writers—was sighted, Richard dispatched Peter de Barris in his galley to find out who she was. The word Dromon, by the way, was used at that time to denote any exceptionally large ship; just as we use "Dreadnought" in a similar way. But the actual and original meaning of the word was not a big, but a fast, ship. The word is connected with speed and racing, and is of Greek origin. We use it in its proper sense now in hippodrome, velodrome, aerodrome, &c.

      As De Barris pulled alongside the Dromon, she showed the French king's colours on a lance, and, on being hailed, stated that she was taking French Crusaders to Acre. Further interrogated, another story was tried. She was a Genoese, bound for Tyre. All this was suspicious enough, but in the meantime one of the men in the King's ship announced that he recognized her—he had seen