*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64896 ***

 THE MEN OF THE MERCHANT
 SERVICE




 THE MEN

 OF THE

 MERCHANT SERVICE

 BEING

 _THE POLITY OF THE MERCANTILE MARINE
 FOR 'LONGSHORE READERS_


 BY

 FRANK T. BULLEN, F.R.G.S.

 AUTHOR OF "THE CRUISE OF THE 'CACHALOT,'" "THE LOG OF A SEA-WAIF,"
 "IDYLLS OF THE SEA," ETC.


 LONDON

 SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE

 1900

 (_All rights reserved_)




 PRINTED BY
 WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
 LONDON AND BECCLES.




 TO

 RUDYARD KIPLING

 IN GRATEFUL RECOGNITION OF BOTH HIS

 WONDERFUL GENIUS

 AND HIS GREAT KINDNESS

 TO

 THE AUTHOR




PREFACE.


It has been repeatedly represented to me by disinterested friends,
that among the innumerable works of both fact and fiction dealing with
the sea, there are none telling in a comprehensive way what are the
conditions of life in the Merchant Service; in other words, that there
is no work to which a parent, yielding to his son's importunity to
be allowed to go to sea, and seeking to know something of the nature
of things on board of a merchant ship in detail, can turn with the
assurance that he may there find what he needs. Nor can the youth
anxious to go to sea in the Merchant Service find any guidance which
will at once be comprehensive and reliable compacted into one handy
volume. And as these same friends have done me the honour to suggest
that I have the qualifications necessary for producing such a work,
I have, not at all unwillingly, acceded to their suggestions, and
undertaken the task.

The recollection of many kindly criticisms on the preface to the "Log
of a Sea-Waif," scolding me good-naturedly for what it has pleased them
to term my exaggerated modesty, prevents me from sinning now in that
direction. I will merely say that I have done my best to justify my
friends' confidence in me, and that I earnestly hope the book will not
fall too far short of their expectations.

The planning of such a work seems to be comparatively easy. The
first thing that suggested itself was the setting forth, in a series
of chapters, the duties, required qualifications, difficulties,
privileges, etc., of the various members of a ship's company.

A doubt has naturally arisen in my mind as to how far it is justifiable
to deal with sailing ships in these latter days. My own personal
knowledge and predilections are on the side of the "wind-jammer," and
consequently I feel the less inclined to deal with her perfunctorily.
I cannot, however, conceal from myself the fact that the passing of
the sailing ship is being greatly accelerated of late years, and
that in all probability another twenty years will witness her final
disappearance. On the other hand, I should not be at all surprised
to see a sudden recrudescence of sailing ship building. Considering
the sailing ship's economy, her vast carrying capacity, the fact that
her very slowness as compared with the steamer is actually no mean
advantage in a great number of instances, viz. to quote one, where
goods are bought in a low market and are not required by the buyer
for some months, so that their shipment by a sailer actually saves
warehouse charges as well as freight--I cannot understand why the
sailer should be suffered to disappear. Nevertheless, as engineering
science advances, economies will doubtless be found possible in
steamships which will so greatly lessen their expenses as to make the
competition of sailers out of the question. The opening of a Panama
Canal, too, which will certainly not be much longer delayed, will
deal a tremendous blow at the vast sailing trade around Cape Horn. It
seems, indeed, destined to be the final factor in the elimination of
the sailing ship. Meanwhile the white-winged fleets come and go in
far greater numbers than landsmen have any idea of; and as nearly all
authorities are agreed that, in spite of the immense strides taken by
steam navigation, the sailing ship is still the only school wherein to
train a thorough seafarer, she will certainly receive her full need of
attention here.

Care has been taken to avoid, as far as possible, all technical
treatment of the subject. I have not assumed the possession of too much
nautical knowledge on the part of my prospective readers; not nearly
as much, for instance, as would be permissible in a work of fiction.
Having before me, too, the hope that sons as well as parents will be
able to read and enjoy, as well as thoroughly grasp the meaning of this
book, I have aimed at making it entertaining, giving a plentiful supply
of anecdotes as well to illustrate as to lighten what might easily
become rather "stodgy."

Finally, I feel constrained to add that, even if my friends are
wrong, and there are works with which they, as well as myself, are
not acquainted, better calculated to serve the purpose for which this
book is intended, I have the temerity to believe that no apology is
necessary for its appearance. The overwhelming importance of our
over-sea commerce to Great Britain cannot be too greatly emphasized,
while the astounding ignorance of maritime matters manifested by
British people generally makes one gasp in amazement. Any book,
therefore, that does anything to popularize knowledge of Mercantile
Marine details cannot be superfluous in this country; and should
this present one succeed in bringing home to our inland dwellers
with any clearness the conditions of life on board the vessels upon
whose regular advent depend our supplies of daily food, I shall feel
abundantly justified in issuing it to my countrymen.

 Dulwich,
 _July, 1900_.




SYNOPSIS.


  CHAPTER I.

  THE RISE OF THE MASTER (IDEAL).

                                                                       PAGE

  Magnitude of the Merchant Service--Ignorance of its details
  ashore--Want of information upon the subject--Popularity
  of sea-fiction--And unreliability of its details--"Master" or
  "Captain"--Cadet ships--Their value--The way up (ideal)                1


  CHAPTER II.

  THE RISE OF THE MASTER (REAL).

  Apprentice difficulties--Sketch of an officer's progress--Looking
  for a ship--Classification of masters--Range between
  Atlantic "liner" and foreign-going schooner--Enviable
  position of the master of a "liner"--Pilots' responsibility--Reliable
  officers--But the master is emperor--All responsibility
  centres in him                                                         9


  CHAPTER III.

  THE MASTER (OF A TRAMP).

  Tramp masters--Less pay, more work--Hardships of tramps--Economical
  owners--Anxious considerations--And all-round
  qualifications--The aristocracy of tramps--Shore
  berths for old skippers--Black sheep                                  18


  CHAPTER IV.

  THE MASTER (SAILING SHIPS).

  Sailing ships--Their gradations--The beauty of seamanship
  in Sunda Straits--Ship handling and pluck--Devilish
  ships--Local knowledge _v._ "book larnin'"--The Horn--"Swansea
  men"--A glorious old skipper--Overdue ships--Mediocrities             26


  CHAPTER V.

  THE MASTER (SAILING SHIP)--_continued_.

  The skipper's temptations--His power over young officers--Painting
  _v._ sailorizing--And the result--Various temperaments
  of skippers--The discipline of the "Yank"--And of
  the "Blue-nose"--Their seamanship--The "Down Easter"--The
  Yankee clipper--His passion for cleanliness--And
  brutality--Elementary methods                                         36


  CHAPTER VI.

  THE MASTER'S QUALITIES.

  The personal equation--An ideal commander--Want of tact--They
  do these things better in "Yanks"--Good to have a
  hobby--High standard of excellence--Difficulties of the
  British shipmaster with respect to his crew--Unpalatable
  truths--The fear of God--Honesty of shipmasters--Incitements
  to dishonesty                                                         45


  CHAPTER VII.

  THE MASTER'S DUTIES.

  A glimpse of navigation--The unstable compass--Dead reckoning--Pilotage
  anxieties--The shipmaster as trustee--As lawyer--As
  doctor--Rough-and-ready surgery--A true hero--The
  "malingerer"                                                         53


  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE MASTER'S DUTIES--_continued_.

  Voluntary duties--Knowledge of engineering--Of ship construction--Of
  natural history--The danger of drink--A drunkard
  or two--A memorable voyage--The Blue-nose skipper--His
  all-round excellence                                                  63


  CHAPTER IX.

  THE MATE.

  The "mate and his duties"--An ancient and honourable title--His
  range of importance--A long step from mate to master--Both
  in position and pay--Education of British officers--Examinations      73


  CHAPTER X.

  THE MATE'S WORK.

  A good mate precious above rubies--Some difficulties of the
  young mate--Sensitiveness--Manager of a large business--A
  great gulf between tramp and liner for the mate--Low
  wages--Difficult generalship--A scandalous miscarriage of
  justice--Again better in the "Yank"--Compensations                    82


  CHAPTER XI.

  THE MATE'S WORK (IN A SAILING SHIP).

  Peculiarities of status--The excellence of the sailing-ship
  mate--"Humouring" a ship--Care of her aloft--The mate's right-hand
  man--Keeping them at it--The joy of a good sailing
  ship--A happy mate--Keeping the log                                   91


  CHAPTER XII.

  THE MATE'S WORK (IN A SAILING SHIP)--_continued_.

  Ideal log-book literature--Ruffianly mates--But splendid seamen--A
  "nigger-driver"--The mate as cargo clerk and warehouseman--His
  temptations--An exultant Hebrew--The
  drink question again--The mate's privileges                          101


  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE SECOND MATE (IN STEAM).

  "Hazing" a second mate--His importance--His assured
  excellence in a liner--Careful selection--Really first lieutenant
  in a liner--But in the tramp "a servant of servants
  shall he be"--An upper housemaid--An anomalous position--As
  stevedore--The Yankee second mate                                    112


  CHAPTER XIV.

  THE SECOND MATE (FIRST STEPS).

  The passing of the "Board"--School-boy work--Theoretical
  navigation--Practical seamanship--Colour-blindness--Queer
  instruction--A kindly examiner--The astonishment of the
  schoolmaster--Only mate--And "bo'sun-second-mate"                    121


  CHAPTER XV.

  THE SECOND MATE (OF A SAILING SHIP).

  The difference between steam and sail--A kindly skipper for a
  beginner--The second mate's position as pupil--The seamy
  side--Everybody's dog--Again the difference between lime-juicer
  and Yank--The second mate of the _East Lothian_--Oh,
  what a surprise!--The value of muscle--The want of
  discipline in our ships                                              131


  CHAPTER XVI.

  THE THIRD MATE.

  Of great importance or none at all--A suggestion from the Navy--No
  respect due to him--The owner's pet--The poop
  ornament--His bringing up--A lost opportunity--The bully
  third mate of an American ship--An error in judgment--Idlers         142


  CHAPTER XVII.

  THE BO'SUN.

  A romantic figure--Rough but genuine--The naval bo'sun--The
  working foreman--Bo'sun and "lamps" combined--The
  old-time bo'sun--A thorough sailor--A queer bo'sun--A
  broken-down bo'sun--A brevet bo'sun                                  151


  CHAPTER XVIII.

  THE CARPENTER.

  His general excellence--And unique position--A man of many
  qualifications--All carpenters in British North America--As
  in Finland--"Chips" and sailor too--An independent
  member--Always plenty of work--The whaleship carpenters--And
  boat-builder                                                         161


  CHAPTER XIX.

  THE SAILMAKER.

  An occupation that is passing--Its fascination for good sailors--The
  art and mystery of sailmaking--The Yankee sailmaker--His
  contempt for British sails--Like the carpenter, the
  sailmaker always has plenty to do--The beauty of sails               171


  CHAPTER XX.

  THE STEWARD (IN STEAM).

  Wide range of status--But always a steward--Wonderful
  management--A small army to control--Work never done--The
  tramp steward--His duties and difficulties--The
  "providore"                                                          180


  CHAPTER XXI.

  THE STEWARD (SAILING SHIPS).

  The passenger sailing ship almost extinct--Consequently few
  chief stewards in sail--The responsible steward--The
  captain's pet--Funny little ways--A bitter experience--The
  Yankee steward--His onerous post--The stewardess--My
  friend's pathetic story                                              188


  CHAPTER XXII.

  THE COOK (IN STEAM).

  The most interesting figure on board ship--A chef indeed--Where
  do they come from?--Difficulties of ship cookery--Under
  the best conditions--Careful, hard-working men--Australian
  cooks--Black Sam--Humpy Bill--His tribulations
  and triumphs--The cook of a tramp                                    195


  CHAPTER XXIII.

  THE COOK (SAILING SHIPS).

  His materials--His usual qualifications--No room for a good
  cook--Good sailing ships--And bad--From the food point
  of view--Bad food wasteful as well as dear--The craving
  for vegetable--The cook's day's work--So different in
  Yankee ships--Blue-nose cookery--"Cracker hash"--"Duff"              205


  CHAPTER XXIV.

  THE COOK (SAILING SHIPS)--_continued_.

  Salt junk--The never-satisfied sailor--Pork and peas--Dirty
  cooking--Abysmal ignorance--A lower depth--Bad weather               215


  CHAPTER XXV.

  THE APPRENTICE (SUGGESTIONS).

  A serious matter--Want of knowledge--The system of apprenticeship--Need
  for revision--The influx of foreign officers--No
  want of aspirants here--An experience of my own--No-premium
  apprentices--Training ships--The housing of sea
  apprentices--A vexed question--To stop the waste of young
  seamen--An A.B. no mere labourer--A good example--A
  model ship for apprentices--Training ships in America                223


  CHAPTER XXVI.

  THE APPRENTICE (SOME FACTS CONCERNING HIS LIFE).

  The average boy's helplessness--The need for lessons in homely
  things--An unhappy home--Waste of outfit--Need of
  personal supervision--And honest treatment--Apprentices
  substituted for sailors--Some instances--All depends upon
  the master--Wasted years--The embryo officer in the U.S.
  and Canada                                                           234


  CHAPTER XXVII.

  THE APPRENTICE (SOME PRACTICAL INFORMATION).

  How to get your boy to sea--Beware of the apprenticeship
  broker--A typical instance--Some hints as to outfit--A list
  of necessaries--The choice of a ship--Personal relations of
  parents with officers--Hints to apprentices themselves               244


  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  THE A.B. (GENERAL QUALIFICATIONS).

  The "common sailor"--His one-sided view of things--His
  difficulties--The reading sailor--Argumentative qualities--His
  shyness ashore--The religious sailor--Misconceptions of
  his duties--Hardships of good men from the shipment of
  duffers--The skilled A.B., some of his duties--The "steamboat
  sailor"--One instance                                                253


  CHAPTER XXIX.

  THE A.B. (HIS ROUTINE).

  Some details fixed--Others varying indefinitely according to the
  will of the master--The incidence of watches--Difference of
  work in steamships and sailing vessels--No easy times in
  American ships--Keeping them "at it"--Wheel and look-out
  case in point                                                        263


  CHAPTER XXX.

  THE A.B. (HIS POSITION).

  Putting a premium on incompetency--The steamship partly to
  blame--Are we getting lazy?--The need for a Naval Reserve?
  Why does the Reserve languish?--Not a bad life after all--Plenty
  of British seamen to be got--But they must have
  discipline                                                           276


  CHAPTER XXXI.

  THE O.S. (ORDINARY SEAMAN).

  His elimination--No system--Many better than A.B.'s in the
  same ship--A typical instance--An O.S.'s duties--A piece
  of technical detail, crossing a royal yard--His position in
  the fo'c'sle--"A servant of servants shall he be"--A rough-and-ready
  way out                                                              283


  CHAPTER XXXII.

  THE BOY.

  A romantic figure--Changed conditions--The bad old days--Better
  treatment forward than aft--The unfair change for a
  boy from the training ship to the trading ship--Cleanliness
  barred--Bad advice--What to do for him--Running away
  to sea--An old-time shipping office--Small ships, bad and
  good                                                                 294


  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  THE ENGINEER.

  Need for literary engineers--A noble calling--Its perils and its
  pride--No sea-joys for the engineer--A nineteenth-century
  hero--A unique profession--Producing a high-grade man--The
  evolution of the marine engineer--No foreigners allowed--The
  E.R.A.--In case of war--No mere mechanic--The
  blindness of the Admiralty with regard to the engineer               305


  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  THE FIREMAN AND TRIMMER.

  Why do men become firemen?--A terrible calling--Some of his
  duties--The voice of steam--Better drunk--Cleaning fires--The
  slavery of civilization--A lower deep--Are we
  nearing finality?                                                    317


  CHAPTER XXXV.

  CONCLUSION.

  Pertinent questions--The whole truth--Does magnanimity
  answer?--The peril of the alien--No Trade Union for
  sailors--The officer's chance--A valuable educational factor--Our
  national safeguard--Finis                                            328




THE MEN OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE.




CHAPTER I.

THE RISE OF THE MASTER (IDEAL).


Viewed from whatever standpoint we may choose, it is impossible to
arrive at any other conclusion than that the British Mercantile
Marine is not only the greatest British industry, but that, for its
overwhelming importance and far-reaching effect upon mankind, it is the
most stupendous monument of human energy and enterprise that the world
has ever seen. Yet, with that peculiar absence of pride in our own
institutions, that easy-going magnanimity which, in spite of what not
only foreign writers, but many of our own authors assert, is really the
most distinctive characteristic of the British race, we show but little
appreciation of this marvel of commercial genius and concentrated
effort. Dependent by our own action upon our ships for food, we evince
no alarm at the possibility of disaster to these main arteries of our
national life. Go where you will, up and down this country of ours,
and, except among people directly engaged in shipping business, or a
few earnest souls who think it is their duty to know something of the
conditions under which their dear ones live, you will find scarcely any
knowledge of the British Merchant Service at all. The vast majority of
people know of but one form of seafaring, _the_ Navy, as they call it,
_par excellence_; and if a man tells them that he is a sailor, they
are disinclined to believe him unless he wear the familiar loose blue
clothing and gold-lettered cap of the man-o'-war's-man.

But this is a trivial matter compared with the ignorance of the great
matters of life and death wrapped up in our Mercantile Marine. That
lads eager to get out upon what has tacitly come to be regarded as our
peculiar domain--the open sea--and there uphold the traditions of the
race, should not know where to go for information concerning it that
can be relied upon, seems strange to-day. Stranger still that, instead
of all manner of facilities being given to our own youths who wish to
become seamen, all manner of disheartening hindrances should be put
in their way. And what shall we say in face of the almost universal
manifestation of malevolence towards us by foreign powers in what
they believe to be our hour of tribulation, of a British minister who
from his high position declares he sees no cause for alarm in the
prospect of our merchant ships being entirely manned by foreigners?
It is only one more proof that the ignorance of our greatest industry
is universal; that, from the highest class to the lowest, our people
have grown to look upon this most important of our national assets,
this indispensable bridging of the ocean for the supply of our daily
food, as something no more needing our thoughtful attention than the
recurrence of the seasons or the incidence of day and night.

And yet books about the sea are usually popular. In spite of the
technicalities involved (usually wrong, owing to the want of a
first-hand acquaintance with the subject), almost any sea-fiction
will sell. So long as the story be good, the plot workmanlike, the
great mass of the reading public will not criticize the nautical
technique from lack of ability; they take it for granted, and learn
nothing from it. Exceptions may be gratefully remembered, especially
Kipling, whose nautical stories, like his engineering ones, have no
flaws. They might have been written by a man who had spent his life
upon the sea, and had served in all grades. In like manner did R.L.
Stevenson grasp detail in the "Wrecker" and the "Ebb-tide;" while to
read Morley Roberts' work in this direction is to sit again in the dim
fo'c'sle, with the reek of the slush-lamp mingled with most pungent
tobacco-smoke and a dozen other unholy odours making your nostrils
tingle, while outside the sea-voices murmur their accompaniment to the
long yarn being spun within. There are others, but of them only one can
be here mentioned--that brilliant, wayward man of splendid abilities
and attainments, J.F. Keene. He has gone, and left no one to fill his
place. Intolerant of civilized life, he fled from it to the freedom
of the tramp or the fo'c'sle scallywag, and drank deep of the cup of
life as he loved it. But his books do not make light reading. They are
compounded of blood and iron, and bitter as the brine that stained his
manuscript.

But this preliminary digression is keeping us from consideration of the
important character we have to become acquainted with--the shipmaster,
or captain, as he is, by courtesy only, usually styled. No commander
of a merchant vessel, no matter how magnificent she may be, is legally
entitled to be called Captain. That honourable title belongs only to
the Royal Navy. Mr. So-and-so, master of the ship "So-and-so," is all
that the most experienced and highly placed merchant seaman may claim.
And yet it may well be doubted whether even the proudest captain of
a ship of war has more varied qualifications for his splendid post
than the ideal shipmaster. Difficulties that never trouble the naval
man meet his "opposite number" in the Merchant Service at every turn,
not to be evaded, but met and justified by success, or else loss of
appointment, and the pinch of poverty follows promptly.

The road to this eminent position is a plain and simple one. In its
most favourable traversing the would-be master has parents who can
afford to send him direct from school to such a nautical training
college as H.M.S. _Worcester_ or H.M.S. _Conway_--the former a
splendid vessel of the old wooden-wall type, moored in the Thames
off Greenhithe, and commanded by a most able merchant seaman, David
Wilson-Barker, Esq., F.R.S.E., F.R.G.S., F.Z.S., etc., himself an
alumnus of the _Worcester_; and the latter a kindred vessel moored
in the Mersey. Here the aspirant is thoroughly taught the theory and
practice of navigation in all its ramifications, while those branches
of study which he was pursuing at school are carried on in a generous
spirit. Seamanship, as far as it can be taught on board a stationary
vessel, takes naturally a most prominent place in the training scheme,
while naval architecture, languages, engineering, and nautical science
all have their allotted place.

So useful are all the subjects taught to the average man, that one
is tempted to believe that no college course in the country is more
admirably calculated to fit him for the battle of life, whether he
goes to sea or not. Dull indeed must the youngster be who does not
emerge from the _Worcester_ or the _Conway_, upon the completion
of his three years, better calculated to make his way in the world
than any lad of the same age is upon leaving a public school. The
Board of Trade have frankly recognized this by allowing the course
on board these training-ships to count as one year's sea-service in
the required qualification for second mate. That is to say, while the
ordinary candidate for a second mate's certificate must produce either
completed apprentice indentures for four years or certificates of
discharge for the same length of sea-service, one year of which must
have been served as an able seaman, the old _Worcester_ or _Conway_
boy need only produce a record of three years' sea-service to entitle
him to enter as a candidate. Now, assuming that the youngster has
finished his training-ship course with credit, and been duly bound as
an apprentice in a fine sailing-ship belonging to a good firm, his
way is clear before him. Passing through his probationary period
undaunted by the none too easy life he has led, he appears before the
examiners of the Board of Trade, and if he has only kept up the most
cursory acquaintance with the navigation he knew when he left the
training-vessel, his "passing" is ridiculously easy. I do not propose
to discuss here a much-vexed question, but will merely state that it
has often been proposed, as a remedy for what has been considered the
too low status of the shipmaster, that the standard set by the Board
of Trade should be periodically raised until the amount of education
required for successfully passing it would enable those paying for
it to demand higher salaries and more honourable recognition of
their position. No doubt it would greatly tend to lessen the numbers
obtaining certificates of competency, but, alas! there seems also no
doubt that, as things are at present, it would greatly increase the
number of alien officers in command of British ships.

Well, our young friend has his second mate's certificate, but unless he
be exceptionally fortunate he will have to make a voyage as third mate
before he takes up the position to which it entitles him. As third mate
in his old ship, or a similar one belonging to the same company, he may
be gradually permitted to keep a watch, to stand on the quarter-deck in
charge of a hundred thousand pounds' worth of property and thirty or
forty lives. (Of course, throughout I am speaking of the sailing-ship,
since she is as yet, in all but two or three instances, the recognized
medium for the beginner.) Pursuing his career with care, he reaches
home ready to take a ship as second mate, and if the firm he serves
is what it ought to be, no long time will elapse before such a berth
is ready for him. One twelvemonth's voyage as second mate, and he may
again approach the examiners for his chief mate's certificate. Again
he should find not the slightest difficulty in passing, the additional
qualifications required from him being quite simple. Should he be very
lucky, he will get a berth now as chief officer; but even if he be
compelled to go another voyage as second, he will be permitted to pass
the Board of Trade examination for master on his return, providing
he can show that he has acted for two years as second mate. With his
master's certificate in his possession, it is only a question of time
until he stands in the proud position of monarch of his little realm,
and that time may be greatly shortened in many cases if he happen to
have a comfortable sum of money to invest in the ship.

Should he desire to equip himself with all the certificates which
the Board of Trade can grant, he will proceed at once to undergo
the examination for Master Extra; he will also "pass in steam"--an
examination most necessary for those masters who propose to take
command of steamships--and he will also take an examination in
magnetism. Of all these extra examinations it may also be said that if
our friend has kept up his cadet training, they will have no terror for
him; they are only difficult to those who find mathematics irksome, and
never practise more than they are compelled to. Then, of course, they
get rusty, since the amount of mathematics really necessary to keep
a ship's position accurately at sea is very small. By the continual
invention of clever mathematicians, nautical astronomy has been reduced
to mere expertness in handling tables, and the indolent man will avail
himself of these aids to the fullest extent.




CHAPTER II.

THE RISE OF THE MASTER (REAL).

_The Liner._


So far, I am afraid that in sketching out the possible rapid rise and
progress from college to quarter-deck I have not been very amusing or
enlightening. The non-professional reader will be bewildered by the
swift passage of the young sailor through the various grades without
any elucidation of the "how" of each process, while the professional
seaman reading it will smile sardonically, and endeavour to recall any
instances within his knowledge of such an upward flight. Feeling this,
I hasten to explain that the foregoing is but an impressionist sketch
of an ideal condition of things, and that such a smooth attainment
of the object of a young sailor's ambition is of the very rarest
occurrence. Moreover, it has to be remembered that only the favoured
few can have the advantage such as is conferred by a _Worcester_ or
_Conway_ training. The great majority of youths who take to a sea life
go direct to their apprenticeship from school--go, too, in vessels
whose owners have but few ships, and consequently small facilities
for advancing their apprentices in the profession when once their
indentures have expired. As I propose to deal with the apprentice
in a chapter devoted to him entirely, I must be careful not to say
too much now, so I will merely indicate the undoubted fact that
an apprenticeship to any firm of ship-owners, no matter what the
excellence of the individual apprentice may be, carries with it no
guarantee of employment after the apprenticeship is over. In this,
as in many other respects, the sea is unlike any other profession.
In a large engineering firm, for instance, it would be considered a
waste of good material to discharge apprentices when out of their
time unless they had proved themselves hopelessly incompetent. But it
is not possible for a firm owning, say, four ships and carrying six
apprentices in each of them, to find employment for those apprentices
when they are fit to assume the position of officers. The four masters
are not at all likely to resign their berths frequently, masters of
ships in an employ such as I am now speaking of usually retaining their
commands for many years. They block the flow of promotion, never very
rapid, so that it is no infrequent thing to see the same set of three
officers, master, mate, and second mate, in one ship for several long
voyages.

What, then, is the young newly passed officer to do when, with his
creamy new certificate in his pocket, he finds nothing before him in
his old firm but a voyage before the mast as an able seaman? Well, if
his folks have any acquaintances among ship-owners--in other words, any
influence in that direction--now is the time to use it. Or, if they
have any money to invest, they will not find it difficult to purchase
a certain amount of interest, which should, and generally does, result
in their son getting an opening for employment. But if neither of these
levers are available, the aspirant is almost certainly in for a bad
time. Probably the best course for him will be to put his pride in his
pocket, and take a berth before the mast, always keeping his eyes open
when abroad for an opportunity of slipping into a vacant second mate's
berth, where he will get the rough edges worn off his newness, and
become accustomed to command. In the mean time he must keep carefully
in touch with his old firm, so that should he be on hand when there is
a vacancy, he may not miss it. His great object, of course, will be
to get a footing in a good firm, owning many ships, where promotion
is fairly rapid for the smart officer. Of course, he will hunger and
thirst after a steamer; but, unless he makes up his mind to go in the
lowest class of tramp, and plod painfully onward at very low wages for
a long time, he had better stick to sailing-ships until he gets his
master's certificate.

This for reasons which will appear later on. Into this stage of the
officer's upward progress the element of chance or coincidence enters
so largely that it is impossible to do more than generalize as to the
probable time which will elapse before he reach the goal of his desire.
But there is one feature in such a career as I am now attempting to
sketch that has not its counterpart, as far as I know, in any other
form of employment whatever. It is in the seeking for a berth. I know
of no more depressing occupation than that of a capable seaman looking
for a ship as officer. It does not greatly matter whether he wanders
round the docks or goes to the owner's offices, he is made to feel
like a mendicant; and on board most ships he is also made to feel like
a supplanter when he asks for employment. To go aboard of a likely
looking ship seeking a berth, say as mate, and to meet the present
holder of the office, is the usual experience, and a most awkward one
it is.

Here the pushful man will score heavily. Putting all diffidence in his
pocket, he will broach his message, boldly disregarding the frowning
face of the gentleman in charge, who naturally looks upon him as a foe.
But the shy, reserved man (and both these qualities are very common
among seamen) will stammer and beat about the bush, conceal the true
nature of his errand, and retire awkwardly in considerable confusion.
Having obtained a berth, however, it will generally rest with himself
how far he will be able to raise himself by its means. True, there are
many things--which will be treated fully under the different headings
of the various officers--which by no fault of his own may hinder and
dishearten him, but the unattached officer must not allow them to daunt
him. He must persevere, keeping his weather eye lifting for every
opportunity of advancement, and especially perfecting himself in all
the complicated details of his profession, in anticipation of the day
when, a full-blown shipmaster, he will be where his longings have led
him.

It may be asked, "But what has all this to do with the master
himself--his duties, his position, etc.?" The question is quite
reasonable, and I feel the full force of it; but there is a
strong temptation to anticipate the succeeding chapters, when one
remembers the passage over the generally thorny way leading up to
the chief position on board ship. However, I will do my best to
avoid further digression, and proceed at once to give, to the best
of my ability, a sketch of that much-envied individual's privileges
and responsibilities. The first difficulty that presents itself is
classification. For, although the Board of Trade certificate of master
qualifies its possessor to take command of the most splendid liner, it
is absolutely essential to the assumption of chief charge of a tiny
schooner engaged in foreign trade. Yet it must be obvious that between
these two positions there is a great gulf fixed--not in qualification,
for there is really no reason why the holders thereof should not
change places at any time. In many cases it is accident alone that
determines whether a man shall be master of a liner or a clumsy little
brig, lumbering painfully across to the West Indies. In spite of this
fact, one cannot expect that the grand gentleman who commands such a
magnificent ship as the _Teutonic_ or _Campania_, for instance, should
be able to refrain from looking down upon his brother master of the
_Susan_, brigantine of two hundred tons register. To the liner master's
credit be it said, he does not show nearly the same _hauteur_ towards
his less fortunate fellow that he might reasonably be expected to do.
That sort of view of their respective positions is usually taken by
people ashore, who know just enough of the conditions to enable them to
make such a tactical mistake.

The master of a great liner is in a really enviable position--not,
perhaps, as regards his earnings in solid cash, for it still remains to
the discredit of British seafaring that its most highly placed officers
are far worse paid than men greatly their inferiors engaged in business
ashore. But in power, in importance in the eyes of his fellow-men, in
comfort, he is far before them. His are the responsibilities, upon him
rests the reputation of the ship among the people who pay the piper,
the passengers, but beyond that his life is rightly looked upon by
his less fortunate brethren as one long holiday. No laborious keeping
of accounts for him, no worrying about freights or scanty passenger
lists, no anxious study of weather charts or calculation of course to
be pursued in reference to the time of year and consequently prevalent
winds. At the appointed time for sailing he comes upon the bridge, and
greets most cordially or nods most frigidly to the pilot according to
his temperament. That individual, one of the elect of his fine calling,
is paid by the company for his exclusive services, and it is his duty
to see the monster ship safely through the intricacies of the river
mouth out into free and open waters. The master's presence on the
bridge is a matter of form--necessary, however, because by some queer
twist of maritime law, although ships going foreign are compelled to
take a pilot who is responsible for her safe conduct out to certain
limits, the master's responsibility is always alive. Should the pilot
lose the ship and the master not be on deck, the latter would be held
equally to blame, although at what precise time his intervention would
be permissible is left delightfully ambiguous.

The pilotage limit is reached, and the pilot gets into his own place on
board of his own cutter; the voyage is begun. Now is the master lord
indeed; but such a ship as this will have at least six officers, of
whom most likely all will hold certificates as Master Extra. Each of
these in their turn take charge of the ship under the master's orders,
subject to certain regulations peculiar to the different companies, and
the least tribute that can be paid to them is that every one of them
is probably fully as competent to command the ship as is the master
himself. It is etiquette, however, for him to remain on the bridge
while the vessel is in waters that may by any stretch of nautical terms
be called narrow, although he does not interfere in any way, if he be
a gentleman, with the handling of the ship. The navigating officer
(usually the second officer) works assiduously at nautical astronomy,
calculating the position, the error of the compass, etc., continually,
but his work is checked by the master and the other officers, who work
the main details independently of him.

No ships afloat are navigated with more jealous care than these, no
ships can show a more splendid record of actual correctness in working,
and it needs a strong personality indeed on the part of the master to
avoid laxity. Having so fine a set of subordinate officers, why should
he trouble himself? The love of holding the reins, jealousy of the
slightest encroachment upon his prerogatives, will usually keep him
from this, but the temptations to enjoy the charmingly varied society
in the midst of which he moves as king is certainly very great. All
honour to these capable gentlemen that so few of them succumb to it.
Whenever stress of weather demands their presence on the high and
lofty bridge (Mount Misery, the wise it call), they will be found
there, cheery and confident, with apparently no sense of weight of
responsibility upon them, although they might well be excused if their
brows were permanently furrowed with anxious thought. To know that
upon you rests the charge of two thousand souls, to say nothing of
from half to three-quarters of a million pounds' worth of property
being hurled over the howling sea at the rate of twenty-five miles an
hour, is surely enough to give even the most jovial heart pause. Yet
these splendid men conceal with great ease any appearance of worry, and
behave as though they had nothing more serious on their mind than the
making of an Atlantic passage pleasant to their guests.

The master of a ship cannot enjoy that peculiar repose common to every
other member of his crew. Deeply as they may feel the weight of their
special responsibility while on watch, the moment they are relieved
the relief is complete. No matter how black the outlook, it is the
other fellow's business now. The relieved one goeth unto his bunk,
and divesting himself of his clothing, passes into dreamland as free
from care as if in some cosy bed ashore. Not one vestige of his late
anxieties trouble him. They will come on again all too soon; meanwhile
he will get as much sleep into the allotted hours as possible, and
nothing short of a summons from his commanding officer shall disturb
that calm. The poor skipper, on the other hand, has no such relief.
He must cultivate confidence in his officers, or want of rest will
soon make an old worn-out man of him; but in any case he must be
always ready to assume full responsibility. I have often wondered how
the masters of swift Atlantic liners can keep up their spirits as
they do, knowing what a number of derelicts there are lurking about
the Atlantic. I suppose they say to themselves that, remembering the
wideness of the sea, there are an infinity of chances against their
striking against any one of those awful shifting dangers, numerous
though they be. And they must cultivate a habit of refusing to
contemplate possible disasters that are by no means inevitable, else
would they soon become unfit for their position.

It must not be forgotten that they are in the last resort also
responsible for the performance of the tremendous giants below, the
steam-engines that thrust the vast fabric through the seas at such
headlong speed. But, unlike their brethren in the Navy, they do not
think lightly of the engineer. They recognize to the full his wonderful
ability and trustworthiness, and I think I am well within the mark in
saying that no department of the ship's management gives them less
anxiety than the most important of all, the engine and boiler-rooms.
For it is impossible to conceive of even a second-rate engineer rising
to be in command of a liner's engine-room. There is a process of
weeding-out in action there that is very efficient, so that while it
is conceivable that by a combination of favourable circumstances and
highly placed influence a duffer _might_ come to command a fine ship,
the same thing could not happen in the engineering department.




CHAPTER III.

THE MASTER (OF A TRAMP).


From the liner to the tramp is by no means the great step that might
be imagined. Indeed, so fine are the gradations in the quality and
positions of steamships that it is impossible to draw a hard and fast
line anywhere. For even among tramp steamers undoubtedly there are many
shades of difference until we reach the very lowest class of all, run
on principles despised by all ship-owners of repute. The hierarchy of
merchant shipping, the great floating palaces belonging to such firms
as the P. & O., the Cunard, the White Star, and the British India, to
mention only a few, and without any invidious idea of selection, fall
easily into a class by themselves, association with which in almost any
capacity confers a sort of brevet rank upon a seaman. But once they
are left, and the lines entered upon to whom cargo is the one thing
needful and passengers are merely incidental, we get a new order of
things entirely: first of all, a great reduction of speed, for the sake
of economy in running; consequent upon this, a corresponding reduction
of staff, both on deck and in the engine-room. Yet in the highest
class of cargo carriers and the lowest class of ocean-going passenger
ships the master's position is still a proud one. His vessel is often
of immense size, carrying up to ten thousand tons of freight, and,
especially if she be one of the hand-maidens of a great company owning
swift passenger ships as well, his salary will be fairly good, though
probably fifty per cent. below that of his more fortunate fellows in
the liner pure and simple. Also his work will be increased. For there
is no difference at sea in the old axiom that the less a man does the
more money he gets for it. Still, where he is in a regular trade, as
in the highest class of cargo ships he will be, his clerical work
connected with the ship's earnings will be almost _nil_, although he
may not carry a purser to do the interior accounts of the ship or such
matters as wages bills, etc.

It may truly be said that the master of a first-class cargo steamer is
in much better case than his brother in some small lines of passenger
steamers that could be named. He is better paid, better housed, and
has far less worry. Some of those small passenger steamers going (for
steam vessels) long voyages are run so economically that the master has
hard work to keep up any sort of appearance at all. I knew myself of
one firm, which shall be nameless, whose advertisements for passengers
were most persistent and alluring, who thought it not shameful to
pay their masters £12 a month, at the same time insisting that they
should invest at least £250 in the company. Cases like these are very
disheartening to the striving seaman. For where the master's wages
are kept so low, other economies are conducted in proportion. Such a
vessel, say of 1500 tons register, would carry at most three mates and
eight seamen. The latter would be mostly foreigners, the work for such
a small complement being so hard that home-born men worth their salt
fight shy of them. And the officers' wages, unfixed as the men's are,
would also be cut down deplorably low. Still, even in such a ship as
this the master's clerical work is very small. Agents of the company at
each port await the vessel's regular arrival, and see to it that she
departs on scheduled time, cargo or no cargo. So that the master has
no carking care as to how the ship is paying, no responsibility beyond
the navigation and management of the ship herself. He has, of course,
to consider his passengers, with no buffer between him and their often
querulous complaints and constant questionings, such as his exalted
brethren in the big liners have in their purser. He is usually a man
who has been passed over in the race, and while his ability is of the
highest order, he feels naturally shelved upon a very much lower ledge
of his profession than he once hoped to reach.

In command of these small passenger-carrying ocean-going steamers are
to be found some of the very best of our merchant skippers, whose worth
and merit are so great that their reward strikes one as most shockingly
inadequate.

Beneath these comes the tramp proper. It has just dawned upon me in
time that often as I have used the word, I have not yet given any
definition of it for the benefit of those who I hope will read this
book principally, shore people. A tramp steamer, then, is a vessel of
large cargo-carrying capacity and low power of engines, built upon the
most economical principles, and run likewise. She goes wherever freight
is to be had, although usually built for certain trades, and this is in
itself a sore point with underwriters, who complain bitterly that they
are often led to insure a certain type of vessel on the understanding
that she will be trading in such waters as the Mediterranean and the
Baltic, but presently find her braving the tremendous seas of the
Atlantic. The best type of tramp is built and owned in north-east
English ports, where the highest shipbuilding science is brought to
bear upon the construction of cargo-carriers that shall be at once
cheap, roomy, economical, and seaworthy. And it must be said that many
firms up there, by careful attention to tramp building and owning,
have made tremendous strides in the direction of safety for the ships,
and even comfort for the crews, although of the latter there can never
be very much in a tramp. The lowest type of tramp, on the other hand,
is one that is built to sell to the first bidder--built so as to pass
Lloyd's surveyor, but without one single item in her equipment that
can be dispensed with. Such vessels as these merit all the hard words
that have been said of them. Very slow, very unhandy, with dens for the
crew to live in and upper works of the commonest material, they are
always coming to grief. They are mostly owned by single-ship companies,
of which the shareholders are generally people knowing absolutely
nothing of shipping matters, who have been induced by speciously worded
circulars, issued by some deeply interested manager, to invest their
scanty capital in these dubious enterprises.

The master of such a ship as this may well feel that his lot is hard.
With wages cut down to a point that could only attract a man upon
his last legs financially, the manager always endeavours to get some
investment, however small, out of the unfortunate master, to give
him an interest in the ship. The food and stores supplied are of
such bad quality as to make the life very much harder than it need
be (in any case it is hard enough), while the number of men carried
in proportion to the vessel's tonnage is appallingly small. Yet the
master's work is far more onerous than in better ships. In addition to
the necessity he is under of nursing his ungainly, low-powered vessel
in heavy weather, he is always being sent to fresh places, entailing
upon him the acquisition of an immense amount of local knowledge. The
purchase of coal in far-away ports, with all the vicissitudes of price
to which that indispensable commodity is subject, makes his hair grey
and his face wrinkled before he comes to middle age. If he carries a
good supply of coal for fear of a rise in price, at his next port he
may have to shut out cargo; if he neglects to do so, expecting to be
able to buy well and be disappointed in his expectations, he is held
responsible. Low freights make him unhappy, although he is powerless
to alter economic conditions, for his first duty is to make his ship
pay. Worst of all his troubles are repairs. Such vessels as these
are peculiarly prone to damage, from their cheap construction, yet
any expense incurred abroad for repairs is looked upon as almost a
crime. Then there is the necessity laid upon him for the most careful
watching of the freight-markets. Although he may secure a good freight
on one passage, he may, upon reaching his port, find that freights
there are either unpayably low or non-obtainable. And his spirits fall,
because he knows how such an experience will lower his average earnings
for the voyage.

The qualifications that such a master need have are, although nominally
the same as in any other branch of his trade, immensely varied. And
it may be taken for granted that a successful tramp skipper is always
a good all-round man--something of a diplomat, of a lawyer, of an
accountant, of a merchant: all these qualities superadded to his
ability to handle his vessel at sea in all weathers, contend with crews
of the smallest and of the lowest kind of men, who are as far removed
from the popular idea of what a sailor is as day is from night. But
such men are of inestimable value to the commerce of the country.
They seldom forget that their first duty is to their employers, nor
allow the thought of their hard, laborious position to tempt them into
neglect of it. Poor fellows! the penalty for want of success is not
easy to bear, even though they may be in no way to blame.

These, of course, are the lowest kinds of tramps. But there is an
aristocracy among tramp steamers, owned by wealthy firms of high
reputation, both for well and carefully built cargo-carriers and
generous treatment of their faithful servants. Although these ships do
also go wherever cargo is to be found on which a payable freight will
be paid, yet the conditions under which the officers serve are very
much better. They are not harassed, either, by the fear of making a
loss upon the voyage, since such firms will have their correspondents
in most ports, who make freight arrangements for the skippers. Between
owners and masters in this class of vessel often subsist the most
firm friendships, men growing grey in one employ, and feeling always
that their faithful service is fully appreciated. Of course the pay
is not high, but the tenure is good, and there is always the chance
of picking up a tow, a fellow-tramp with broken shaft, or something
of a like disabling nature. And this may mean a small fortune, often
does so, since the skipper never fails to take a most substantial
share of the total award. Besides, there is a prospect, too, that a
well-known skipper may, before he is worn out with sea-service, get a
comfortable berth as harbour-master, or dock-master, or ship's-husband,
or any of the congenial employments for which experienced shipmasters
are so eminently fitted. Pilotage, too, may come their way, although
this can hardly be looked upon as comfortable retirement after a hard
life at sea. But whatever they get as a sort of retiring berth, they
may truly be said to have earned it. Unfortunately, many of them must
leave the sea with advancing years, having nothing to support them but
such scanty savings as they have been able to put by. And as the days
when skippers were able to amass fortunes have long passed away, these
hard-working seamen are often hardly bestead in their old age--far more
hardly than any one knowing their long period of command, but ignorant
of their pay, could possibly imagine.

In leaving the steamer-skipper for him of the wind-jammer, as sailing
vessels are contemptuously termed by steamer-sailors, a few words may
suffice for the ungracious task of dealing with the black sheep. As
in all other professions, of course among steamship-masters there are
drunken blackguards, who in some mysterious way manage to get and keep
command. But the proportion is very small. There is hardly any room
for them. The conditions of service are too onerous, the necessity for
constant care and forethought is too great, to admit of many worthless
men being in command. Especially is this the case in the north-east
ports, where every man's goings-on are known and discussed, as
villagers dissect one another's business in remote inland hamlets. No;
taking them by and large, to use a time-honoured sea phrase, the tramp
skippers need not fear comparison with any class of public servants in
this country, while for the importance of the duties they fulfil they
are certainly second to none.




CHAPTER IV.

THE MASTER (SAILING SHIPS).


So great is the difference in duties to be performed by masters of
sailing ships from those of masters of steamers, that they are almost
like members of another profession. The range, too, in status is
exceedingly extensive. Between the man in command of, say, a small
brigantine going foreign, and the commander of a four-masted steel
clipper carrying 5000 tons of cargo to and from the Colonies, there
is not only a great gulf of status, but a large number of gradations.
Yet it will readily be admitted by all shipmasters that the position
of master of even a fifth-rate steamship marks a step upward from
the same position on board of the finest sailing ship afloat. And
almost any shipmaster is glad to step down from the exalted pinnacle
he may have occupied for years as master of a splendid "wind-jammer"
and take a very subordinate position, say, as second, third, or even
fourth officer in a liner, as a means of rising to the coveted post of
commander of such a ship.

But perhaps we have had enough of steamers for a little while. For my
part, I shall only be too glad to quit that part of my subject for the
far more congenial one of the "wind-jammer," as she is contemptuously
called by steamer-men. It is essential, in order to success as a master
here, that a man should be a _sailor_. That is, in the original sense
of handling ships, a fine art, demanding high skill and courage as well
as constant practice. A good master nurses his ship under sail with
never-ceasing care. If he be ably seconded by his officers, his labour
is of course greatly lightened; but even then, if a smart passage is to
be made, the master must never relax his vigilance. Never, that is, in
the sense of allowing his officers to feel that the game is in their
hands entirely. To explain this for the benefit of my shore readers,
let me give a commonplace instance. I was an able seaman on board a
fine ship homeward bound from Manila to London. We were commanded by
an elderly, taciturn gentleman, whose appearance was as unlike that of
the typical sailor as could well be imagined. Yet every man on board
knew him to be a consummate ship-handler, and cool withal, so that
when, on the outward passage, we were tacking under a heavy press of
sail to get through the Sunda Straits, and in weathering a point of
Thwart-the-way-Island actually touched it with our bilge, the seamed
old face never blenched, never lost its sphinx-like mask of serene
watchfulness.

We did not know, though, until we had reached the eastern entrance to
Sunda Straits again, on the passage home, how excellent his seamanship
really was. In company with a dozen other ships, most of which had
gained upon us, we were becalmed in that dangerous vicinity when night
fell. Darkness shut down upon us, such a darkness as makes it necessary
for the sailor to know the running gear intuitively--to develop some
other sense to serve him in lieu of sight. Amidst a guttural growling
of thunder which was almost continuous, and a flickering glare of
lightning that was bewildering, it began to rain--not steadily, but
as if high overhead were passing a series of nimbus clouds that were
letting fall their contents in intermittent lumps. And from all
quarters successively came light puffs of wind, never steady for more
than ten minutes at a time. We had all the lighter sails made fast in
case of a sudden heavy squall and for greater facility of working the
ship.

Then for the whole of that Egyptian night, making a bewildering tangle
of courses that was enough to whiten a mathematician's hair to ravel
out, we toiled at the braces under the master's direct orders. _We_
had watch and watch, but he was on duty all night. Standing by the
compass, watchful and alert in spite of his seventy years, he utilized
every favourable cats-paw, manœuvred against the unfavourable ones,
remembering the possibilities of the unknowable currents beneath, and
keeping before his mental vision a picture of the contour of that
rugged coast.

When morning dawned he had his reward; for we were almost through the
Straits, with the first kiss of the south-east trade wind saluting us,
and the broad bosom of the Indian Ocean lying invitingly before us
under a canopy of stainless blue. And of our comrades of the previous
day only one could be seen, just discerned so far astern that she was
only a speck on the horizon. To grasp the significance of such a piece
of seamanship, it is necessary to remember that in a square-rigged ship
the swinging of the great yards is not a momentary affair, like the
slipping over of a schooner's fore and aft sails. Time and much labour
are required. Moreover, the closest attention is necessary in order to
utilize intermittent wind-breaths, as these were; for a big ship with
little motion obeys her helm but slowly, and soon loses, if she be
caught aback, that is, gets the wind on the wrong side of her sails,
what little "way" or forward motion she has--a loss that she is loth to
make good.

Again, in a sailing ship native courage in the master counts immensely.
No amount of experience will atone for a want of this quality. Some
men are so prudent, in other words, so lacking in courage, that they
will shorten sail at the first premonition of bad weather, instead of
reducing canvas as the weight of wind makes it impossible for the ship
to carry it with safety. Of course there are circumstances where such
prudence is absolutely necessary, as in the case of ships who do not
carry sufficient men, or whose crews are of such poor quality that they
are hardly competent to handle the sails in fine weather; also when the
equipment of a ship has been so shamefully starved that the carrying of
sail in anything like a breeze is bound to end in wholesale loss. And
this matter of prudence in carrying sail has its dangerous side also.
Many a dreadful storm has been endured by a ship that she would have
escaped altogether had she kept up her speed; many a ship has been
overtaken by a following sea and left almost derelict by its onslaught
that would have gallantly outraced it had she not been made helpless by
the clipping of her broad wings.

Of course, when it is remembered how great is a ship's individuality,
how immensely circumstances vary, even the least knowing of us will
have small difficulty in understanding the impossibility of laying down
hard and fast lines. Every master must needs work out his own salvation
in these matters, learn by experience and keep on learning; happy if he
can find a ship whose ways are ways of pleasantness, and who has not
either been built with or acquired some devilish habit of sea-spite
that makes her an abode of misery to her crew, and the command of her
a martyrdom to her master. Such ships abound, possessed by every vice
known to seafarers, yet presenting in dock, when newly "got up," an
appearance of smartness and seaworthiness that is deceitful to the last
degree. Such a ship it was my evil hap to light upon once in London,
bound for New Zealand. Every one of my shipmates were ecstatic in their
praises of her beauty; none doubted that she would be as comfortable
as she was lovely. But oh, the awakening from our pleasant dream!
Barely had we cleared the Channel, when, meeting the full vigour of the
Atlantic swell, she began her antics. There was no dry place on board
of her anywhere, except under the hatches among the cargo. For she had
not _all_ the vices of a ship; she was well and staunchly built, and
did not leak. But in finest weather, almost in calm, she invited the
sea on board; while in bad weather she was like a half-tide rock,
continually awash.

There were five passengers, and I warrant that none of them could ever
forget that passage of 117 days; because the after part of the ship
was even worse than the fore part. A massive structure of timber, like
the palisading of a block-house, was built across the front of the
cabin for its protection. She, however, thought nothing of sweeping
away the whole erection, and flooding the handsome state-rooms with
a foaming torrent of salt water. Never shall I forget the sight of
the podgy skipper, like some unlively porpoise, gambolling about the
saloon, swimming and scrabbling in water up to his waist in chase of
his sextant, which, secure in its box, was gleefully careering about
at every roll of the ship. That skipper was both smart and plucky,
but his command must have aged him at treble the ordinary speed. When
he carried on sail until the masts bent like fishing-rods and the
stitch-holes in the sails became elongated so that they looked like
columns of shining oats placed horizontally, instead of keeping ahead
of the sea, she took it over in appalling masses, both sides and astern
at once. And when it became suicidal to run her any longer, and we hove
her to--that is to say, we reduced sail to a mere speck, and turned her
head as near to the wind and sea as it would go--she acted as viciously
as any buck-jumping horse. No one on board ever found their sea-legs,
as the saying is, for you needed inch-long spikes or huge sucking-discs
on your feet to keep on your legs at all.

Then there is the needed acquaintance with the best routes at given
times of the year--the ability to direct your course so that you
shall find the minimum of calms with the maximum of favourable winds.
This is a prime quality in a successful shipmaster, and it cannot be
learned from weather-books or weather-charts. I came home once from
Australia, second mate of a magnificent ship, whose sailing qualities
were of the highest order, her crew ample in quantity, her equipment
beyond criticism. The master was a learned man, but his experience
of sailing ships was of the slightest. He had all the weather-charts
obtainable; he studied them continually, and faithfully followed their
guidance. In the result we made a four and a half months' passage home,
while a smaller ship, not nearly so smart, sailing from the same port
three weeks after our departure, arrived in London nearly four weeks
ahead of us. But _her_ master had been sailing ships between England
and Australia for many years, all the while accumulating first-hand
knowledge of the conditions obtaining over all those seas he traversed,
learning by experience the weather-signs and all the grammar of the
language that the ocean speaks in to its intimate friends. This
knowledge it is that constitutes the fine flower of seamanship as it
was (and is still in ships that depend upon sail only), but which will
soon be looked upon as a lost art as the sailing ship is gradually
pushed aside by that wonderful outcome of engineering science--the
steamship.

How great a factor in the making of a successful passage under
sail this personal acquaintance with the route pursued is, may be
easily assessed from a superficial study of the ways of the Swansea
copper-ore traders. These are, or rather, I ought to say, were, smart
barquentines which sail, or sailed, from Swansea, bound round Cape
Horn from east to west, for the purpose of bringing home ore to the
world-renowned smelting-works of Wales. Their masters were not, in any
sense of the word, fine gentlemen, their calling hardly admitted of
the cultivation of the graces of life; but such was their knowledge
of this, the most arduous piece of navigation in the whole world,
that their passages were made with almost steamer-like regularity.
Only seamen themselves could give to these perfect mariners all the
praise that was their due. For all sailors know, either by experience
or repute, how cruelly hard are the conditions attached to forcing a
passage around that awful promontory that reaches down almost to the
Antarctic Circle, deep into the chosen habitation of the fiercest and
most persistent gales that rage around the planet. Here, for weeks on
end, you shall feel the weight of an unfaltering westerly gale, with
all its accompaniments of snow and sleet and darkness. One would say
that the attempt to get round the Horn from east to west, in the teeth
of such prevalent conditions, was madness, especially when the long
record of disaster attendant upon these attempts is known. Many a case
is on record where fine ships, after weeks of abortive struggle to get
to the westward round Cape Horn, have at last given up the fight, put
the helm hard-up, and fled before the inexorable westerly gale, right
round the world, to reach such a port as San Francisco, for instance.

Yet these little Swansea men came and went, from year to year, with the
utmost regularity; their skippers having learned by experience how to
out-manœuvre even the terrible monarch of the southern sea. No doubt
it was a hard life; but it was exultant, triumphant. These men knew
how good their seamanship was, how exact their weather-lore, and they
troubled meteorological charts not at all.

So, too, with the navigation of the Bay of Bengal. While not so
severe in any sense as that of Cape Horn, it is difficult, teasing,
and calling for constant watchfulness. Men who go that way only
occasionally will make a good passage of, say, from eighty to a hundred
days on one voyage, and then with the same ship, a year or two after,
make a passage that causes the owner to gnash his teeth as he cons
the portage bill. But to the men who used to sail there regularly how
nearly an exact science did their navigation of that baffling bay
become! One especially comes to my mind--Thomas Potts, of Messrs.
Brocklebank's famous old East-India line. Dozens of that old worthy's
log-books have passed through my hands, with their fair, unblotted
entries of business-like procedure from day to day. And so regular
seemed the rate of sailing that I once took the trouble to compile an
average of his passages out and between Liverpool and Calcutta for six
years, and I found it to be eighty-five days; a perfectly marvellous
achievement in the eyes of a seaman.

Of course, such splendid work as this presupposes a speedy ship. While
it is perfectly true that seamanship and diligence on the part of the
master can do great things in the way of passage-making even with a
sluggish vessel, yet it is heart-breaking work. And when, tired of the
never-ending struggle against adverse circumstances, the master becomes
listless and slack in his attentions, the result in such a vessel is
that she becomes overdue, and underwriters gamble feverishly on the
prospects of her non-arrival. Such vessels are still to be met with
in goodly numbers, not all obsolete ships either. One, for instance,
that I have in mind at the present moment, a huge steel ship not a
dozen years old, whose last few passages have been the cause of immense
sums changing hands among underwriters owing to her being continually
overdue. Another smart-looking barque that I saw in Auckland, New
Zealand, once, was actually eight months on the passage from Liverpool
thither, having apparently been taken into regions of almost perpetual
calm, whence it was a miracle that she ever emerged.

Between these two extremes of swiftness and slowness come all the host
of mediocrities, making passages of average length, speedy enough to
prevent owners grumbling, yet not sufficiently smart to call for any
praise. As in all other professions, these are the vast majority;
and the masters who thus quietly perform their duty without hope of
honourable mention are none the less worthy because they do not,
cannot, do anything that shall cause their names to be remembered among
seamen as the _élite_ of the profession.




CHAPTER V.

THE MASTER (SAILING SHIPS)--_continued_.


Hitherto I have endeavoured to pass lightly over the sailing ship
master's work in making passages, only showing the superior side of
these responsible men's characters. But if I were to go no farther in
this direction, many masters would rightly feel much aggrieved. They
would not feel satisfied that the public should imagine that they were
all alike excellent, and that the training and experience necessary
for the command of a ship always succeeded in turning out a man who
was really fit for the post he is called upon to occupy. Besides,
the picture would be a false one. Far too many masters, having once
obtained command, instead of utilizing their extended opportunities
of showing their fitness for such a post, just settle down on their
lees and become indolent, careless, and consequently worthless. It
must be granted that the temptation is great to a man not naturally
energetic. Once freed from the oversight and control of his owners or
their agents, and out upon the sea, he is in the position of an almost
absolute monarch. His officers are anxious to gain his good word, since
upon it depends their future.

This statement needs some explanation. By a rule of the Board of Trade,
every officer coming up for examination in order to take a certificate
of a higher grade must produce written testimonials from the master
he has served with. Wanting these, he is not allowed to enter for the
examination at all. Now, as by the common law no master is bound to
give his servant a character, it follows that a shipmaster need only
withhold that essential scrap of paper from an aspiring officer to
put an effectual bar before his rising any higher. I do not profess
to criticize the wisdom of this enactment, I merely state the facts
as they are. And as an instance of how this power is regarded by
shipmasters, I may mention that, recently writing upon the subject
in the press, I received an indignant letter from a shipmaster, who
said that if all shipmasters did their duty there would be far fewer
officers obtain certificates than there are now. Also that no good
officer need fear such treatment at the hands of any shipmaster--which
was manifestly absurd, since among shipmasters, as amongst all other
classes of men, there must be both bad and good, and the temptation to
use arbitrary power like that is far too great to be resisted by a bad
man.

But to return. Having, then, this potent lever in his grasp, this
guarantee for the good behaviour of his officers, the indolent master
may, if he will, leave everything to them, except just the obtaining
of the ship's position each day. Even that it has been my lot to see
neglected by a shipmaster. Of course he will occasionally potter
about and find fault, if he be, as well as indolent, of a small, mean
character. Such a master is a sore trial to both officers and crew.
Asked for instructions as to what he wishes done, he will reply that he
did not expect his officers would need to be shown their work, and that
he would prefer to have men about him who did not want dry-nursing.
Which being translated means that he wants his officers to do things
on their own initiative, so that he can at any time, if in want of a
little recreation, find it in quarrelling with them for doing that
which they deemed to be right.

For instance, I was once mate of a barque. While lying in Noumea,
failing any instructions from the master, I decided to set up all
the rigging, which was so slack as to be dangerous supposing that we
encountered any bad weather. The work was well under way when the
master came on deck from his cabin, where he had been dozing all the
morning, and, seeing what was going on, called out loudly: "Here, Mr.
Bullen, just stop that, will you? That can be done any time. _I_ want
the ship painted outside." Far too well in hand to make any remark, and
really rather glad to get a definite order, I had the gear unrove and
put away; and soon we were in the thick of painting. We did not get
another opportunity to tighten up that rigging before we left one of
the northern ports of the island, deep loaded with copper ore. We were
hardly outside the harbour, bound to Newcastle, N.S.W., when it came on
to blow, the vessel rolled tremendously, the rigging worked slacker and
slacker, and in the middle watch that night she rolled her three masts
over the side. Then, of course, I was blamed for not having had the
rigging set up.

Then there is the indolent skipper, who leaves everything to the mate,
and never finds fault either. Amiable but lazy, he spends most of
his time in sleep. He scarcely looks at a book, does not meditate,
but leads a sort of fungus life, indulging in a perpetual _kief_, or
cessation of all the nobler faculties. Naturally, young officers like
that kind of skipper, since they have a perfectly free hand; but they
despise him, and in their inmost heart they know that such a ship is
very little good to them. And in times of emergency or danger, when
naturally every one on board looks to the head for leadership, it is
disconcerting, to say the least, to find him altogether wanting in
initiative either in energy or resource. Of course, this is not saying
that many masters will not be found who are fussy and meddlesome to
the most irritating degree when the weather is fine and the ship is
on the high seas, who, when danger looms near and the master's good
qualities should shine brightest, are but broken reeds. One master
whom I liked very much--a really good man, but without back-bone--was
looked upon by all hands with good-natured toleration as a sort of
benevolent old female, who, if he did keep himself in evidence pretty
much all the time, did not interfere to any great extent. But there
came a day when we were running the _Easting_ down (bound to Calcutta)
that we were overtaken by a really heavy gale. All our energies were
needed to get sail off the deeply laden ship, for she was wallowing
dangerously, and was not speedy enough to keep ahead of the sea. While
we were thus striving with all our powers, under the smart mate's
direction, the skipper, swathed in many clothes, clung desperately to
the weather-mizzen rigging, a pitiful picture of fear, his legs bending
under him all ways, and his grey beard beslavered with the foam of
fright. A more abject specimen of a coward I never saw. All hands noted
his behaviour, and from that day forward he was treated with utter
contempt. His authority was a thing of naught, and the discipline of
the ship (never very rigid in the Merchant Service) was entirely gone.
At last the men refused to obey a most necessary order, simply because
it necessitated work in their watch below. The offence was flagrant,
involving as it did the possible loss of the ship and all hands. He
summoned the recalcitrant watch aft and reasoned with them. They merely
gibed at and taunted him with cowardice and uselessness in reply. When
we arrived at Calcutta he had them up before the shipping-master for
punishment, and that worthy fined them two days' pay--at which they
laughed hugely.

Now, such a scene as that would be unthinkable on board of either an
American ship or a "Blue-nose" (British North American vessel). There
the traditions are all on the side of stern discipline, which is not
based upon law, but upon force. The foremast hand, whoever he may be,
that signs in an American ship realizes at once that it is dangerous
to play any tricks with his superior officers. Because, although he
does not reason it out, he feels that it would be useless to invoke the
law to protect him against the certain consequences of shirking work,
insolence, or laziness.

And this leads me naturally to a consideration of the American skipper;
that is to say, the skipper of the sailing ship, the man who, by dint
of seamanship alone, has risen from the lowliest position to command.
No better sailors ever lived than the masters of American ships; and
it should never be forgotten, when the statistics of our marvellous
Mercantile Marine are studied, that not so many years ago the American
merchant navy was more than equal to our own. Not only so, but the
shore population was also so deeply tinged with the maritime spirit
that nautical terms were a part of the common speech of those who had
never even seen the sea. It is hardly fair to use the past tense,
because this is largely the case now; so much so, that a book bristling
with nautical phrases will be read in America by both sexes with
perfect ease, from their familiarity with nautical terminology.

What sailor is there worth his salt who does not cherish proudly the
remembrance of those magnificent "Down East" clipper ships and their
wonderful passages to and from the Far East and San Francisco? Their
doings have passed into proverbs, the runs they made from day to day,
the mountainous press of canvas they carried and the smartness of their
crews. Many of them were built by "rule of thumb," and were sailed
also much in the same way, for their officers prided themselves far
more upon their knowledge of sailorizing than mathematics, but they
flew over the wide sea at a speed that our clumsier wooden vessels
could not begin to compete with. In them the master was looked upon
almost as a demigod. No man-o'-war's man to-day regards even an admiral
with such awe as did the foremost hand of an American packet ship or
China clipper the saturnine, deep-browed man who, in spotless raiment
and with an Olympian air, strode up and down the weather side of his
immaculate quarter-deck. And a man who had once made a voyage in such
a flyer as the _Sovereign of the Seas_ or the _Dreadnought_ before the
mast, was wont to brag of it loudly ever after. It conferred a sort
of brevet rank upon an A.B. that he had successfully survived all the
hardships of such a voyage.

The watchwords on board these ships were "Good food and hard work." No
cook dare venture on board of them unless he could justify his title.
And unless he were clean enough to satisfy those hawk-eyed officers
he had better never have been born than have ventured under the Stars
and Stripes as cook. I have myself seen a Yankee skipper go into the
galley, and, taking up the first saucepan to hand from the rack, wipe
it out with a snowy handkerchief brought clean from his drawer on
purpose; and if it showed a smear upon inspection, there was at once
a sound of revelry in that galley. Another one had a pleasant habit
of going around the panelling of the saloon and state-rooms, poking
his handkerchief into the mouldings with a piece of pointed stick, and
examining it most carefully afterwards for any mark of dust. This, of
course, was carrying the Yankee officers' passion for cleanliness to an
absurd length, but it may safely be said that nowhere on the sea was
freedom from dirt maintained at so high a level as it was on board the
now almost extinct American clipper ships.

These masters fought their way up to command by sheer merit and force
of character, allied to physical prowess, dauntless courage, and,
it must be said in the majority of cases, ruthless cruelty. Laws for
the protection of the common seaman undoubtedly existed, but it was
an unheard-of thing for them to be enforced; and many dark stories
are current of men being done to death by incessant brutality, whose
murderers, whether officers or master, quietly slipped ashore in the
pilot-cutter upon reaching the offing of their home port. Then, if
such an unlikely thing happened as the dead man's shipmates taking
the matter of his slaying before the authorities, it was hopeless to
attempt the murderer's arrest.

But brutal and reckless as Yankee masters undoubtedly were, the fact
remains that they were unapproachable for seamanship and speedy
passages. They skimmed the cream off the Far Eastern trade, and, owing
to the generosity with which they were treated by their owners, took no
long time to amass comfortable fortunes. The knell of their supremacy
was sounded, however, when Britain took to building iron ships. Even
before that time, so well had the lessons taught by these dashing
Yankee shipmasters and born shipbuilders been learned, that some of our
firms had been able to build wooden ships that could hold their own in
the swiftest ocean race. Then came the day of the composite (wooden
planking with iron frame) ships--the famous tea-clippers of fo'c'sle
story, built by such firms as Hall of Aberdeen and Steel of Greenock,
against which no Yankee clipper had any chance whatever. And when the
iron ship appeared in her turn, in spite of the immense difficulty
of keeping the hull under water free from encumbrances of weeds and
barnacles, she at once sprang into premier place.

This, however, is a part of my subject that belongs to another place
in the book. It is necessary to mention it here in passing, because it
is one of the prime reasons for the rapid decay and disappearance of a
body of men whose seamanship was peerless--men who carried the Stars
and Stripes triumphantly over all the seas of the world. It must not be
supposed, either, that American skippers were uneducated men. Many of
them were, of course, but the proportion was far less than existed in
our own service. Navigation as taught in the sea-ports of the United
States, on the lines of Bowditch, was no mere perfunctory business; and
although there were no compulsory certificates of competency necessary
in those days, there was a good deal of proper pride in mathematical
attainment which those who employed officers of ships did their best
to foster. And if there were a goodly sprinkling of men among them who
did not care, so long as they could fudge their position out in the
most rudimentary way by means of an old wooden quadrant or hog-yoke, a
ten-cent almanac, and the barest acquaintance with a set of nautical
tables, why, so there were, and so there are now, among our own people,
even with compulsory certificates granted by a vigilant Board of Trade.




CHAPTER VI.

THE MASTER'S QUALITIES.


If, as is highly improbable, the average landsman ever thinks anything
about the duties of a shipmaster, it would be most interesting to
know what he imagines them to be. Most intelligent men and women
know that the primary duty of a shipmaster is to take his vessel
across the trackless ocean to her destined port and return again as
speedily as possible. So far so good, but beyond this first reason
for a shipmaster's existence there are a host of other duties, in all
of which he is supposed to be more or less proficient. And there are
certain qualities which he must also possess. Failing them, he may be
perfect in science, full of energy, and faultless in seamanship, but
as a commander he is naught. Of these, the ability to _command_ stands
unquestionably first. No doubt this quality is hard to define, but
the possession or the want of it makes all the difference between a
comfortable and a miserable ship. One man will seldom raise his voice
during a whole voyage loud enough to be heard by any one except the
individual to whom he is speaking; the calmness and placidity of his
demeanour is amazing, yet in some mysterious way every one on board
is made to feel that the master holds the reins of power with no slack
or unready hand, that to disobey one of his orders would be a most
dangerous experiment, and that he knows everything that is going on
fore and aft.

Such a man fulfilling this perfect attribute of command I once had the
pleasure to serve under--an elderly, prosaic-looking figure, who used
to come on deck shortly after daybreak every morning, with a moth-eaten
Bombay-made dressing-gown flung over his pyjamas, a mangy old fez upon
his head, and his bare feet thrust into sloppy slippers. Thus attired,
he would pace rapidly up and down the poop for the space of half an
hour, taking his constitutional--a most mirth-provoking figure. Yet no
one ever laughed, either behind his back, on deck, or in the privacy
of the fo'c'sle. When he spoke it was in a velvet voice, but the man
spoken to invariably took an attitude of profound respect on the
instant. He was old and feeble, and our crew numbered among them some
rowdies; but from England to China and back again that old gentleman's
commanding personality kept the ship in a quiet state of discipline
which was as perfect as it was rare.

On the other hand, I have seen a most stately figure of a man, with
a voice like a thunder-peal, unable to obtain respect from his crew.
Because in the Merchant Service, as I am never tired of reiterating,
respect cannot be enforced; it must come spontaneously, a tribute to
the personality of the officer to whom it is due, or it does not come
at all; and then that ship is in a bad way.

Another quality, which is only second in importance to the one just
mentioned, is self-control. Since the shipmaster has no one above him
in his little realm, it is highly important to his whole well-being,
as well as to the comfort of the ship, that he should command himself.
However irritated he may feel at a mistake on the part of one of his
officers, he should be able to conceal it before his crew. And here the
Americans have shown British officers a good example. So long as an
officer remains an officer on board of American vessels, so long is he
upheld by all the authority of the master. There is no sneering comment
upon his movements indulged in before the crew, no tacit information
conveyed to those keen-witted fellows that the hapless mate, first,
second, or third, as the case may be, has lost the confidence and
respect of his commander, and that consequently there is little or no
danger in them treating him disrespectfully. Perhaps this is one of the
hardest lessons that a shipmaster has to learn, especially in a sailing
ship. For three, or perhaps four, or even five, months sole monarch
of his small kingdom, anxious to make a smart passage, and often
sadly hampered by adverse winds and calms, it is no easy thing for a
naturally hasty man to discipline himself in such wise as to win the
maximum amount of obedience and deference from those around him. Happy
man if he have a hobby of some kind--a thirst for learning, a taste for
natural history, anything that will exercise the powers of his mind and
keep him from the moral dry-rot that always sets in where men are at
the top of things, amenable to no authority but their own, and without
any definite object whereon they may work and feed that appetite for
labour, whether mental or physical, possessed by every healthy human
organism.

Patience, perseverance, and a sense of justice are also indicated, as
they are, of course, in the leaders in every business or profession,
yet to an even greater degree at sea than anywhere else; for where
you can neither get rid of your men nor afford to lose their services
by punishing them, only the highest expression of these qualities
is of any avail. It may perhaps be thought impossible that, except
in the rarest instances, such a combination of excellence should be
found in any one man. But that impression is not a true one. I am not
exaggerating in the least when I say that but for the possession of
these qualities in an extraordinary degree by masters, our Mercantile
Marine would never have risen to its present splendid height in spite
of so many hampering disabilities unfelt by masters of ships under
other flags. For, to take one aspect only, the disciplinary. I have
slightly indicated the manner in which discipline is maintained in
American ships, viz. by the employment of violence, which is forbidden
by law, yet is invariably winked at. In the ships of every other nation
but the English-speaking ones, the merchant seaman is not only a native
of the country to which his ship belongs, but he is never free from the
environment of naval law; the same law, that is, which obtains on board
of a warship. For every seaman there is a man-o'-war's man, bound to
put in so much actual service in a vessel of war, and, as such, under
the articles of war; so that disobedience to orders, insolence, or
malingering (shamming sickness) are exceedingly expensive practices
for the sailor to indulge in, the penalties being not only heavy, but
their infliction certain.

In a British ship, on the other hand, a master may unwittingly ship a
crew of scoundrels, who have made up their minds to do as little as
they can as badly as possible, to refuse the most ordinary forms of
respect to their officers, and to either desert or go to gaol at the
first port, not because their ship is a bad one, but just by way of a
change. And if the master or officers, worried beyond endurance, take
the law in their own hands, their punishment and subsequent ruin is
almost certain to ensue promptly. The rascals who have made the ship
a hell afloat, confident in the tenderness of British law, and its
severity towards all forms of oppression, pursue their rejoicing way,
and if brought to court _may_ be fined a trifle of wages, which, as
they set no value upon money, does not punish them in the least.

Some decent foremast hands may feel that I am here unduly severe upon
the rank and file; that, having been an officer, and, besides, left
the sea for good, I have, like so many others, turned against my
old shipmates. But they would be utterly mistaken. It is the merest
platitude to say that every decent man's interest lies in having his
eyes wide open to the faults of the class he wishes to benefit. The
most of my sea-service was spent in a ship's forecastle, and I can
assure my readers that I have never since felt more shame and disgust
at the behaviour of some of my watchmates than I did then. I cannot for
my life see why the foremast hand should not be as self-respecting,
amenable to reason, and competent, as any good workman ashore. Sea
life is not brutalizing in itself; it is ennobling, and it is a strange
return for the benefits that a life at sea confers upon those who
live it that so many of them should gratuitously become brutish. Of
course there is more excuse for the unfortunate slaves of steam, the
firemen and trimmers. Yet even they can, and do in many instances,
rise superior to their hard surroundings and show an example to men in
positions where every comfort of life is enjoyed.

Another quality which shipmasters should possess, but whose necessity
will be hotly debated by many, is that of being a God-fearing man.
Some people will say that this embraces all the rest. That it should
do so is undeniable; that it does do so is, unhappily, seldom the
case. It is a great pity that in so many otherwise estimable men the
spirit of godliness should be accompanied by a weakening of their
power to command men. They become afraid lest their necessary acts
for the preservation of discipline should be misconstrued into a
violation of the principles which they profess. And this often results
in their Christian virtues being taken advantage of by unscrupulous
subordinates, so that the ship's condition becomes worse, not better,
for the fact of a man being in command who is anxious to love his
neighbour as himself. Needless to say, perhaps, that such a condition
of things is altogether opposed to the true spirit of Christianity,
which does not approve of allowing one's subordinates to break rules
and defy rulers. This, however, is far too large a question to be more
than glanced at here, especially as it is so hotly debated by many
excellent seamen who hold that the practice of the Christian religion
in the Merchant Service is an impossibility.

A master should be honest. Eyes will open wide at this, no doubt, since
all men _should_ be honest; but it must not be forgotten that all men
are not so liable to temptations to be dishonest in a perfectly safe
way (as far as the law goes) as a shipmaster is. The ports of the
world are thronged with scoundrels who tempt shipmasters to betray
their trust in a variety of ways. By bribery, the most common form of
corruption, they are led into cheating the owner and the crew, into
downright robbery. There is the temptation to rob the crew, a perfectly
safe operation, and one that can be excused by its perpetrators on
the ground that, as Jack will only squander his money upon the vilest
forms of debauchery when he gets paid off, a good percentage of it
will be much better in their pockets than his. It may be done in a
variety of ways, from the ostensible payment of _blood money_ to a
San Francisco boarding master or crimp, which is deducted from the
seaman's wages and shared by the skipper and his ally, to the commoner
form of collusion with bumboatmen, tailors, etc., whereby the sailor
is overcharged for everything he buys aboard, in order that a heavy
percentage of his spendings may go into the master's pocket. _Of
course_ Jack is not compelled to spend anything; but it is unfair that
he should be mulcted twenty-five per cent. on such innocent outlayings
as for soft bread, eggs, fruit, or clothing. In these latter days the
temptations to dishonesty in respect of such larger operations as
chartering, towage, etc., are greatly lessened by the multiplication of
appointed agencies of the owner's abroad, but they do still exist, and
the sailing shipmaster especially is often tempted to be dishonest in
out-of-the-way ports of the world, temptations which, for his own sake,
he should sternly refuse to countenance.




CHAPTER VII.

THE MASTER'S DUTIES.


As pointed out at the beginning of the last chapter, the primary duty
of a shipmaster is to get his ship from port to port in the speediest
and safest manner possible. And it may not be amiss to indicate here,
in the briefest and most popular way, the broad principles upon which
this is done. I wish to disarm criticism by experts by disclaiming any
intention of giving more than an idea of the process by which vessels
are taken across the trackless ocean to those who do not know, and are
daunted by a mathematical treatise.

Every school child that has reached the third standard knows that
the globe is represented as criss-crossed by a large number of lines
running from pole to pole, that is from north to south, and others
right round the globe in the opposite direction, or from east to west.
These lines cross each other at right angles. The up and down ones,
from pole to pole, are meridians of longitude; the East-West ones are
parallels of latitude. Now, since these are all numbered as degrees,
the space between them being 1°, the latitudes from the Equator to
the poles on either side of it as 1° to 90°, and the meridians from
Greenwich to its opposite point on the other side of the world 1° to
180°, it follows that if a seafarer can ascertain at the same time what
particular degree of both latitude and longitude he is in, a glance at
his chart or sea-map shows him the position of his ship. This operation
(finding the latitude and longitude) is performed in a variety of ways,
but the simplest, and consequently the most universally used at sea,
is by measuring the sun's height above the horizon at noon for the
latitude, and about three hours before or after noon for the longitude.
This is done by means of a pretty instrument called a sextant with
the greatest ease and speed. At noon, the moment the sun reaches his
highest point for the day, it is twelve o'clock, and a calculation,
made in one minute, shows exactly how far the ship is north or south of
the Equator. The observations for longitude take a little longer. From
the sun's height, at the moment of observation, is calculated the exact
time at the ship. And as a chronometer, which every ship carries, shows
the exact time at Greenwich, the difference between the two expresses
in hours and minutes (easily convertible into degrees and miles) the
distance east or west of Greenwich, the first meridian of longitude;
for every degree (60 miles) is equal to four minutes of time. Having
found the latitude and longitude, the master makes a little dot upon
the chart at the exact point where the lines of latitude and longitude
which he is on cross one another, and sees as plainly as if he were
standing at a well-known street-crossing where he is.

From the position thus obtained he shapes his course in the direction
best calculated to reach his destination; that is, if the way in which
the wind is blowing will allow him to do so (in a sailing ship). This
is done by bringing the desired point of the compass in a line with
a mark drawn upon the side of the round box in which the compass
swings, which mark really represents the ship's head. And if, as is
popularly supposed, the compass needle always pointed true to the
north, navigation would be very simple. But, alas! this instrument is
full of vagaries. Apart altogether from such harassing complications as
the attraction of the iron in the ship produces, there is the variation
of the compass itself from the north, which changes continually as
the vessel goes on her way. Then there is bad steering, and, worse
still, the effect of unknown currents, which sweep the ship away in
some direction which cannot be calculated until after it has occurred.
The speed of the ship is known by the use of a beautiful instrument,
called a patent log, which, towed behind the ship, registers her rate
of progress with an accuracy unobtainable by any cyclometer. Where, for
economical reasons, the patent log is not used, the mariner must rely
upon a primitive instrument, called a "logship," which, being used once
every hour or two hours, cannot, however good it may be, give such true
results as the patent log, which records every foot of the distance
travelled.

When, however, the heavenly bodies, which are always faithful and
reliable, are obscured by bad weather, and the master has to depend
upon a position obtained by a calculation of the course made by
compass and the distance run by log, he may well be uneasy if he be
in difficult waters near land. For the compass can only be corrected
by the aid of the sun, moon, or stars when at sea, and if _they_ are
invisible it may be a very unsafe guide, although an indispensable one.

Roughly, these are the principles upon which a ship is navigated,
modifications and extensions of which go to make up the perfect
navigator. And no matter how perfect a navigator a master may be, he
will always, if he be wise, see that the officers work out the ship's
position independently, so that a comparison may be made between the
various workings, and any errors detected.

This business of navigating the ship in deep waters is, however, always
looked upon by masters as the lightest part of all their duties,
although I have been shipmate with masters who had grown too lazy to
attend even to that, leaving it to the mate. When the ship comes to the
tortuous passages of, say, the East Indian Archipelago, or threads the
mazy ways of the West Indian islands, the master has an opportunity
to show what metal he is made of. Or, reaching the vicinity of our
own dangerous coasts in the long stormy or foggy nights of winter,
his anxieties become great. Steamship masters have here a tremendous
advantage over their brethren in sailing ships, whose best intentions
are often frustrated, their best seamanship rendered of none effect, by
the perverseness of the wind. This is especially the case near home,
where the sea traffic is great and the appalling danger of collision is
added to the perils of rocks, quicksands, and derelicts.

These are but few and feeble words wherein to outline the
responsibilities of a shipmaster for the safe conduct of his vessel,
responsibilities which weigh so heavily upon some men that for several
days and nights together they are unable to take the rest their
bodies imperiously demand, but they may serve to indicate them to
the sympathetic reader. And when the exceedingly small percentage of
casualties is taken into consideration, all will surely admit that the
standard of ability among this splendid body of men is satisfactorily
high.

The shipmaster's duty as a trustee of an enormous amount of valuable
property and, in a passenger ship, of valuable lives, is a most
important one. While he must see to it that there is no delay in their
conveyance to their destination, he must remember that safety is the
first consideration. Recklessness is really unpardonable, and must
sooner or later end in his ruin. He represents not only his owners, but
the owners of his cargo and the underwriters who insure that cargo. He
should be thoroughly well up in those sections of maritime law--and
they are many--which affect the traffic; know how to deal with grasping
brokers in foreign ports into which he may be driven by distress; be
able to make good bargains and keep accurate accounts, since none but
the finest passenger steamers carry pursers and clerks to take these
onerous duties off his hands. In passenger ships he must see that
his charges are made comfortable, bear with their often unreasonable
complaints, be courteous and genial, and generally exert himself
to make his ship, and consequently the line to which she belongs,
popular, since popularity spells dividends.

In cargo ships he must be something of a doctor, for on a long passage
there will certainly be many ailments among his crew, and probably
some fractures. Ignorance of how to deal with these means a terrible
amount of misery to the hapless sufferer lying groaning for assistance
which is not forthcoming. The present generation of shipmasters are
greatly in advance of what smattering of leech-craft was possessed by
their predecessors, but even now there is a plentiful lack of this most
humane and necessary knowledge. One would hardly now expect to find
a shipmaster so ignorant as he of whom the story runs that finding a
dose out of No. 7 bottle prescribed for a supposed ailment, he made up
the draught out of Nos. 4 and 3, upon finding that No. 7 was empty!
Or such a rough customer as the skipper of whom it is told in ships'
forecastles that when it was reported to him that a man had broken his
leg, replied, "Oh, give him a bucket of salts." But in one vessel where
I was a foremast hand, several of us caught severe colds upon coming
into a lonely New Zealand port, where no doctor was to be obtained. The
skipper diagnosed our complaint as bronchitis, and exhibited tartar
emetic with peculiar and painful results.

Still, it cannot be denied that among the old school there were some
wonderfully skilful, if rough, surgeons--men of iron who, if need
arose, could and did practise the art upon their own bodies under
circumstances of suffering that might well have reduced the stoutest
frame to piteous helplessness. Such a case, for instance, as that
of Captain Samuels of the _Dreadnought_ American packet-ship. I
have not his book by me, so must quote from memory; but the picture
he drew was so vivid that I do not think any one could forget its
essential details. He relates how, in one of his passages from New
York to England, he was midway across the Atlantic when during a heavy
gale a sea was shipped which dashed him against the bulwarks with
such force that one of his legs was broken above the knee. It was a
compound fracture; and although such attention as was possible under
his direction was given him at once, in a few days he recognized the
necessity for having the leg cut off. Mortification had set in. His
mate was absolutely unable to attempt the job from sheer physical
incapacity, although in other respects a most able, strenuous man. So
the sufferer, in superhuman fashion, rose to the occasion and performed
the operation upon himself. Successfully, too, for when a few days
after the vessel arrived at the Azores, there was nothing left for a
surgeon to do.

Another anecdote, this time from the log of a whaleship, the _Union_
of Nantucket, Captain (?) Gardiner. While pursuing his calling off
the West Coast of South America, the sperm whale he was fighting with
flung its jaw upwards and across the boat, catching him by the head and
shoulders. The blow did not sweep him overboard, but laid his scalp
back from his skull; broke his right jaw, tearing out five teeth; broke
his left arm and shoulder-blade, and crushed the hand on the same
side between the whale's jaw and the gunwale of the boat. In this
deplorable state he was carried on board his ship. His young officers,
naturally bewildered by the appearance of his broken body, did not know
what to do for him. They may well have been excused for considering his
case hopeless. His brave spirit, however, did not recognize defeat. He
gave directions, mostly by signs, for the preparation of bandages and
splints, and instructed his willing but ignorant helpers in the way of
using them. When all had been done that he wished or could think of,
he ordered the vessel to be taken into port, and, although apparently
at the point of death, he lay on deck in a commanding position and
piloted his ship in. A Spanish surgeon was brought on board, who, as
soon as he saw the sufferer, advised sending for a priest, as the case
was hopeless. This advice was lost upon the valiant Yankee, who sent
a messenger a distance of thirty miles for another doctor--a German.
This gentleman hastened down to the ship, dressed the skipper's wounds,
and had him transported on an improvised ambulance slung between two
mules up to the healthy highlands of the interior. In six months' time
he was fit to resume command of his ship, which meanwhile had made a
most successful cruise under the mate. His left hand, unhappily, had
been so badly mangled that it was hardly more than a stump, the first
two fingers being so twisted in the palm that he was afterwards always
obliged to wear a thick mitten to keep them from being entangled in
a lance-warp while he was lancing a whale. This good man was for a
quarter of a century master of a whaler, and lived to be nearly ninety
years old.

So prolific is the source whence these anecdotes are drawn, that I
am embarrassed where to choose. However, I cannot help thinking that
for a fitting close to this subject, it would hardly be possible to
select a story more thrilling than the following. During a whale hunt
the line kinked and dragged a man entangled by one arm and one leg
deep under the sea. He was released by the imprisoned members giving
way under the frightful strain. Rising to the surface, and floating
there unconscious, he was picked up and taken on board the ship. There
it was found that a portion of the hand, including four fingers, had
been torn away, while a foot was twisted off at the ankle, leaving
only the lacerated stump with its tangle of sinews hanging loosely.
From the knee downward the muscles had been dragged away by the line,
leaving the almost bare bone with just a veil of tendons and leaking
blood-vessels; so that it appeared as if the poor wretch had only been
saved from drowning to die more cruelly, unless some one should have
the nerve to perform so radical an operation. No surgical instruments
were on board. But Captain James Huntling was not the man to allow any
one to perish without a great effort on his part to save them. He had
a carving-knife, a hand-saw, and a fish-hook. The injury was so great,
and the poor fellow's cries so heartrending, that several of the crew
fainted while attempting to help the skipper, while others became sick.
So, unaided, the skipper lashed his patient to the carpenter's bench,
cut off what remained of the leg, and dressed the mangled hand; then,
making for the Sandwich Islands, he put the man in hospital, where he
recovered, and returning to America, passed the rest of his days in
comfort as a small shop-keeper.

There is one more reason why it is so necessary for the master of a
ship to have some medical knowledge, and this has a humorous side in
many cases. It is that he may be able to detect that curse of a ship's
company, the "malingerer." Often he is by no means easy to "bowl out,"
being, like most lazy people, of considerable inventive genius. And
although a humane man would much rather be imposed upon a dozen times
than send a suffering man to work while unfit once, it is intensely
galling to find that a scalawag, with absolutely nothing the matter
with him but a constitutional aversion to work, has been indulging
himself at the expense of his already hard-pressed shipmates for a week
or two. A little practical knowledge of medicine will in most cases
obviate this and enable the shipmaster to give the loafer a dose that,
while it will do him no harm, will make him so uncomfortable that work
will be a relief. But I find that the recapitulation of the master's
duties demands another chapter.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE MASTER'S DUTIES--_continued_.


While we have thus lightly run over such duties of the master of a
merchant ship as are imperatively demanded of him by his position, it
must not be lost sight of that there are many things that he should
be and know that, while not compulsory, are most necessary, and no
master who is really attached to his profession will neglect them. For
instance, the Board of Trade has a voluntary examination in "steam,"
which is based upon some of the most elementary facts connected with
running marine engines. A master may pass in steam or he may not, as he
pleases, and it is doubtful whether many owners are influenced in their
choice of a master to command one of their ships by the fact that his
certificate is endorsed "passed in steam." Yet it should be obvious to
all that for a master of a steamship, however small, to be ignorant of
at least the broad principles of marine engineering must be a terrible
defect. He should certainly be able, in the event of his engineers
dying or becoming incapacitated, of taking charge of the obedient
monsters below, and running his ship, if not to her destination, to
some port where the need could be supplied; and, in any case, he should
know well under what conditions those engines do their work, that he
may be the better able to appreciate his engineers' reports, and for
other reasons which need not be stated. Any lack of this knowledge on
the part of a steamship master is the more to be deprecated because he
has such splendid opportunities and such ample time for learning.

Another subject which is not compulsory, but which it is very necessary
that the shipmaster should have more than a nodding acquaintance with,
is ship construction. Studied in books, it looks formidable enough to
any one but a student of the subject and an excellent mathematician;
but a few visits to a shipbuilding yard intelligently made, and the
things seen there carefully noted, would be of inestimable service.
Allied to this is the vast subject of magnetism, which so intimately
concerns every shipmaster in these days of steel, when the compass,
poor thing, is hard put to it to remember the location of the
magnetic pole at all, so sorely is it beset by diverting influences
above, below, and around. But for a fair list of the things that all
shipmasters _should_ know and might, from their abundance of leisure,
in sailing ships especially, so pleasantly and easily acquire,
reference should be made to a book which I remember as a bantling, but
which has now grown to most portly proportions, "Wrinkles," by Squire
T. S. Lecky. Within the boards of this splendid book Mr. Lecky has
gathered a stupendous amount of information, which he imparts in the
most delightful manner. For many years he commanded one of Messrs.
Holt's steamships running between Liverpool and South America, so
that his practical knowledge is as extensive as need be, while his
theoretical learning is not only great, but sound. This book has been
the hobby of his life; and it may truly be said that any shipmaster
who will read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it will be perfectly
equipped for one of the most onerous of all professions if he only has
the power of putting his learning to practical use. I have never seen,
spoken to, or had a letter from Mr. Lecky in my life, so that what I
say is perfectly unbiassed by any personal consideration. Mr. Lecky is
a magnificent example of what the merchant shipmaster may make of his
opportunities for study, if he be so inclined.

There are also branches of study, such as the most fascinating one of
marine natural history, which can be pursued nowhere else so well as
at sea in a sailing ship. With a little aptitude for drawing, a camera
and a microscope, the shipmaster might not only pass his plenteous
spare time most pleasantly, but accumulate a store of the most valuable
material, whereon the savants ashore might exercise their stock of
wisdom. And the study of languages, too; how necessary for a man who,
if he speak but his own tongue, must of necessity be often severely
handicapped in the race with foreigners, who usually speak two or
three--to say nothing of the ease with which a man may be imposed upon
in a foreign port who is obliged to transact his business by the aid
of an interpreter. But the time is probably fast approaching when the
knowledge of one other language at least besides his own will be made
compulsory for the British shipmaster, so that I will say no more about
the matter here, except that, unless greater efforts are put forward
by sea-going youths in this most valuable direction, they will find
it harder than ever to compete with the constantly increasing numbers
of foreigners who are pressing into the afterguards of our Mercantile
Marine.

And now for the least pleasant portion of this section of my subject,
the question of drunkenness. For the reasons already quoted, this
vice is one to which the shipmaster is continually being tempted.
Being, when at sea, a law unto himself, he may, if he will, become a
steady tippler, gradually sinking lower and lower into the helpless
drunkard. If he have any tendency that way there is only one thing for
him to do--that is, become a total abstainer from intoxicants. Sad it
is to say, on the testimony of many such men, that such a virtuous
resolve should be often detrimental to a man's chances of doing his
business in foreign ports, where that business is only carried on over
drink. I know that by some good people ashore this statement will be
pooh-poohed; but it is nevertheless true, and the hindrance it puts in
the way of the teetotaller doing justice to himself and his employer
very real. Many a smart skipper has been thus ruined, having laid the
foundation of drunken habits in ports where the first questions and the
last to be put to him were--

"Well, cap'n, what are you going to have?" or, "What are you goin' to
stand?"

Again we may take comfort in the thought that sobriety is the rule
among shipmasters of to-day, and not the exception, as it once
was. I speak feelingly, having suffered many things at the hands of
drunken skippers. Vividly do I remember, on my last voyage as mate
on the first night in the Channel outward bound, my skipper saying
to me confidentially, "I always live on brandy while we're in the
Channel," and the sick feeling that I experienced at his remark. Let
me hasten to add that he was wrongly accusing himself, being at the
time half-seas-over, and exaggerating, as was his wont at such a
time. He certainly did drink, and very much more than was good for
him, but his tippling never gave or made any trouble. What made his
remark so terrible to me was that two voyages before I had been mate
of a brig with a man who, from the day that I joined her until the
day, nearly four months afterwards, when I refused to stay on board
any longer, never drew a sober breath. I may, perhaps, be excused for
dwelling a little upon the plain facts of this short sea-experience
of mine, which, in the words of Mr. Justice Day, who heard some of it
recapitulated and proved in the Court of Queen's Bench, "surpassed the
wildest flights of imagination." Sordid, certainly, yet not without a
certain romantic outcome.

The vessel, whose name I suppress, was the property of a hard-working
man in one of our northern sea-ports, who had toiled and saved until
he became her owner. At the time when I joined her as mate she had
been absent from her first port of departure in England for nearly two
years. During that period she had visited many ports, in each of which
the master had abandoned himself to drunkenness, spending recklessly
every penny upon which he could lay his hands, and ignoring all the
owner's complaining letters. Five different mates had been engaged,
had sickened of their position and had left. At last my turn came,
and, all unknowing what awaited me, I went on board. I found the poor
old vessel most shamefully neglected, the crew looking woe-begone and
disheartened, and the only officer, the second mate, firmly determined
to work no more. I took charge, and did what I could, going ashore
persistently for such instructions as I needed, but ever finding my
commander in a state of maudlin drunkenness. After a few days the
vessel was loaded, and made as ready for sea as her condition rendered
possible. I duly informed the master--who had never even seen the
vessel since I joined--of our readiness to proceed, but he was of
opinion that there was no hurry. So day after day slipped by for three
weeks, until the consignee of the cargo wired from New Brunswick,
protesting so vigorously, that the shipper took steps to expedite
our departure. He told the fuddled skipper that unless he went to
sea forthwith I should be ordered to leave without him, the shipper
taking all responsibility. This ultimatum aroused him sufficiently to
get him on board, and to sea we went. But he immediately sought his
berth, and continued his spirituous exercises, varied by attacks of
_delirium tremens_, while alone and unaided except by the weary crew, I
endeavoured to navigate the clumsy vessel down the Nova Scotian coast
in mid-winter. To add to my troubles, the chronometer was hopelessly
out of order, having been, I believe, tampered with by the mutinous
second mate.

How many hairbreadth escapes from destruction we had in that stormy
passage of three weeks I have no space to tell in detail; but at last
we obtained a pilot, who brought us safely into the harbour of St.
John, New Brunswick, in a night of inky blackness and drenching rain,
and there left us entangled amidst a motley crowd of coasters. Next day
we were extricated and laid by a wharf, when, to my astonishment, my
worthy commander appeared and went ashore, his first public appearance
since coming on board in Cape Breton. That night, when the vessel had
settled down upon the mud, by reason of the great fall of the tide,
so that her tops were nearly level with the wharf-edge, the skipper
returned and, avoiding the lighted gangway carefully placed for him,
walked over the unprotected side of the wharf and fell fifty feet. He
passed between the vessel's side and the piles of the wharf without
touching, and entered the mud feet first with a force that buried him
to his arm-pits. His cries aroused us, and we rescued him, actually
unhurt, but nearly sober. Again he disappeared from our midst, having
now a good excuse--shock to the system! Having discharged the cargo,
and taken in ballast according to instructions from the consignee, I
again danced attendance upon him at his hotel until he at last decided
to make a move, and came on board attended by a most finished rascal of
a longshoreman, who had apparently been his drinking crony all the time
he had been ashore, and who was now, save the mark, coming with us to
our next port to stow the cargo of lumber we were to take home.

We towed across the Bay of Fundy to Parrsboro' in charge of a pilot,
the skipper and his friend both shut in the skipper's state-room below,
drinking. When we arrived, I was in serious difficulty as to a berth,
because the master was so drunk I could get no instructions. But after
a while I succeeded in finding a berth, where we lay quietly all night.
In the morning early my skipper sent for a sleigh and again departed to
an hotel, where he remained until the vessel was loaded. I frequently
saw him in bed, and protested with all my power against the shameful
way in which the quondam stevedore was stowing the cargo; but all my
remonstrances were unheeded. At last the cargo was complete, including
a deck-load six feet high, and the vessel was so unstable ("crank," as
we call it) that she would hardly stand up at the wharf.

Then I sought the skipper for a final interview, telling him that,
having regard to the condition of the ship, his own continued
drunkenness, and to the fact that I was the only officer on board (the
second mate having obtained his discharge in St. John), I wanted to
leave the ship. I felt that it would only be tempting fate to undertake
a North Atlantic passage in mid-winter in such a vessel under such
circumstances. Moreover, I warned him that in my estimation he did not
intend that the vessel should reach home, hoping by shipwreck to wipe
out the effects of his two years' drunkenness and dishonesty. Of course
he laughed at me and bade me go to hell. I then took the only course
open to me there--I left the ship, writing a letter to the owner, in
which I detailed matters. Two days afterwards a tug-boat was engaged,
and the brig was towed back to St. John, where I heard that another
fortnight's spree was consummated. Another mate was engaged, and she
sailed for home. Four days after, in a gale, with frost, fog, and snow,
she was run ashore on the coast of Maine, becoming a total wreck, and
destroying four of her crew, not, of course, including the skipper.

Yet this man had the effrontery to sue the owner upon his return to
England for his wages for the whole voyage. Not only so, but he would
certainly have won his case but that the owner succeeded in discovering
me. My evidence was final, supported as it was by the entries in the
log-book, which was, unfortunately for the skipper, saved from the
wreck.

Before closing my remarks upon the master, which, lengthy as they are,
only skirt the subject, I would like to pay a well-deserved tribute to
that splendid body of master-mariners commanding the great Mercantile
Marine of our North-American colonies. Many, nay, most of them, have
risen to command their ships in the teeth of great disabilities and
drawbacks. They have little polish, but a great deal of capacity, for
the "Blue-nose," as the British North-American seaman is called by all
other English-speaking mariners, is a born seaman as well as a born
shipbuilder. In only one other part of the world, viz. Scandinavia, is
it possible to find men who are capable of building a ship, farming
and timber-felling between whiles, then, when the hull is finished,
rigging her and loading her with their own produce, and sailing her to
any part of the world. These qualities seem indigenous to the soil of
the coast of British North America and the north-eastern shores of
the United States. But it is to be noted that the final extinction of
this splendid industry is near at hand. Iron and steel and steam have
compelled those sturdy seamen of the north to give up their beloved
and stately wooden ships, all but a few that are holding on almost
despairingly against the steadily-rising tide.

Yet, when all has been said for the "Blue-nose" master that ought to be
said, it must not be forgotten that his reputation for humane dealing
with his crews is far worse than that of the Yankee. He has learned the
American lesson of how to enforce discipline without law--in defiance
of law, in fact--and learned it so well that any old sailor will tell
you that a "Blue-nose" is the hardest of all ships to sail in. Perhaps
this is hardly to be wondered at when the motley character of the crews
they are obliged to carry is remembered, their own spare population
only sufficing to supply them with officers. That their high courage
and stern resolution to be master in fact as well as name often leads
them into deplorable excesses of cruelty cannot be denied truthfully.
And yet it may be doubted whether a good seaman would not rather sail
in a ship under stern discipline, even if it were enforced by an
occasional broken head, than be one of a crew who were permitted to act
and speak as their fancy listed, to the misery of all on board, as is
undoubtedly the case in so many of our British ships.




CHAPTER IX.

THE MATE.


Naturally, perhaps, seeing that most of my own sea-service as an
officer was spent in this capacity, I come to the consideration of the
mate's position with very cordial feelings; a little shamefacedly,
too, for I remember an admirable little book which used to have (and
may have now, for what I know) a good sale among Mercantile Marine
officers in embryo. It was called "The Mate and his Duties," and was
written entirely for the use of the profession, so that it would not
be appreciated by shore people at all. To us it was of great use,
although few young officers reading it for the first time could help a
feeling of despair stealing over them as they studied those counsels
of perfection. It did not seem possible that any one man should be
sufficient for all these things. So we tried to forget the whole duties
of a mate, and concentrated our ideas upon the present duty to be
performed, trusting that we might rise to each occasion as it presented
itself.

But to begin at the beginning, let us take the title, "The Mate." It
is a word of simple origin, easy of derivation, ancient enough to make
it honourable, and therefore it is a matter for congratulation that
the Board of Trade has seen fit to retain its use instead of the more
modern and finical "first officer." It is used almost always on board
ship, without any prefix, as needing no distinctive mark like the
other mates, _i.e._ second mate, bo'sun's mate, cook's mate, etc. The
mate is the chief executive officer, the companion of the master, who
should, except when all hands are on deck, issue all his orders through
the mate as a matter of etiquette. Upon him devolves the working of
the ship and her command upon the death or incapacity of the master,
to whom he comes next in importance on board. Perhaps in this latter
respect I ought to except steamers, where the chief engineer is a man
of great weight, and is apparently bound to be of greater weight in the
near future. Yet, although the chief engineer's pay be so much larger
than that of the mate, and his importance so great, there is one aspect
of their relative positions which cannot, to my mind, be ignored in
considering this vexed question of precedence. It is that at all times
the engineer, who is below, must obey the orders of the officer, who is
above, immediately, unquestioningly, under severest penalties, as is
only fitting, seeing that any slackness, not to say disobedience, might
result in a terrible calamity, such as running down another ship.

Let us, however, pass this matter by for the present, since it must
be dealt with when speaking of the engineer later on. Again it must
be noted, as in the case of the master, that there is a vast range
of difference among mates--from him who manages a monster like the
_Oceanic_, down to the mate of a footy little brigantine going
foreign. Yet in the eyes of the Board of Trade they are both equal; the
same certificate is required of both. As a matter of detail, however,
it will be found that not only _the_ mate, but the long list of
junior officers in such a ship as the _Oceanic_, will have passed the
examination for master at least, most of them for "master extra," and
many of them, as hinted at in a previous chapter, will have commanded
magnificent sailing ships. But it is almost ludicrous to see how,
in a sailor's eyes, the fact that a man is in command--of no matter
what--will weigh, as far as his importance goes, against the man who is
not. There cannot be much doubt as to which occupies the more important
position--the mate of an ocean liner like the _Campania_, or the master
of a sailing vessel of, say, some five hundred tons, creeping wearily
about the world wherever it may be found possible to secure a bit of
cargo. But--and it is a mighty big but--one is, in nautical phrase,
_Captain_ Brown, and the other is only _Mr._ Jones--and there is an end
of discussion.

Apart, however, from sentimental consideration, there are many reasons
why the grade of mates should be held so different. For instance,
the master of one ship, however small, if only he be gentlemanly and
accustomed to command, will find little or no difficulty in springing
suddenly to the command of another ship, no matter how large. Because
the minor details are attended to by his subordinates, who are usually
competent men, and he, being at the head of the position, can calmly
observe matters without letting any one see that he is strange to such
a giddy height. Not so the mate. If it were possible to transfer, say,
a mate of a schooner into the position of mate of a three-thousand-ton
sailing ship without much previous training, he would be lost. His new
duties would overwhelm him. As well expect a small tradesman, who has
been grubbing away in a little suburban shop on a turnover of £4 a
week, to suddenly assume charge of one of the largest departments at
Whiteley's, or the Army and Navy Stores. For the mate does not merely
command the ship during the master's absence, or act as the master's
mouthpiece: it is his to see that orders given are carried out, and to
hold the proper person responsible for neglect.

But perhaps we are getting along too fast. To return, then, for a
moment to a consideration of how the mate attains his position, that
last rung but one on the ladder of promotion, which, alas! is separated
by so wide a gulf from the next one above. It is hardly necessary to go
over again the various steps which have been already mentioned in the
case of the master, except in the most cursory manner: First, usually,
but not compulsorily, the serving of a term of apprenticeship fixed at
four years by law, the last year of which is counted as the service of
able seaman. Or, as the rules merely specify that the candidate for
a second mate's certificate shall have been four years at sea, one
year of which he was an able seaman, he may have simply entered as boy
and gone on to ordinary seaman, and then to A.B. This course is the
one adopted in American and Canadian ships, where apprenticeships are
unknown; but there the candidate is usually in far better case than
any apprentice in a British ship, because he is sure to be put on board
by some one whom the master is anxious to please, or, more probably,
he is a friend or relative of one of the officers themselves; in which
case, although his designation may be humble enough, he will live in
the cabin, and have his profession thoroughly burnt into him--a process
which he will in nowise be able to escape.

Our mate, however, having served his allotted time, and received
the essential recommendation from his last commander, makes his way
to a navigation school, not that he, unless he be a hopeless idiot,
has waited until now to be taught navigation, but in order that
his knowledge may be suitably arranged for production at the right
time and in the accepted fashion. Some young would-be officers are
foolish enough to imagine that the master of a navigation school can
also help them in their seamanship, but with lamentable results. For
the navigation is in cut-and-dried exercises which any ordinarily
capable scholar may learn with little difficulty, since all of them
may be satisfactorily done without the slightest knowledge of the
higher mathematics. There are thousands of Mercantile Marine officers
holding certificates, good men too, who could not work a problem in
trigonometry without the tables to save their lives, and to whom Euclid
is a sealed book; for clever men have long been at work simplifying
navigation problems, until their execution is just a matter of simple
arithmetic and acquaintance with a set of nautical tables. This
state of things gives rise to much controversy among those who are
interested in Mercantile Marine officers. Some say that every officer
should make a point of knowing not merely how to work his problems, but
why certain tables are used; in other words, that he should not merely
work by rule of thumb, but be a competent mathematician. Then, these
gentlemen add, he would be able to command not only higher wages, but
more consideration from his employers, besides being better able to
compete with the carefully-educated foreigner. Others contend that the
business already laid upon Merchant officers is fully as great as they
ought to bear, and that, supposing they had learned the mathematical
theory of navigation, they would still in practice use the rule of
thumb method. Not feeling at all capable of deciding between these two
contestants, I merely present their views, contenting myself with the
passing remark that, supposing a man to be a good seaman, it cannot
be to his detriment to make himself as proficient in the mathematical
theory of navigation as his capacity will enable him. But with regard
to seamanship, matters are totally different. Here there can be no
difference of opinion. Seamanship, that is the handling of a ship under
all circumstances of weather, the fitting and keeping in repair of her
masts, rigging, sails, etc., and the stowage of her cargo, cannot be
learned from books. The unhappy neophyte who has scrambled through his
apprenticeship without attempting to learn the business, and comes at
the last moment to his crammer for assistance, is in evil case when
standing before the keen-eyed old shipmaster who is to examine him. He
tries to recall book answers to questions that are not in the books.

Even the "rule of the road," that most essential part of all a seaman's
education, though it be found in a set of iron-bound articles, is apt
to vanish entirely away from a man who has only studied it in book
form. When the examiner hands him a model, and telling him to imagine
himself in command of her, places other models at various angles to
her course, asks him what he would do, he will, if his knowledge be
theoretical, surely find it depart from him in his sore need, and leave
him dumb and witless. And so it will be with all the various branches
of seamanship. The ordeal of a _vivâ voce_ examination is too great for
any mere theorist to come through successfully--and failure means not
only a forfeiture of fees, but a compulsory going to sea again for six
months before the next presentation for questioning. The navigation, on
the other hand, is considered so much less important that failure to
pass that part of the examination carries with it only forfeiture of
fees, and a space of three months before appearing again, during which
time the candidate may remain on shore at school.

Let us suppose, however, that our young aspirant has so well prepared
himself that he has gone flying through his first examination, emerging
a full-fledged second mate. In that case, as already remarked, much
will depend upon his position with regard to influential friends
among ship-owners or vacancies in the firm with which he has served
his apprenticeship. So many are the difficulties, so varied are the
conditions under which the young officer works his way upward, that
it is impossible to speak definitely as to the length of time that
will elapse before he again approaches the dread tribunal for another
inquisition as to his qualifications for the post of "first mate."
Since I left the sea there have been several modifications in this
matter. One of the most important--made certainly as a concession to
the needs of officers in steamships--is that a man with two years'
service as second mate, having in the meantime passed his first mate's
examination, may pass his examination for master, although he has never
served as first mate. This, in view of the almost invariable rule in
steamships that a man must have a certificate of higher grade than the
one he intends to serve in, is no more than bare justice. And much as
we who have been through the grinding of the sailing-ship mill may
gird at it, there can be little doubt that before very long it will be
found impossible to insist upon the candidate having served his time in
sailing ships. The sailing ship has not gone yet, by a very long way,
as one visit to the docks will show any one who cares to inquire; but
the day of her extinction is within measurable distance. If once the
Panama or other interoceanic canal connecting the Atlantic with the
Pacific becomes an accomplished fact, sailing ships will be worth old
iron price, and no more.

To return to our candidate. Let it be granted that he has been so well
supported in his application for employment as second mate that, while
yet the ink is tacky upon his certificate, he has got a berth for a
round voyage lasting a year. Upon his return he again looks up his old
schoolmaster, and gets coached for another visit to the examiners. This
second ordeal should be comparatively easy. For while there is very
little navigation added to what he has already done in the examination
for second mate, he ought by this time to have perfect confidence in
his ability to answer any question put to him about seamanship, since
he has had practice in ship-handling. In my own case, I can only say
that "passing" for mate was a mere bagatelle as compared with passing
for second mate. And as soon as he hears the blessed words, "Where
will you have your certificate sent?" which is the formula used by the
examiner to intimate that he has passed, he feels now that his course
is clear; he has entered the charmed circle, and become that much
envied individual, a full-blown "first mate."




CHAPTER X.

THE MATE'S WORK.


Happy indeed is the master who finds a good mate, but happier still is
the mate who has the joy of serving under a master who, while never
neglecting his own duties, is not for ever fussing about finding
fault with the way in which work is being carried on--a master who
will treat his mate as his right-hand man, not only trusting him but
confiding in him. And even while finding out whether he be worthy of
trust, such a master will make his observations in an unostentatious
manner, most careful that no one may suspect that the mate is being
weighed in the balance of his mind. Whether a man make a success or a
failure as mate, and, consequently, as master--supposing that he ever
reach that coveted position--is more largely due to the treatment he
receives at the hands of his first master than is generally admitted.
Everywhere, unfortunately, are to be found men who, while indignantly
repudiating any description of themselves as persecutors, are yet
saturated with the idea that it is necessary to treat the beginner who
comes under their control with studied harshness; to comment upon his
slightest mistakes--not due to ignorance, but to a nervous anxiety to
do his best--as if they were indisputable proofs of his being a fool;
to find out his tender spots and probe them, so that the hot flush of
shame rises, and the tongue is almost bitten through in the endeavour
to restrain the furious reply that would be fatal;--more than all,
and worse than all, to comment upon a beginner's shortcomings openly
before the men and boys over whom that beginner is placed in authority,
thereby laying him open to the covert sneer, the insolent retort, and
the slackly-performed obedience. Such treatment is diabolical cruelty
to a highly-strung, sensitive man, no matter how expert, how clever he
may be. That upon first entering a new position he will make mistakes
is an axiom, for, as has often been said most truly, the man who
makes no mistakes makes nothing--especially when one realizes that
he then for the first time feels the burden of responsibility, feels
it with a keenness that use will presently dull the edge of, knows
that swiftness and decision, readiness in action, must be joined to
accuracy of knowledge and fertility of resource. To the man who is not
sensitive, yet not dull, these early experiences are not nearly so
full of painful experiences, but the majority of modern officers bear
about with them still the scars of their early memories, when their
ears caught the faintest whisper of disparagement, their eyes saw every
shade of expression that flitted across the skipper's face, and they
were continually torturing themselves with questions as to whether or
how they had failed to come up to the mark.

But to return to the actual duties of the mate. Undoubtedly his prime
duty is that of an overseer, the manager of the business wherein the
skipper occupies the position of chairman of the Board of Directors.
In the great liners, while the foregoing still holds true, it must
necessarily be modified somewhat. There are in these splendid vessels
many officials who, nominally responsible to the mate for all they
do, really report direct to heads ashore. Still, for all practical
purposes, the mate is the centre around which all the working interests
of the ship outside the engineer's province revolve. He it is who
sees that the routine of duty goes steadily forward, without any
slackness or neglect; who must know the condition of the ship--again as
distinguished from the engineer's department and the chief steward's
domain, and who must see that her condition is first-class and kept so.
Of course, in such a ship as the _Lucania_, for instance, the work of
the mate resolves itself more and more into generalship. He has such an
army of subordinates, each of whom is charged with some particular duty
and responsibility to the mate for its being carried out, that he does
not need to be for ever seeing for himself that the work is being done.
In such a ship the mate keeps no watch. He is on duty all day, and
sleeps in all night, although he would doubtless say that he was really
always on duty, and that the fact of his not keeping a particular watch
means only that he gets much less rest than if he did. But one thing
may be taken as undeniable, the mate of a liner occupies a position of
tremendous responsibility and honour. He is the real commander of the
ship, the master being, like the captain of a man-o'-war, a sort of
veiled prophet with whom the crew and junior officers seldom come in
contact except in extra bad weather or entering and leaving harbour.
Yet--and here comes the curious pinch--between the mate's salary and
the master's, how great a gulf is fixed! It seems such an anomaly that
a man who really bears the whole burden of the ship's working, who can
be, and who is, called to account by the master when anything goes
wrong, and who is generally well into middle age before he gets command
himself, should be so poorly paid as compared with the master. It works
out roughly like this: A friend of my own was second officer of a liner
for four years. He had in his pre-steamer days been master of a large
sailing ship, so that he was getting on in years. Then, as he began
to fear that he was fixed in that subordinate position, he suddenly
succeeded to the mate, who obtained a command elsewhere. For one year
only he was mate, then, on the master's retirement, he obtained the
command. We will not inquire what powerful influences were at work to
push him on so suddenly. The net result was that in one year his income
was nearly trebled, his salary as mate being only £3 per month more
than it was as second mate. It does not appear easy to explain why,
since the mate may at any moment be called upon to become master, it
should be considered necessary to have so serious a difference between
their salaries. But it explains the statement that is often truly
made, that unless a man has a private income he must not only be very
economical to live upon his pay while he is an officer in a swagger
line, he must forego all idea of getting married. That is, if he
wishes his wife and children to get enough to eat.

The next step down the scale of ships is a long one. From the mate of a
liner to the mate of a cargo steamer, or tramp, is indeed a fall. And
not only in status, but in decreased pay and increased work; for in the
liner, as I have before noted, there are not only numerous officers
below the position of mate to relieve him of onerous duties, such
as tallying of cargo, charge of stores, etc., but he is practically
relieved from any necessity of looking after these subordinates, as
they are controlled from the offices ashore. In the cargo steamer,
on the contrary, it is the mate who must look after the shipment of
cargo, examine bills of lading, and, indeed, do the tallying as well.
Moreover, since the number of mates in most cases is rigidly limited
to three, and often to two, he must take his watch on the bridge, must
work up the position of the ship, look after the compasses, with all
their heart-breaking divagations, attend personally to the care of the
ship in cleansing, etc., and last, but by no means least, keep in order
the motley crew. And for this his pay is sometimes, nay, frequently,
so small that mention of it excites disbelief among responsible
persons ashore who know nothing of shipping matters. I have myself
been offered five guineas a month to go mate of a steamer bound to the
Baltic for timber, a steamer of 2000 tons burden. I would have gone,
too, but that a German stepped down before me and agreed to have the
five shillings a month knocked off. Perhaps the tramp mate's lot is
harder than that of most other sea-officers, in that his work is never
done, his responsibilities are very heavy, and his pay is so small
that he _must_ forego the delights of wife and children if he has only
that pay to live upon. Yet these men form the marrow of our Merchant
Service, and should certainly not be treated shabbily. How their work
is done let owners and shippers declare, who know full well that while
the master gets all the credit that his position entitles him to, the
mate, working silently but strenuously in the background, must wait for
any recognition until he has at last emerged from his obscurity into
the coveted post of master. Not so, however, in the case of disaster
to his ship. No amount of theory as to the master bearing the whole
responsibility will avail to save the unhappy mate from the most
severe punishment that can fall upon a Merchant officer--suspension or
cancelling of his certificate--if any leather-headed court of inquiry
choose to bring him in to blame in any way. I do not mean to speak evil
of dignities, God knows; but the proceedings of some of these courts,
abroad especially, are sufficient to make angels weep. We all know the
rest of that wise quotation. In ships of this kind the mate's lot is
seldom a happy one; it may easily be made intolerable if the master be
not kindly disposed towards him, or so blind to his obvious duties as
to neglect or refuse to give him all the weight of his own authority in
the event of any trouble arising.

I said "in the event of any trouble arising." Well, to tell the truth,
trouble in a foreign port, especially where the ship lies alongside a
wharf, is the tramp mate's normal environment. Not only has he the
entire conduct of the ship's business on board, as distinguished from
that which the skipper performs on shore, but he must see to it that
the work goes on. Each one of his crew will probably be devoting all
his energy to the endeavour to do as little as possible, and to getting
drunk. The motley crowd that are working the cargo work only under
steady stress of compulsion. If receiving cargo, the second mate must
keep an eye on the stowage, so that he cannot assist his superior on
deck; and there are the innumerable horde of touts of one sort and
another to keep at bay. Every one else will be complaining of the heat
or something; the mate must bear all such personal inconveniences
without noticing them, and keep the ball rolling steadily as well. And
as if these things were not sufficient, he must compete with whatever
personal abuse or violence a drunken seaman chooses to offer him, his
only remedy to report the offender to the master, when he can get
hold of him. Should he defend his own life, take a deadly weapon and
use it, he is guilty of manslaughter, and sent to herd with criminals
for years. This is by no means vague generalization. The particular
instance that excites my whole-hearted indignation is the case of
the mate of the _Lanarkshire_. He was threatened all day by a negro
seaman who, instead of working, was oscillating between the ship and
a grog-shop, and filling up the intervals by using the foulest abuse
to his long-suffering officer. The most sanguinary threats were made
by this scoundrel against the mate, who, naturally alarmed, loaded
his revolver and carried it in his pocket. Then, when in the gloom of
the evening he suddenly realized that the fellow was making for him
with murderous knife uplifted, he fired and killed him. Surely if ever
there was a case of justifiable homicide, this was. Yet, to the lasting
injury of our Merchant Service, and the indelible shame of our laws,
this hapless gentleman was sentenced to two years' imprisonment, and as
I write he is undergoing this shameful sentence for doing what was his
obvious duty. To have failed to do it would not only have been to have
lost his own life, but to have put a premium upon murdering others.

Again I say that in the American Mercantile Marine such a thing would
be inconceivable. In the first place, the man would never have been
allowed to wander at his own sweet will backwards and forwards; and had
he made a threat to murder, there is no doubt whatever that he would at
once have been physically incapacitated from carrying it out. Had he,
without threatening, attempted murder, there is also no doubt that he
would have been instantly shot dead. And the officer acting in any of
the ways hinted at above would have been held to have done not one jot
more than his obvious duty. As to even bringing him to trial--the idea
would have been scouted as absurd.

Nevertheless, it is certain that such a training as the mate of a tramp
steamer gets is admirably calculated to bring out all a man's sterling
qualities: patient persistence in the face of difficulties, ability to
deal with refractory races by diplomacy rather than by force, orderly
marshalling of thought--absolutely necessary where so many things must
be kept going at one time; and, certainly, endurance of hardness. This
is no easy way of getting through the world. It makes a man thankful
for small mercies; as, for instance, when, after a harassing time,
with all the worries of harbour, the mate heaves a sigh of relief upon
mounting the bridge to keep watch through four hours of a dark, dirty
night. With keen eyes, smarting under the incessant pelting of driving
rain and spray, he peers over the edge of the weather-cloth into the
blackness ahead, heeding not at all the "bucking beam-sea roll" or the
thumpity-thump-thump of the untiring engines below him. Now he can send
his thoughts a-roaming. Such tender musings as of love and home and
rest may be admitted while the almost invisible blackness of the hull
beneath him is thrust into the hungry expanse of darkness ahead, the
only sure point being beneath the tiny circle of light in the binnacle.
Here we will leave him, steady, resourceful, and alert, not without an
affectionate remembrance of all his fellows at their posts on all the
seas at this present, worthy members of the worthiest of all commercial
enterprises, the Merchant Service.




CHAPTER XI.

THE MATE'S WORK (IN A SAILING SHIP).


There is no small difficulty, I find, in presenting for landward folk
the various gradations of officers in the Merchant Service. As far as
ability in his profession is concerned, there can be no question at all
that the mate of a sailing ship is far before the mate of a steamer;
only, the mate of a steamer is so much better paid, as a rule, that he
naturally regards his status as much higher than that of the mate of a
"wind-jammer." But here enters another complication. It is necessary
for the steamer mate to have been a sailing-ship mate first. It has
hardly been admitted yet by those in authority that any man is fit
for an officer's position in steam until he has served in sail. There
alone, they consider, does a man develop the true characteristics
of the sailor--his all-round ability for dealing with unforeseen
contingencies as they arise, his resourcefulness and skill in dealing
with the wise old sea by the aid of the wind.

This view still obtains among naval authorities, where it is considered
indispensable for the young sailor to become expert at sail-handling
before he goes to his life-work on board of a vessel where sails would
be as great an absurdity as means to her propulsion as oars. One cannot
help feeling that this idea is indefensible, since the man-o'-war
sailor of to-day is, before anything, a trained artillerist, a man
of mechanics, almost an engineer, in that he is always dealing with
engineering appliance of so much complexity that every hour at his
disposal in his preparatory time is all too brief for the acquirement
of such knowledge as he must have if he would be worth his salt. But in
merchant steamers, except big liners, the case is different. In very
many cases the knowledge of how to handle sails and rig jury-masts
means the safety of the ship. Therefore it seems only wise and proper
to insist upon the would-be steamship officer learning thoroughly the
art and mystery of sail-handling before quitting the embryo stage for
that of a full-blown steamship mate.

It is impossible, however, to help feeling that in all respects,
except the single one of pay, it is a decided descent in dignity from
the poop of a sailing ship to the bridge of a steamer. Handling the
former efficiently is a fine art, a mystery full of grace and deep
dexterity. Many a man, fairly successful in his calling, too, never
learns to get the best out of a sailing ship that is in her--never,
in short, is anything but a novice at the higher seamanship. In fact,
I really believe that the highest type of sailor, using the word in
its original sense, is born, not made. I have been shipmate with men
who seemed instinctively, and by rules of their own, to fathom all the
secrets of their ships, to get just what they wanted without apparent
effort. Put them on board a vessel with a bad name for unhandiness,
apparently possessing some inherent defect that puzzled and exasperated
beyond measure every man who had hitherto essayed to work her; under
the delicate, instinctive handling of these born sailors her ingrained
clumsiness disappeared, she became docile and handy, and presently the
gratified officer would remark nonchalantly, "I don't see anything
wrong with her." Men like these seem able to overcome such radical
faults as the misplacing of masts, bad trim (that is to say, a vessel
being, through careless loading, too much tilted by the head or the
stern, awkwardness of build producing bad steering, etc.). Seldom can
they impart these gifts to others, because they are not exercised
by rule, but by instinct. In precisely the same way you shall get a
man who is a good sailor in all respects but one--he can't steer;
and another who is good for nothing else. In some mysterious way
an ideal steersman (of a sailing ship) holds communication with a
vessel herself: little subtle touches are conveyed to him through the
wheel-spokes, so that he knows in the blackest night, with even the
binnacle (or compass-box) in darkness, exactly what she requires of him.

Now the mate of a sailing ship is placed in the most favourable
position imaginable for cultivating such a science as ship-handling
undoubtedly is. Unlike his compeer of a steamship, his first care is of
his vessel's propelling machinery. That towering fabric of sails and
cordage, which appears to a landsman's eye such a mass of intricate
entanglement, requires his unceasing attention. His sight should be,
and usually is, keen as a hawk's, able to note even from the deck
anything that goes wrong. He must nurse his ship tenderly, especially
aloft, bearing in mind before all things the homely adage of the stitch
in time. No loose ends, frayed seizings, or chafed running gear (as the
ropes are called which are hauled upon in distinction to those which
are tightened and remain stationary) must be neglected, since such
neglect may be fatal and in any case must be expensive. Of course in
large ships, according to the universal rule, his labours are somewhat
lightened, since he will have a boatswain, whose chief duty is to
keep things in order under the mate's supervision, and who must keep
careful watch over things aloft and report to his superior. But where
no boatswain is carried the mate must see to things himself.

The practice varies in different ships slightly, according to the
idiosyncrasy of the master, but perhaps the ideal relation between
master and mate is where the master, in consultation with the mate,
keeps in touch with everything that is going on, never interfering in
public with the everyday work of the ship. To use a homely simile,
the master should be like the lady of the house and the mate the
housekeeper. I think this will appeal to ladies, who know that, while
nothing is more beneficial in a great household than the knowledge by
all that the mistress knows everything that is going on, so nothing
is more fatal to the efficient working of such a household than the
incessant, fussy interference of the mistress with individual servants
behind the housekeeper's back. The self-respecting and competent
housekeeper would leave, of course; but the mate cannot. He must endure
as best he can.

Naturally this theory of non-interference presupposes that the mate is
up to his work. Where he is not, it becomes essential to every one's
well-being that the master should take the direction of things out of
his incompetent hands. But no one would be more ready to admit than
masters themselves that such drastic measures are rarely necessary.
The incompetent mate rarely reaches the position, or, reaching it by
favouring accident, long retains it.

First, then, the mate of a sailing ship must keep his charge in order
aloft; next, he must see that every working hour of every day is fully
occupied. There is no more certain proof of something being wrong with
the mate than the sight of men standing about waiting for a job. The
men are quickest at noticing this. Not that they love to be kept at
work, but it is so generally accepted as an axiom that there is always
work to be done on board ship, that they pounce upon any unusual lapse
of the kind on the part of a mate as proof that they have a duffer
to deal with. He must see that she is kept clean, for cleanliness at
sea is indispensable, as are order and regularity. Even here it will
sometimes be found that, although the men are kept pottering around
continually, the ship never looks smart, owing to a lack of method on
the mate's part. I have been in a ship twenty years old that looked as
if she were on her first voyage; not a rope-yarn out of place, not a
streak of rust on the bulwarks, no unsightly stains on masts and yards,
or dirty corners. And I have sailed in another on her second voyage
that looked as if she had been lying up in dock with only a doddering
old ship-keeper in charge of her for months, weather-worn, dilapidated,
and miserable. Everybody on board discontented, because such a ship
_works_ hard. Whenever a ship is carefully looked after, you may be
sure that the ropes run cheerily through the blocks with a merry
rattle, and the great sails go up or the massy yards swing to and fro
easily. But in a neglected ship those blocks will be found with their
pins rusted in their sheaves (the wooden wheels upon which the ropes
travel), moving reluctantly, so that it is often the work of one man
to pull a loose rope through them. And that means a great deal of hard
swearing upon the part of the men, who are thus laden far beyond what
there is any necessity for.

So far from this part of a mate's duties being irksome or wearying,
it will usually be found that it is the most joyous part of an active
seaman's career. Given a well-found ship, so that it is possible to
do justice to her up-keep; two or three men among the crew who can
"sailorize," that is, work with rope and wire as required; a master who
will let them do their work without public interference--and a mate may
be, and often is, as happy as any man ought to be in this world. For
consider how many delights he has. A big sailing ship to a man like
that is just a hobby on a large scale, a beautiful thing for whose
welfare he has the most solicitous regard. An "Irish pendant," _i.e._
a ragged end of yarn fluttering aloft, makes him feel as badly as
would the sight of one of his children walking in the park with torn
stockings and shoes down at heel make a gentleman ashore. An accident,
such as the blowing away of a sail or the snapping of a spar, gives him
no such pang, because he has a stern joy in putting forth his skill
and proving in how short a time he can restore his pride to her trim
appearance again.

I have a very vivid recollection of an old mate with whom I sailed when
I was a boy who was an almost perfect type of the man I mean. I have
no idea how long he had been in the ship, but I know that he struck me
as being a perfectly contented man, to whom his work itself, not the
result of it, was the passion of his life. We were bound from London
to the West Indies, and enjoyed the usual fine weather after entering
the tropics--so fine that, as far as handling went, she, the old barky,
might safely be left to herself except for steering. One morning at
eight bells (8 a.m.) the mate appeared on deck with a radiant face. The
forthcoming watch, as they slouched one by one into the sunshine from
their darksome cavern, tightening their belts or giving a final touch
to their simple toilet, muttered one to the other, "Looks as if he'd
got something extry-special on hand this mornin'. More nigger-driving,"
etc. But it was only the orthodox growl. They did not look displeased.
The next minute the mate was amongst them, his orders flying like
hail, and in half an hour the look of the vessel was entirely changed.
He had persuaded the master to allow him to shorten all the standing
rigging, which was of rope--not wire, as is universally the case now.
For such a crew it was a tremendous task, but it was pure sailorizing,
such as a man could take an interest in, and the younger members of
the crew would have an opportunity of actually seeing done what they
had hitherto only heard talked about--such operations as turning in
deadeyes, re-bolstering, lower-rigging, etc. All hands took matters so
well, being really infected by the mate's amazing energy, that they
forgot to growl at being kept on deck in their watch below in the
afternoon.

But the joy of the mate was something to wonder at. He was untiring.
Clad only in a blue shirt, trousers, slippers, and a mangy old cap, he
was ubiquitous; teaching, toiling, superintending, riding his hobby at
full gallop. And when at last the day's work was ended, and we boys
were putting away tar- and grease-pots, gathering shakings and sweeping
decks, he sat perched upon a hen-coop on the weather side of the poop,
smoking in perfect peace, beaming benignantly upon all his surroundings
with the air of a man who was at the summit of earthly desires. Nor did
his brow become clouded over again until we reached port, and the worry
of tallying out the cargo devolved upon him.

The second important duty that devolves upon the mate of a sailing
ship is that of navigating the ship independently of the master, so
that they may mutually check each other. There may possibly be some of
my fellow-seamen who dissent from this, some masters who feel that it
touches their dignity to be found out in an error by the mate; but I do
not think any argument is needed to prove that they are entirely in the
wrong. I have known skippers who would not allow the mate to assist in
the navigating of the ship at all, as far as nautical astronomy went.
They could not prevent him from keeping the dead reckoning, but he
was dependent upon them entirely for the ship's position by celestial
observation for entry in the log. Utterly wrong and foolish, as well
as illegal; but when a man is so much a monarch, he is apt to go like
that sometimes. In a well-conducted ship, the skipper and the mate
assist each other with all observations where assistance is necessary,
but they work up the results entirely apart, and then compare. If
any error arises, it is thus almost certain to be discovered, and no
properly-minded skipper should feel any umbrage at being bowled out in
a blunder by his mate, as will almost certainly happen now and then.
When all the observations are worked up to noon, the dead reckoning
completed, the mate enters up all the details demanded by law in his
log-book--that veracious record of day-to-day proceedings, which it is
the mate's duty to keep recorded each day. There are few better tests
of a mate's quality than the appearance of his log-book. Some men,
while they write neatly and keep the book clean, will give for all
remarks, wherever it is possible: "As yesterday. Wind steady, weather
fine. So ends this twenty-four hours." They fill up just as few of the
ruled spaces as they dare, put down the rate per hour by guess-work,
and altogether ignore the purpose for which a log-book is ordered to
be kept. Others will neglect the book's appearance, too, until it is
hardly fit to be seen, while, as for information, it may truthfully be
said that what little is given would better have been suppressed. But
I have seen log-books that were invaluable, giving a most interesting
account of the voyage in plain and simple language, while the
appearance of every page was perfect.




CHAPTER XII.

THE MATE'S WORK (IN A SAILING SHIP)--_continued_.


Finding that this log-book business takes me farther than I
anticipated, I judged it best to break off the last chapter somewhat
abruptly, since I find that the average reader is not partial to long
chapters, and I have rigidly limited mine to eight pages of manuscript.

A log-book is popularly supposed to be (and certainly should be) an
absolutely truthful record of day-to-day happenings, of the ship's
progress, and of the weather conditions. And while there is no room
for literary ability, there is no doubt that ideal log-book keeping
is a fine art. In the small space at disposal, to state succinctly
what has occurred, rigidly excluding the irrelevant, but carefully
noting everything that is of importance for owners, underwriters, or
lawyers to know--this is an accomplishment by no means general, and
one that might be more carefully cultivated than it is. For it is only
stating the baldest fact to declare that no day passes at sea wherein
there is nothing worthy of record. The loss to literature and science,
through the lamentable habit of scamping log-book remarks, has been
incalculable, while the loss to the individuals themselves is equally
incapable of assessment. Remembering how splendid a training it is for
any one to record, as he roams about the world, all that he possibly
can that he sees of interest, one must be filled with regret that this
practice is so seldom carried on. If it were, the mate's log-book would
be a mine wherein might be found much fine gold--there is no room for
dross. And the habit, growing by what it fed upon, would soon compel an
ardent observer to keep a private log-book, where he could enter those
things for which the ship's log-book afforded no room, and the result
would be educational and refining in the highest degree.

I have seen log-books like this. One I remember even now, with the
keenest delight, kept by the third mate of a large ship in which I
made a voyage before the mast from London to China and back. This
gentleman, besides writing a very neat hand, was an artist, and
wherever it was possible he decorated his book with little sketches.
Landscapes especially attracted him, of course; but passing ships,
birds, porpoises, fish, deck scenes, fronds of fucus or gulf-weed,
were all utilized, and the result was a book beyond price. As he did a
little every day, there was no sense of labour attached to it; yet the
finished work gave the impression of a stupendous amount of work having
been spent upon the result. I do not know what became of that young
man, but I am prepared to hear that, if he lived, he rose to the top of
his profession in a very short time. For, as might have been expected,
he was no less keen about his duties than he was in his observations
and in his efforts to record them. He loved the sea and all that
belonged to it, and, in return for that love, the sea was to him an
untiring teacher as well as a faithful friend.

Another gentleman I know always carried a camera with him, and
ornamented his log-book with well-developed snapshot photographs, in
this way interpreting his keen remarks upon things in a wonderful way,
although his book lacked the artistic grace and finish of the other.
Perhaps it may be said that, looking at this matter from a literary
point of view, as well as from that of the sailor who has forsaken the
sea, I am laying too much stress upon it, and that, after all, it is
the sailor-man that is wanted in a mate, and not a bookworm. Such a
way of putting the matter is, I maintain, manifestly unfair. I admit
that a man may be super-excellent in all that pertains to the working
of his ship, and yet be unable to keep a log as it should be kept;
but, on the other hand, I am sure that it will be seldom found that a
mate who keeps a good log is a bad sailor-man. The efficient officer
will not be less but more efficient, if to his capacity for work he
brings the seeing eye and the imaginative brain. And, like all other
mental or physical faculties, this faculty of observation will improve
continually by being exercised, and add to the stature of the inner
man, making him more complete. Besides, how immensely it will add to
his enjoyment of life. His ideas will be enlarged, his capacity for
enjoyment will widen; and instead of being, as so many otherwise good
seamen are, discontented with his lot, and looking forward anxiously to
the time when he shall look his last upon the solemn wideness of the
sea, he will find his days all too short for the full appreciation of
the pleasures that will crowd into them.

There is, of course, another side to the question, and it applies
almost exclusively to the fine seamen that are reared in America and
the British North American colonies. Strangely enough, these splendid
men do not profit as they might be expected to do by the facilities for
education provided in their go-ahead country. It would seem as if they
thought that it was necessary for a man of action to coarsen himself;
to become--I say it without any intention of giving offence--more
or less of a ruffian. The quiet, firm authority which marks the
native-born gentleman does not appeal to them. The ideal Yankee or
"Blue-nose" mate is a splendid seaman, with a voice of brass and a
fist of iron. When work is afoot he may be heard all over the ship,
and it is impossible to conceive of him being a silent, reserved, and
thoughtful man. In the practice of seamanship this plan seems to work
well. I shall never forget while lying in Hong Kong harbour a fine
American ship, the _Colorado_, coming in one evening. We had done work
for the day, and were smoking the after-supper pipe on the forecastle
head. Therefore we were keenly observant of the doings of the newcomer,
and with that minute admiration of smartness possessed by all seamen,
even the laziest, we watched her. She came grandly up to her moorings
close to us, amidst a very hurricane of roaring orders, and presently
was securely moored. Then, instead of furling sails and coiling up
ropes, as would have been the case with an English ship, the crew
began to strip the yards of the sails and stop up the running-gear.
The mate was ubiquitous. His tremendous tones reverberated over the
quiet harbour incessantly, weighted by the weird profanity affected
by American seamen. The men flew from spar to spar, sails descended
magically, were seized, stopped up, and stowed away immediately.
Before it was quite dark the ship was in as complete harbour trim as
if she had been anchored a week, and even the few sea-marks upon her
outside had been carefully removed. Then, and not till then, were
the hard-driven crew permitted to seek the forecastle and rest from
their labours. And although every one of our crew were loud in their
condemnation of the "infernal nigger-drivin'," as they called it, they
did not withhold their admiration of the consummate smartness of the
whole business, and added in chorus: "Yes, but y' sh'd see th' grub
them fellows hev got ter go below ter. When a man gits 'nough t' eat
'ee don' mind workin'." It is conceivable that the splendid officer
who thus made things fly could hardly write his own name, since it is
the good sailor-man an American skipper looks for, not a gentleman.
More than that, I'm afraid the more "bucko" he is the better, from the
skipper's point of view. To be quiet and reserved is decidedly against
him. I was once in an American ship where the skipper was old--too
old to go to sea really, although he had no doubt been a smart man in
his day. He shipped a mate in London who was an Englishman, and had
commanded some first-rate English ships. As far as I can remember, he
was a good seaman, although a little rusty from having been long in
command. But he certainly was a gentleman, and he had not been on board
a week before the "old man" hated him with an intensity of fervour that
was almost comical to see, simply because he could not roar, neither
could he kick. I heard the "old man" say to him one day, "See here,
Mr. Small, I hain't no use fer a man as mate of my ship that creeps
aroun' 's if he wuz dum 'n paralytic. For God's sake, try an' hustle
them squarheds some, 'r we shain't get t' Melbun this fall." Yet the
ship was well handled; no thanks, I am bound to say, to the mate's
quietness, but to the traditions of the American Merchant Service,
which have been followed and improved upon by the Blue-nose, and may be
summed up in the following words of the Yankee mate to his crew: "W'en
I say 'walk,' I want ye t' run; w'en I say 'run,' I want ye t' fly."
And also the typical words of the mate of the lumber-carrying ship to
his crew: "Here, knock off work and carry deals." To their prayer for
a little rest he says, in tones of bitterest scorn, "Rest! Rest when
you're dead."

But enough, perhaps, of this ruthless side of smart men's characters.
Let us return to the mate's duties again. He is responsible for the
due shipment and delivery of the cargo. In a vessel where his whole
time may be given up to the duty of tallying (counting) it in, this is
all very well; but when, as often happens, he has many other duties
to attend to simultaneously, and must therefore trust to others, he
often finds himself in difficulties. I speak feelingly, having once
loaded government stores in London for Zanzibar, and, being unable
to watch both hatches at once, I was obliged to delegate the tallying
forward to some one else. When I came to sign the bill of lading, I
found a serious discrepancy. My assistant reported having taken in six
dozen ash oars, but I found that the bill of lading specified eight
dozen. Now, these oars had all been stowed away as they were shipped,
so that to get at them again meant much work. The officials stuck to
their bill, of course, and I wasn't sure. So I signed the bill "in
dispute," and bore about with me all the passage out the dread of
being called upon to pay for two dozen oars at about eight shillings
apiece, or about two months' wages. As soon as I arrived at Zanzibar, I
went to the ship's steward of H.M.S. _London_, to whom the goods were
consigned, and asked him to tell me how many oars he wanted from me. He
replied, "Six dozen," and I was happy. Yet those bills of lading had
been signed and countersigned at Deptford by at least six different
officials, each of whom had left it to "the other fellow."

Yes, the care of cargo, often of vast value, is doubtless one of the
most responsible of all the duties of a mate. At the same time, it
is one which he performs with wonderful accuracy and satisfaction to
all concerned, on the whole, especially when it is considered under
what varied conditions the work must be done: in open roadsteads, on
storm-beaten shores, in foreign harbours, pestered by all the motley
crew who, in mysterious ways, make a living out of ships, and must
of necessity come to the mate first; in ports where, in addition to
keeping an overseeing eye upon the never-ceasing work of the ship, he
is worried by his crew continually dodging ashore, getting drunk, and
returning abusive. And the lower down the scale of ships his position
is, the harder his work must necessarily be, since he can get less
help, while his responsibility remains the same.

All the ship's stores are also under his charge, and it is his duty to
so husband them that they shall last the voyage, yet see that their
expenditure is conducted on such lines as to produce the best effects.
And if he succeeds in this onerous duty, he may have the supreme
satisfaction of hearing the ship's husband say, when he comes on board
upon the ship's arrival home, "Good day, Mr. Brown; your ship looks
very well," which naturally makes him feel that his labour has not been
all in vain, especially if, as has been my own experience, he himself
has not only contributed mind, but muscle, to the desired result.

He has many temptations. Interested touts will come aboard, veiling
their real intentions under a mask of _bonhomie_, and invite him to
dissipations ashore; will offer him money out of pure affection for
him, of course, but with a suggestion that he shall hold their axes to
the grindstone. And if he be strictly honest, he will often find that
his honesty must be not only its own reward, but in many cases it will
be a serious loss to him.

I have never been able to get over an experience I had in Rotterdam.
I came home mate of a barque from Mexico with a cargo of mahogany.
Unfortunately, I had joined the ship in Barbadoes, finding that the
skipper and the bo'sun (we carried no second mate) were on exceedingly
intimate terms. Anxious to please, and looking forward to passing for
master, I said nothing about this queer state of things, not even when
the skipper and bo'sun went off day after day shooting, leaving me to
get the cargo in, keep things going generally, and between whiles hunt
along the beaches for derelict logs, saw them up, and bring the pieces
on board for broken stowage. Owing to my placable disposition, and
partly, I suppose, to my cowardly fears of a "row," there was peace on
board throughout the voyage. We duly arrived in Rotterdam, and were
boarded by a gang of touts after "shakings," tailors' orders, etc. One
Jewish gentleman was specially attentive to me, knowing that we carried
an enormous number of pieces of mahogany, which were the perquisites
of the officers. He wanted to buy them, and while he did not wish to
bias me in any way, he was anxious to give me a five-pound note as a
proof of his regard. I refused it, from what I now feel to have been a
mistaken sense of duty. The cargo was discharged; my importunate Jewish
friend bought the broken stowage at his own price, and then came to me
exultant, saying, "You vas fery foolish mans. If you haf dake my vife
pounts you vas do nodings wrong. Now _I_ haf my vife pounts, unt you
haf nodings." He said more truly than he knew. For my skipper divided
the proceeds with the bo'sun, and gave me "nodings," although I had
toiled early and late to procure the wood. I have often tried since
to console myself with the thought that I did the right thing, but I
cannot help an uneasy feeling stealing over me that, after all, I was
somewhat of a fool.

Upon another occasion, when mate of a brig that had been fitted with
wire rigging in Santos, Brazil, shortly before I joined her, I was
much pestered in St. John, N.B., by junkmen coming on board wishing to
buy the old rope rigging. It was a mystery to me how they got to know
of its presence there, but they certainly came swarming around like
sea-birds to a dead whale. One man was especially persistent, and at
last, in a sort of desperation, said, "Look-a-heah, Mr. Mate, I'll give
a hundred dollars for that junk, an' ef ye k'n get the skipper t' take
that I'll give you another thutty fur y'rself." I refused with some
roughness, and ordered the fellow ashore. My feelings may be imagined
when the next day my gentleman appeared triumphantly flourishing an
order from the skipper to let him have the rigging, which he had
purchased for seventy-five dollars. Knowing my commander's unquenchable
thirst, he had laid his plans accordingly; and, after a carouse at the
groggery where the skipper was putting up, had induced him to sell the
stuff for what was certainly no more than half its value. And even that
poor yield never reached the owner's pocket, nor any part thereof.

But the great temptation is drink. It assails the mate in every
harbour; and by not yielding to it, while he is taking the only really
safe course, he cuts himself off effectually from any society at all.
Some fortunate mates find friends in port who can and do invite them
to spend their scanty leisure in the midst of pleasant family life
ashore. But they are few. The majority of mates must for a season learn
to rely upon themselves for society, to be happy although alone, and
to find companionship in books and self-culture. It will be remembered
that I am now speaking of sailing ships. In steamers the case is very
different. The mate can associate with the engineers, and does so, in
cargo ships; in passenger vessels he gets rather more company than he
wants or is good for him.

And now I must part company with the mate, reluctantly, and with many
a backward glance over the long line of fine fellows under whom it has
been my privilege to serve. Of all the different positions on board
ship that I know of, none is so favourable to the formation of fine
characters, none that a man can hold with greater dignity and benefit
to himself. He has a scope for his energies that is practically denied
to the master; and where he has the good fortune to serve under a man
who has not forgotten the days when he himself was mate, and treats his
immediate coadjutor as his _mate_, there is no reason why he should not
be perfectly happy. I know that it was the happiest time of my own sea
life.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE SECOND MATE (IN STEAM).


Upon approaching this portion of my subject I am somewhat alarmed at
the prospect before me. For in all that I set down in this book I
strive to be perfectly truthful, not only according to the light of my
own experience, but in compiling the traditions of the service as they
have become known to me. In doing this I am quite well aware that many
whose opinions I value will be offended--it is but natural that they
should be. We often invite criticism from our friends, and really think
that we desire to be told the truth about ourselves. And so long as the
truth is pleasant we enjoy hearing it so much, but when our weaknesses
come up for review, however gently, we seldom succeed in keeping our
temper, even though we know full well we should be grateful. In what
has gone before I hope I have not trodden too heavily upon any of
my friends' pet corns, but in what is now to come I fear that some
heart-burnings will be unavoidably produced; because the second mate
has to pass through that most unpleasant time, common to nearly all
professions, when those above him feel it somehow to be their duty to
snub, annoy, and discourage him, with a view perhaps to stiffening his
moral fibre. Yet the impression produced is usually that of a time of
misery such as we would not go through again for a great deal.

But here again there is a great range of status. Between the second
mate of a large passenger steamer--who is usually a man of large
experience, holding a master's certificate, and having occupied many
superior positions before--and the second mate of a small sailing ship
making his first appearance on the quarter-deck in charge is all the
difference imaginable. The one is a most important officer, usually
the navigating officer of the ship and principal watch-keeper. His pay
is equal to that of many a master of a splendid sailing ship, and his
superiors would no more dream of insulting him or bullying him than
they would think of flouting the chief engineer. They are perfectly
well aware of the fact that before he reached such a post as that he
must have proved himself a competent man. The poor fellow, however,
who for the first time mounts the quarter-deck the ink scarcely dry
upon his certificate, may, and very probably will, have reason before
long to wish that he had been content to remain in the obscurity of the
forecastle. According to the bent of mind possessed by his commander
and, in a less degree, the mate of his ship, so will he be. In some
cases it will turn out that no amount of kindness and help given by his
superiors is of any avail. The neophyte is no good. In some mysterious
manner he has managed to satisfy the examiners at an outport where
rules are not so rigidly maintained as they are, say, in Liverpool
or London. So he has a certificate, but he is a dunderhead without
resources, untrustworthy, not able even to keep awake in his watch on
deck, and ignorant of the first principles of his calling. Much may be
excused in a skipper who finds that he dare not trust his second mate
in charge of the watch except in a dead calm; who, coming on deck to
have a glance round, will discover his junior officer, instead of being
acutely anxious to justify his elevation to command, is lolling on a
hen-coop asleep, while the vessel, with yards untrimmed, is wasting
the wind, and the man at the wheel is making mental notes for future
reference.

Under such exasperating conditions, especially if the master has
had no voice in the selection of this young officer, but has been
compelled to receive him because he was sent on board by the owners,
it is hardly to be wondered at if, his indignation getting the better
of him, his remarks are calculated to make the offender very unhappy.
Such an occurrence, however, is, for the reason I have already given,
impossible in a fine passenger steamer. So carefully are the officers
chosen, so rigidly is their previous experience insisted upon, that
only those who have proved their trustworthiness are allowed upon
the bridge at all to take charge of the ship. And of them the second
mate is the principal. It is, I believe, in most lines of passenger
steamers--I know it is in some--the practice to keep a list of officers
employed, and every accession to their ranks--no matter how high his
previous qualifications may have been--must go in at the bottom. And
it is of no earthly use attempting to get one's name upon that list
unless one's record is a good one. Then, when appointed to a ship, she
will be the least important of the fleet, and the recruit commences
his upward climb, his career carefully watched every step of the way
and its incidents recorded. By this means it is assured, as far as is
humanly possible, that by the time the officer takes command he is the
very best man for the position that care and forethought can procure.
And how wonderfully is this carefulness justified! Analyze the records
of our great passenger lines and see--despite the dangers of the seas,
the high speed, and absolute necessity for punctuality--the almost
invisible percentage of disasters occurring. It is a truly wonderful
proof of the value of our Merchant officers.

The second mate, then, of a liner has attained unto an exalted and
honourable position. He may, it is true, be a long time yet before he
gets command, but he has soared far above the contemptuous estimate in
lower circles of a second mate's position. Beneath him are quite an
army of juniors. I well remember the awe I felt when, some years ago,
fortified by a letter from a gentleman to whom I had been introduced,
I went to the stately offices of the P. & O. Company in Leadenhall
Street. I had a first mate's certificate, and, being unmarried, felt
that I could take a very subordinate position for the privilege of
getting my foot upon the ladder of such a company. But my hopes were
dashed at the outset by Captain Angove, the marine superintendent, who
said that while my papers were all they could wish, I must have some
experience in steam (which I had not). If I could again come before
them with six months' experience as an officer of a steamer, no matter
how small, they could put me on their list, and I should enter as
sixth supernumerary mate of such a ship as the _Rome_ or _Carthage_,
which were then new! My heart sank within me. I had never imagined a
ship with seven or eight mates before; and, disregarding the positive
evidence before my eyes of the rapidity (comparative) of promotion,
as shown by the commanding presence of several masters who were then
in the office, I gave up the idea, feeling that life was not long
enough. Promotion by seniority is a good rule, when it is tempered by
careful watchfulness of the candidates; and I do not believe that it is
anywhere more wisely used than it is in our great steamship lines. When
once the candidate has passed the preliminary stages of his novitiate,
and has entered the service of a great line, he has only to do his
duty, and in due time he will, if he live, certainly arrive at one of
the most coveted positions known to seamen--that of master of a great
steamship.

But this is, perhaps, straying from the second mate too far. Indeed,
there is little more to say of his most enviable and onerous position
in this type of ship. The very fact of his being navigating officer
speaks for itself, for the navigating of a ship that is flying over the
sea at a speed little less than that of one of the Metropolitan trains
for a week at a time is of itself a great task. And the man to whom it
is entrusted holds a position the honour and responsibility of which
cannot be lightly esteemed. When, in addition to this, he is known as
the first of that fine band who take it in turns to handle the vessel
by day and night upon the exalted bridge, and, going into harbour, has
charge of the after-part of the deck, while in port he is responsible
for what goes on in the hold with respect to the stowage of the cargo,
I am sure it will be conceded that his position is one that can be held
only by a good man. His comforts are many, quite compensating him for
the hardship of watch-keeping. He has plenty of society, for, besides
the number of junior officers and engineers, association with whom
is as free and unrestricted as it is among the commissioned officers
of a man-o'-war--and, for the same reason, the equality of status,
though not of rank--there are the passengers. And although his pay
is not large, his treatment is so good that many a man ashore with
far higher pay might well envy him. He has the very best of food and
accommodation--as good, in fact, as he could obtain at a high price in
a first-class hotel. On all of which accounts, if he isn't happy, he
ought to be.

But as with the master and mate, so with the second mate, when once we
step down from the great liners to the smaller passenger ships. More
work, fewer comforts, much less pay; no crowd of junior officers, or
great crews amply sufficient to do all that there is to be done. Still,
even here there are many advantages, and a second mate, remembering
that he is working his way upward, has little to complain of. It is
the same in the biggest cargo steamers, tramps of the highest type. In
fact, some of these are, for the officers, the most comfortable ships
afloat, and the pay does not differ much from that given in the liners
proper. They are the plums of the profession, and, as such, according
to the universal law, seldom attainable by the friendless young man,
struggling by his own merits to climb from the forecastle to the
quarter-deck.

When we have left these splendid specimens of marine architecture, and
come to the tramp proper, we begin to wonder how it is that second
mates persevere at all. They have a thankless task. The manning of
these vessels is on such a meagre scale that the second mate will
usually have to work harder than any of the crew. That, of course,
is no evil in itself, but it becomes an evil because it lessens the
respect in which an officer is held by his watch, generally composed
of men who are never inclined to be over-respectful. Many and many a
large tramp to-day is steadily boring her way through opposing seas,
outward or homeward, on a voyage of several thousands of miles, where
the watch on deck will consist of the second mate and three men. The
second mate's orders are never to leave the bridge upon any pretext,
unless relieved by an officer. Well, besides himself there are only the
master and mate. The first he dare not call to relieve him; the second,
having his own watch to keep in his turn, must not be disturbed. Yet
there is much work to be done--cleaning ship principally, but also
setting and taking in sail. I know there is a prevalent idea ashore,
very naturally, that steamships never carry any sails unless they break
down. But that is quite wrong. The few sails that a tramp steamer
carries are set whenever the wind is favourable, or it is imagined
that they will help in the slightest degree. And who is to set them?
One man is at the wheel, for no one has yet been clever enough to
invent a ship that will steer itself; one man should be on the look-out
night and day. But where is the tramp steamer that can afford such
extravagance as that? At night he will be at his post, of course, and
the remainder of the watch--one man--will be resting. If a sail is
to be set or taken in, what is to be done? According to the law the
second mate should refuse to quit his post on the bridge, and since
it is absurd to suppose that one man could accomplish such a task as
setting a sail, he would leave it unset. Such independent behaviour
would, however, certainly result in his services being dispensed with
at the earliest possible moment. So the practice is for the second mate
to come off the bridge, the man to be called off the look-out, and the
trio having left the ship plunging blindly along over the gloomy sea,
at dire peril to herself and any other vessel that may be near, do
their best to accomplish their task in as short a time as is possible.

In the day no pretence of a look-out is kept from the forecastle, and,
during the second mate's watch, the bridge is usually vacant also,
unless the master choose to remain up there while the second mate, with
his two grubby assistants, scrubs and polishes about the deck like any
overworked housemaid. Theoretically, of course, this menial occupation
is no part of his duty. Moreover, in the event of any accident
occurring, he is certain to be severely censured, if not deprived of
his certificate, for being off the bridge during his watch on deck.
And it will not avail him in the least to declare that it would be
impossible for him to keep the bridge and do what was expected of him
as well. As before stated, should he refuse to do work about the deck
with the men and insist upon obeying the law, he would certainly lose
his berth at the end of the voyage. Therefore, in practice, he trusts
to luck, and does the only thing open to him if he would keep his
berth, _i.e._ risks the lives of all hands and the safety of the ship
continually. It is said of the second mate that he doesn't get his
hands out of the tar-bucket by becoming a second mate. That is only
partially true, as I have shown; but it is absolutely true to say that
no tramp second mate can hope to keep his hands out of the paint-pot,
or the soogee-moogee bucket, or off the coal shovel. He may be called
Mr. Brown, second officer of the s.s. _Albacore_, but he is nothing
else than a maid-of-all-work on a trifle more than an able seaman's
wages.

In harbour he has the holds to look after. Here, perhaps, he is
slightly better off than his harassed superior on deck, whose
distractions I have endeavoured to sketch briefly in preceding
chapters, because he has only one thing to attend to. But he also has
often a gaudy time, as the Americans say, with native stevedores, whose
one aim in life is to do nothing, and failing that, to do as little as
possible wrongly. And he, knowing how essential it is for the safety of
the ship that her cargo shall be properly stowed, has many anxieties,
unless he quite neglects his duty and dozes peacefully, trusting to
luck that things will somehow come all right.




CHAPTER XIV.

THE SECOND MATE (FIRST STEPS).


Ever since I began to write upon this subject I have been sorely
tempted to try and explain to shore readers what it is that the
Board of Trade require of a man who presents himself before them as
a candidate for a second mate's certificate. I have hitherto been
deterred by the fear of being too technical, and yet I cannot help
feeling that I ought to try. That feeling has grown so strong that
I can no longer help making the attempt, knowing that every reader
has his remedy if he finds that the subject bores him--he can skip
the matter altogether. This seems to be the proper place to make the
explanation if it is to be made, since it is the first certificate that
a Merchant seaman is called upon to take--the threshold, as it were, of
his career as an officer.

May I, without suspicion of egotism, take a specific case, the one best
known to me, my own? I had been at sea more than double the required
time (four years) before I made any serious attempt to prepare for
the examination. When I began, my arithmetic was very shaky, and of
mathematics I was entirely innocent. My first step was to procure a
handbook to the examinations, wherein all the problems were carefully
worked out step by step. A "Norie's Epitome of Navigation," which
contains all the necessary tables, and a blank book, comprised my
educational outfit. I was at the time before the mast, in a comfortable
iron barque sailing from New Zealand to Oregon, and thence home. We
were a happy crew, young and lively, and the forecastle was, to put it
mildly, not an ideal study. But the racket going on around me while I
was wrestling with the unfamiliar mental exercises did me good in one
direction--it helped me to concentrate my thoughts. I began at the very
beginning, with decimal arithmetic, and worked at that until it led me
naturally to the use of logarithms. Then I began to get interested,
and the work was really a pleasure. Whenever I came to a dead wall I
went and asked the mate for an explanation, and he, an amiable little
Jerseyman, always did his best to enlighten me. My progress was slow,
but fairly satisfactory; and when I shipped for my next voyage before
the mast to China, I felt fairly certain that on my return I should be
able to face the examiners without any dread of the result.

At that time the programme on the navigation side was as follows for
second mate: Multiplication by logarithms, division by logarithms,
the day's work. This latter was really a formidable task to me, from
its length and complication, and it must have been so to many others,
since I was told that there were more failures in it than in any other
part of the examination. The day's work is the summing-up of all the
various courses made and distances run by a ship from one noon to
another, so as to find where she has arrived after all her zigzagging
about. In the example set the ship is always supposed to be at starting
within sight of some point of land whose position is known. A bearing
of this is taken by the compass, and this, with the distance she is
off, is known as the departure course and distance. The operation is
technically termed "taking her departure," one of the very few purely
nautical phrases which have passed into common use in this country.
Then follow six other courses, all differing fairly widely, such
courses as a sailing ship might be supposed to make with foul winds of
varying strength. Lastly comes a current stated to be setting, say,
S.S.E. twenty-two miles in the twenty-four hours. This is called the
current course. The variation of the compass is given which will be
the same for all the courses, deviation of the compass is given which
is different for every course, and leeway is occasionally given, which
is another disturbing element in calculating a true course. So that
each of the eight courses must be carefully calculated, and then the
mean of the whole obtained. It is then a simple problem to find at
what point she has arrived, which must be done within one mile of a
correct result. Then the problem of how to find the ship's latitude by
a meridian altitude of the sun (very simple), the time of high water
at any given place, a longitude by chronometer, etc. Definitions of
terms used in navigation come next, which must be written out more as
a test of penmanship and spelling than anything else; an exercise on
the sextant, showing the candidate's ability to adjust as well as use
it, and the navigation examination is over. As I think I said before,
it should present no difficulty to any intelligent school-boy at the
age of sixteen, while many would be able to do all the problems by
trigonometry instead of by the rule-of-thumb method almost universally
employed. For, as the candidate may do the work in whatever way he is
accustomed to, it follows that the great majority do it in what, to
them, is the easiest way, _i.e._ by the use of such tabular matter as
is necessary and very easy to learn.

But once the _school_ work is over the candidate's real trial begins.
Now he finds the value of having attended to his business while at sea
and the futility of cramming up seamanship from manuals written for the
purpose. For the examiners are all old captains, and the examination is
_vivâ voce_. In my own case I followed the usual routine. As soon as I
came home I went to a navigation school, or crammer's, and paid my fee,
not imagining that I should learn anything, but expecting to have what
I did know marshalled in the most useful order. I afterwards found that
I need not have spent my money. I can honestly declare that in my case,
at any rate, I got no good whatever. Indeed, I got a certain amount
of harm, which, however, did no damage beyond making a bit of fun,
as it happened. One of the last things my crammer did was to test my
sight for colour-blindness. It was the first I had ever heard of such
a thing; and when he held up various squares of coloured glass between
me and the light, I named them promptly according to their shades,
having a very keen and acute eye for colour. To my petrified amazement
he suddenly slammed the glass into the box he was holding, and said,
"You are absolutely colour-blind. Whatever do you mean by inventing all
those names for these glasses? There are only two colours here, red and
green; the others are white and black." I promptly selected a glaring
gamboge glass and asked him what _that_ was. He said, "Green." A bright
purple puzzled him for a moment, but was then cheerfully pronounced
green also! Secretly I felt sure that there was a blunder somewhere,
but I had long learned not to argue with those in authority, so I said
resignedly, "Well, I suppose I must take my chance." But I confess I
felt very uncomfortable. Then he brought out an amazing diagram of
his own invention for teaching the "rule of the road." I had seen the
thing before, but carefully avoided having anything to do with it. I
felt sure that I knew the rule of the road in actual practice, as well
as all the articles, by heart, and the late Thomas Gray's admirable
rhymes, and I didn't propose being worried by any old diagrams.
However, he insisted, so with a sigh I submitted. And before ten
minutes he solemnly assured me that I was a hopeless ass to think of
going before the examiners at all; that I didn't know the first little
thing about the rule of the road, which was the most important part of
the examination, and that my only hope was to go home and sweat it up.
As if any man could learn the rule of the road for practical use out of
a book ashore! I didn't say anything, but as soon as I got outside I
dismissed him and all his discomforting remarks from my mind entirely,
amusing myself in various ways unconnected with either navigation or
seamanship until bedtime.

In the morning I went straight to the Board of Trade office opposite
the Mint, and paid my fee, which is the first step. From thence I
was sent into a room where sat a gentleman with a boxful of slips of
coloured glass before him. He began at once testing my eyesight, and a
cold shudder ran through me as I realized that if my sight _was_ wrong
my career would be permanently stopped. And I could not help reflecting
how shameful a thing it was to allow a man to enter a profession
without applying so radical a test as to his fitness for it until just
as he was about to step up the ladder of promotion. Yet this wickedness
still goes on. You may send your son to sea, paying large money for
his apprenticeship, and doing all that lies in your power to make him
fit for any post, only to find out when he has reached manhood he is
colour-blind, and, of course, cannot be allowed to go any farther.
It would be _so_ easy to enforce a rule that no one should become a
sailor at all who was colour-blind. Well, bearing in mind what my
crammer had told me, I began describing the various shades the examiner
held up before me as red or green, according as I judged them to be
nearest to one or the other. I thought he looked queerly at me, but
he said nothing until I called a vivid magenta red. Then he said, "I
have never met a more perfect case of colour-blindness than yours." In
despair I implored him to listen to me a moment, while I told him of my
lesson. His face darkened, and turning to the box again, he held up a
slip, saying, "Tell me just what _you_ think this colour is, without
reference to Mr. So-and-so." I did, and all was peace. My sight was
pronounced perfect.

Thence I went into the navigation room, feeling better, and did very
well until I came to the third paper, which, on taking it up to the
examiner, was pronounced wrong. I stood still, not knowing what to do.
He said nothing, until I asked, "Have I failed, then, sir?" "If you
can't get it right you have," he replied. I needed no second hint,
returning joyfully to my table and going over it again until I had
discovered the error. I was now sure of passing this portion of the
examination, because I had carefully trained myself to find errors in
examples I had brought to a wrong result, instead of just letting them
go and beginning another one. But I had no more trouble. The rest of
that part of the exam, passed without a hitch, and I light-heartedly
bounded off. I was immediately recalled, however, and told that I must
go on with the seamanship now. I had been under the impression that two
days were always allowed. But I was wrong.

Feeling rather sick, I was ushered in before a very handsome old
gentleman, who was courtesy itself--Captain John Steele. Noticing that
I was nervous, he said a few pleasant words on ordinary topics, just
to put me at my ease, and then quietly, without any parade, asked me
how I would begin to stow a cargo of beer in casks. Question after
question followed, without any particular sequence, but in such a
manner that it must have been impossible for a book-instructed sailor
to have answered them. Then he came to the "rule of the road." Handing
me one model of a ship, he took two others himself, and bidding me
consider myself at the helm of the ship I was holding, he began to
manipulate his models and ask questions. At the expiration of ten
minutes he was good enough to say that he had rarely come across
any one with a clearer knowledge of this most important part of an
officer's education. In thanking him, I could not help telling him of
my experience with the schoolmaster's diagram, at which he laughed
heartily. Thenceforward the examination proceeded smoothly to its
close, which was considerably before the expiration of the time allowed
for doing the navigation part only.

With my blessed slip of blue paper in my pocket, which I should
exchange for my certificate as soon as the latter was prepared, I
returned to the school to tell the crammer my good news. As soon as
he saw me come in, he asked, "Have you got through your navigation?"
"Yes," I replied. "That's good," said he; "now you must just hammer
away at the rule of the road to-night as long as ever you can. If you
do, you may squeeze through." I answered carelessly that I didn't think
I could do much good like that. "Oh, well," he snapped; "do as you
like, of course. Only, don't blame me for your failure." For all answer
I handed him the order for my certificate.

As compared with some examinations I know, the above appears a very
trivial business, and yet I am firmly persuaded that, as far as the
seamanship goes, nothing could be more searching and complete. The
navigation part is, no doubt, very easy, even the extra master's
examination presenting no serious difficulty to a well-educated lad.
That part may be learned--often is learned--without the learner
possessing any knowledge of the sea at all. But the other, especially
for master, with its searching questions into maritime legal matters,
knowledge of the coasts added on to the intricacies of ship-handling
under all circumstances of peril, is, I should say, perfect for its
purpose, and such as no mere theorist can hope to pass. It may be
true--I express no opinion--what I have been told about the laxity of
examiners in some outports allowing duffers to slip through, but that
is certainly not the fault of the examination as arranged.

And now I must apologize for having taken up so much space over this
portion of my subject, and proceed to discuss the second mate's
position in sailing ships. Before opening a fresh chapter, however,
to which the importance of the matter fairly entitles it, I should
like to say that there is an intermediate certificate which may be
taken, of a higher grade than second mate, which is for use in small
sailing ships which are not compelled to carry three certificated
officers. It is called "Only Mate," and is rarely used. Its possession
entitles a man to act as mate of a ship of a certain size trading to
any part of the world. When an only mate is carried there will also be
a second mate, but he need not be a certificated man. In practice he
is usually a first-class seaman without any knowledge of navigation in
the arithmetical sense, although I have been in two vessels as mate
where my coadjutor in each case was a Russian Finn of fine mathematical
qualifications, who had never troubled to take an English certificate
nor ever practised his knowledge, confining himself solely to such
practical seamanship as required doing, and also acting as carpenter
and sailmaker. Both these men were perfect treasures, but only found
scope for their varied abilities in small ships, where a man must be
a jack-of-all-trades. Such men may also be found in the "down east"
ports of the United States, and in British North America--seamen in the
truest and fullest sense of the word; and I trust it may be long ere
the advance of steam leaves them without occupation.




CHAPTER XV.

THE SECOND MATE (OF A SAILING SHIP).


It may be taken for granted by the uninitiated that there is almost as
much difference to the beginner between taking charge of a steamer and
a sailing ship as there is between wheeling a perambulator and driving
a four-in-hand. In fact, I do not know but that I should be justified
in saying that there is more. The young officer of a steamer has only
to forget what gigantic forces he is controlling, be perfect in the
"rule of the road," and he may go on serenely. But a new second mate,
who has never in his life trimmed a sail to the changing wind, who
has never had to exercise his judgment as to the taking in or making
sail, whose knowledge, in fact, is as yet all theory, does not, as
a rule, have a very good time when he is first compelled to put his
theory to practical use. I was very fortunate. I joined my first ship
as second mate in Port Lyttelton, New Zealand, the _Bulwark_, of 1300
tons, belonging to Messrs. Shaw, Savill & Co. Her master was an elderly
gentleman named Seator, one of the most lovable of men, and withal a
first-rate seaman. He received me as if I had been a veteran, instead
of a man coming straight from the fo'c'sle. And the mate, who was also
elderly, was kind in a quiet way. I was then barely twenty-one years
of age. My first assumption of responsibility took place when the ship
was lying out in the bay ready to sail. The mate had unfortunately had
a severe fall, which confined him to his berth, and the master was
ashore. At about 10 p.m. the wind had increased to a gale, and anxious
watching had assured me that she was dragging her anchor. Therefore
I took upon myself to let go a second anchor. Just as I did so the
master arrived, and seemed gratified that I had acted so promptly. We
left the next morning, and I very proudly took the mate's usual place
on the forecastle while getting under way. Never once did the master
interfere with me in the conduct of the work, his apparent confidence
in me giving me such confidence in myself that I felt as if I could not
make a mistake. And when night came the good old man on going below and
leaving me in charge, said, "If you want me, don't hesitate to call me
at once. But don't call me if you can help it, as I am very tired; and,
besides, I want you to feel free to do your own work."

Under such cheery and sensible treatment I naturally developed rapidly,
as any man not absolutely worthless would have done. Yet I am sure that
had I met on this, my first venture, with the skipper I was unfortunate
enough to serve under two voyages after, I should have been completely
spoiled at the outset. I have, however, alluded to this matter before,
and gladly drop a very disagreeable subject.

The first duty of the second mate is to work his watch under
the orders of the mate or the skipper. With regard to what I may
call the secular work of the ship--repairs to rigging, cleaning,
painting, etc.--it is etiquette for the second mate to receive all
his instructions from the mate. But with regard to the working of the
ship, setting or taking in sail, the second mate, being in charge of
his watch while the mate is below, must receive any orders that may be
given from the skipper direct. Really the starboard watch, which is
always presided over by the second mate, is the master's watch, which
the second mate keeps for him; and while it would be a decided slight
to the mate for the master to come on deck during his (the mate's)
watch, and begin giving orders over his head as it were, there is
nothing of the kind involved in the master's doing so while the second
mate is on watch. It is a usual practice in sailing ships when any
large evolution is to be performed, such as tacking or wearing ship
(that is, turning her round in the first case against the wind, in the
second away from the wind), all hands shortening sail, getting under
way or coming to an anchor, for the master to take charge. Then the
mate goes forward, the second mate remains aft, and all general orders
are issued by the master. I was, however, second mate of one fine ship
where the master merely issued his order to tack or wear ship, as the
case might be, to the officer of the watch, whether myself or the mate,
and take no further part in the matter himself. This was very nice
indeed for me, for it gave me practice. Up till that time I had never
had an opportunity of putting a ship about; and although I knew very
well how to do it, there is nothing like practice. And some men are
never better than bunglers at this beautiful evolution.

Whether he is respected by his watch as an officer should be depends,
of course, upon himself in the first instance. Sailors are always keen
to take advantage of a second mate, whom they regard as "everybody's
dog;" and if he has not a masterful air, allied to a thorough knowledge
of his duties, their behaviour towards him will very soon degenerate
into downright insolence. Especially at night, when the sails require
trimming. They know as well as he does that it is essential that he
should have this done immediately it becomes necessary, and if he
hesitates to do it from any fear of their grumbling, they will never
do anything without a rumbling accompaniment of cursing, and he will
soon find himself in hot water with the skipper for neglecting his
most obvious duty. But if, on the other hand, he be ever so smart and
willing, and the skipper be continually finding fault with him before
the men, or taking work out of his hands, he will need all his patience
to save himself from becoming utterly discouraged. In very few ships
will he be allowed to do any navigation. Never once in the whole course
of my experience did I see a second mate "taking the sun," and, in
consequence, unless he be careful to practise in his watch below, he
will find his navigation soon growing rusty.

In large ships where a boatswain is carried his position is peculiar,
for the boatswain, being on deck all day, gets his orders from the
mate, and the second mate has no business to interfere with him unless
the yards want trimming or sail is to be made. And as in very few
large ships is it the practice for the second mate to stick to the
quarter-deck and attend solely to the handling of the ship by day as
well as by night, he is often at a loss what to do. He cannot work
under the boatswain; he cannot work with him, because there would be
a conflict of jurisdiction; he must find some little job of his own.
Where there is no boatswain this awkwardness does not arise. Here the
second mate must carry on the work in his watch, and he will be thought
all the more of if he be a good sailor-man. He will have to work as
hard as, generally harder than, the crew; but that will do him no harm,
rather good, for sailorizing is interesting work. Few sailors (who can
do it) ever growl at being put to a job of splicing or kindred work.
They feel it a dignity; and if you want to make a sailor quite happy
and contented, the envy of all his shipmates, put him on sailmaking. He
will never give any trouble, never shirk his work, and will seldom have
any objection to working overtime.

So much for the second mate's duties while at sea. It will at once be
seen that the best place for a second mate to get a thorough grip of
his profession is in a small sailing ship, although he will, of course,
look upon such a position only as a stepping-stone to something bigger
and better as soon as possible.

In harbour his duties are very clearly defined. Whenever any cargo
is being dealt with his place is in the hold, unless, indeed, it be
such a cargo as coal. He is held responsible for the careful stowage,
the careful discharge of cargo. In the majority of ports there are
professional stevedores, who have made the placing of cargo in ships'
holds their business, and understand it thoroughly. These are always
engaged where they can be got, for obvious reasons, chief among which
are the facts that good stowage makes a ship hold more, and that,
especially with certain cargoes, bad, careless stowage renders a ship
unseaworthy. But they always require careful watching, because there
are certain fundamental details which they will neglect in almost all
cases unless there be some one on the watch. Moreover, there are many
things, in a general cargo for instance, that are easy to pilfer, and
this necessitates a close watch being kept.

Where no stevedores are to be obtained, the second mate is expected
to be competent to stow the ship. And he then becomes, if he has
thoroughly mastered the details of the work, quite an important
personage, with nearly all hands under his command. Yet it must be said
that a young second mate suddenly called upon to stow a ship would be
very unfairly handicapped. His knowledge of the business would almost
certainly be theoretical; and to be suddenly expected to put it into
practice in an extensive manner, with perhaps twenty men under his
orders, would be a severe strain. It would not be lessened, either, by
the consciousness that most likely several of the men under his command
would have had considerable practice, and would be by no means backward
in their criticisms upon the young officer's movements.

Herein lies the essential difference between second mates in English
ships and those in American and Canadian vessels. Here, in the majority
of cases, the second mate is a youngster, gentlemanly, well educated,
but unpractised. In handling neither ships nor men has he had any
extended experience. He is really still at school, and he will often
be made to feel the truth of that statement very acutely. But in the
Yankee or Blue-nose ship the second mate will be generally found a
large man with horny fists and hairy chest, a voice of thunder, and a
will of iron. Long and arduous service at sea has raised him no higher
than this, for he thinks scornfully of "book-larnin';" but he is a
sailor of the very best type. As old seamen are wont to say, "Every
hair of his head's a rope-yarn, an' every drop of his blood Stockholm
tar." He never has any trouble with his men, for he will probably
begin the voyage by knocking a few of them down on the first shadowy
appearance of insubordination, which thereafter never dares to show
its head. Woe unto the sleepy man who, at the cry of "Lee-fore-brace"
in the middle watch, should heave himself slowly up from some
comfortable corner, and grunt loud enough to be heard, "---- and ----
the lee-fore-brace, an' the ship'n everybody aboard of her"! But such
a thing on board of a Yank or a Blue-nose is unthinkable. In the first
place, the unemployed members of the watch on deck would be well in
evidence near the break of the poop, marching up and down to keep
themselves awake--if, indeed, they were not at work scraping woodwork
bright--and on an order being given they would spring, without other
remark than a repetition of the order, cheerfully. No; the second mate
does not suffer from insubordinate men there.

One of my earliest recollections of the prowess of a second mate was
in Bombay, on board that ill-fated ship, sunk the other day by the
ironclad _Sanspareil_, the _East Lothian_. Her second mate, one of the
ordinary, mild, callow, just-out-of-his-apprenticeship type, had been
discharged, and the skipper had shipped a fresh one ashore who had been
for some time in Nova Scotian ships. He was a splendid specimen of a
seaman, not too tall, but finely proportioned, and of a very pleasant
face. The first morning he was on board we were washing decks under
the boatswain's direction. Mr. Eaton, the new second mate, was having
a look round the ship, and strayed forward, where two men were passing
water out of the big wash-deck tub. As Mr. Eaton passed, one of them,
carelessly slinging a bucket towards the other, dropped it, cutting
the deck badly with its edge. With a glance at the new officer, he
burst out into furious cursing at the other man for not catching it,
and wound up with a few remarks about the ship and all on board, as
the custom is in such exercises. Mr. Eaton turned quietly to him, and
said, "If you don't shut that foul head up, I'll shut it for you."
The man, a huge New York nondescript, stared aghast for a moment, and
then, deceived by Mr. Eaton's pleasant look, strode up to him, swearing
horribly, and threatening to cut his liver out, among other pleasant
things. For all answer the second mate leapt at him, seizing him by the
throat and waistband, and next moment he was flying over the rail into
the sea! Turning swiftly, Mr. Eaton was just in time to catch the other
man in mid-rush at him with a squarely-planted blow on the chin, which
landed him a clucking heap in the scuppers. But by this time the other
men had seen the fray, and rushed forward, shouting, "Kill him!" with
many lurid accompaniments. The boatswain did not stir to interfere,
and presently Eaton was the centre of a howling gang threatening his
life. But he had armed himself with a "norman," a handy iron bar from
the windlass, and none of them dare face him with that terrible weapon.
The skipper and the mate came rushing forward, and, like sensible men,
ranged themselves by the side of the second mate. In two minutes the
whole tone of that ship was altered. It was never again necessary to
resort to violence, for the men were respectful and willing, whereas on
the passage out the unhappy second mate was afraid for his very life to
give an order at night for fear of the volley of abuse to which he was
invariably subjected by his watch. So he neglected or, rather, put off
things which he should have done, until the skipper could stand it no
longer, and gave him a severe scolding, and at his request discharged
him in Bombay, a broken-spirited, almost worthless young man.

I earnestly hope that it will not be supposed from this that I love
bullying or violence, or would advocate it. But where there is no
weight of force behind an order, men will always be found to disobey or
neglect it; and in the British Mercantile Marine it will often be found
that a promising young officer's career is ruined just because he has
once allowed a truculent bully to tell him to "go to hell," and has not
knocked that man down. Often and often my blood has boiled when I have
been before the mast to hear the language used by my shipmates to the
second mate, who was only doing his duty in giving necessary orders at
night. Foremast hands will growl at this, I know full well; but they
_know_ it is true. And it is a shameful thing that in ships where a
man is simply treated as a dog, knocked down and jumped upon for half
a word or even a wry look, the discipline should be perfect, the work,
far harder than in any British ship, be smartly and willingly done;
while in our own ships, where such brutality is impossible, and the
work is reasonable, except in cases of emergency, discipline is almost
unknown, and officers are subjected to the foulest abuse by men who
thus take a mean advantage of our kindly laws.

I have dwelt upon this at so much length, because I do believe that
it has a most distinct bearing upon the most important question
concerning our Mercantile Marine of to-day. I allude to the matter
of the employment of foreign seamen. Foreign seamen, especially
Scandinavians, are not only biddable, they do not growl and curse at
every order given, or seize the first opportunity to get drunk and
neglect their work in harbour. Occasionally a truculent Norseman will
be found who will develop all the worst characteristics of our own
seamen, usually after a long service in British ships. And he is then a
bad man to deal with. But insubordination in the absence of any means
of maintaining discipline is a peculiarly British failing. There are
no finer seamen in the world than British seamen, English, Irish, or
Scotch does not matter; but they must have discipline. If any proof of
this be needed, I have only to point to the _personnel_ of the Navy.
There are no aliens there. And for smartness, for the ability to rise
to the occasion, and do deeds at which even our enemies stand amazed,
they have no equals. Why? Because no breach of discipline can be made
without its being swiftly followed by its due punishment. At least that
_was_ the reason. Now, I believe that a race of men-o'-war's men have
arisen who are capable of maintaining discipline among themselves,
having so high a pride in their service, that they do not need any
disciplinary restraint to keep them what they are--the finest body
of men in the world. A state of things exists where, for the pure
joy of service, the blue-jacket yields ready, implicit obedience to
the youngest wearer of the Queen's uniform, even though the obeying
one may, and probably will, be so able a seaman as to be capable of
training, in all the intricate duties of a man-of-war, any officer on
board. Loyal, earnest, and fearless, the man-o'-war's man of to-day is
the fine flower of the sea; and if only it were possible to raise up
such a body in the Merchant Service, no price would be too high to pay
for the benefits it would confer upon Great Britain.

I have dwelt upon this subject more fully in this chapter, for the
reason that I know there is more of the spirit of insubordination in
the second mate's watch than in the mate's; because I feel sure that,
if the second mate were only more thought of and more loyally supported
by masters and owners, something might be done to make our Merchant
sailors a more decent lot all round. At least, so it appears to me.




CHAPTER XVI.

THE THIRD MATE.


We have now exhausted, as far as the present work goes, the three
official titles used in the Merchant Service; that is to say, with
regard to the certificates issued. Master, mate, and second mate are
alone recognized as responsible officers by the Board of Trade. Yet,
with the growth of the steamship, it has become inevitable that more
officers should be employed, and so, as I have pointed out before, in
some big ships you may have eight or more officers, of whom only two
have officially recognized titles. Notwithstanding this, they will all
be certificated men, and some of them, perhaps all, will have passed
through all the grades before beginning at the bottom of the ladder
in the great company whose service has attracted them. Thus, in many
cases it will be found that the third mate of a fine steamship holds a
certificate as master extra, and is as good a seaman and navigator as
can be found anywhere. His duties are responsible and important, for
he keeps a watch, taking charge of the great ship alone. From what has
preceded this, it will be seen that he must be eminently fitted for
such a responsible position, and not only he, but the fourth or fifth
mate likewise, with neither of whom, however, do I propose to deal
here. Their position being, as I have said, unofficial and abnormal,
and their duties varying with the ship and her peculiar service, it
would be impossible for me to deal with them extensively. But let no
one imagine, therefore, that they are to be ignored. True, their pay
is small, but their prospects are good. They are in the direct line
of succession to the hierarchy of the sea, and in due time, failing
accident, they will command one of those splendid leviathans that are
the pride and glory of ocean traffic.

Of these unofficially-recognized officers the third is the _doyen_.
At any moment he may be called up higher and become one of the great
three. And no one connected with the great liners thinks lightly of
him. He holds an honourable post and leads a not at all unpleasant
life, always cheered by the prospect of immediate promotion. He is very
seldom called the third mate, but the third "officer," in the endeavour
to add, if possible, a more dignified air to his rather commonplace
title. It almost seems a pity that these great steamship lines do not
have a system analogous to that of the Navy, where, once a lieutenant
has passed his examinations, he is then eligible for the highest posts,
his promotion being only a matter of time. And once he takes his place
as a lieutenant he is on perfect equality as regards rank with all the
other lieutenants on board, with the sole exception of Number 1, the
first lieutenant. None is afore or greater than another. So I should
think it might be in a great liner, where all the officers will likely
hold the same certificate. Below the second, or navigating officer,
they might all rank alike as watch officers, or some such title, and
their pay should be on the same level, as with the naval lieutenants,
where the only difference is in small increases for special duties.

When we step down from the liner into the tramp there is a woeful
collapse. Of course only the very best type of tramp and the largest
will carry a third mate at all, and he has no position worth talking
about. From what I have said in the foregoing pages about the life of a
second mate on board a tramp some idea will be gathered of what sort of
a post a _third_ mate would hold in such a ship, where one is carried.
It is an even chance that he would not receive the poor compliment of
a handle to his name. Thus it comes about that he is usually in evil
case, without respect from the crew, and generally looked upon as a
loblolly-boy to the mate, or a call-boy to the skipper when going in
or out of harbour, standing by to work the engine-room telegraph when
required. Yet he does get some practice on the bridge at sea, where
the mate will use him for a relief at times, and as he gets experience
allows him to take a watch in the day while he (the mate) is busy
elsewhere.

Nor is his position greatly different in a sailing ship. Of course
only the largest sailing ships will pretend to carry a third mate,
who is almost always the senior apprentice in the last year of his
time, or making another voyage after his time is up, on an able
seaman's wages but with quarters aft. It may be stated at once that
he has no settled duties. He is always attached to the mate's watch,
and may be of considerable use to that hard-worked officer, or a
source of much annoyance to him. Where (and I have personally known
such cases) he is a blockhead, but has sufficient owners' interest
to keep him in a post where he is of no use, he will make the mate
so angry that he will implore him to do whatever he likes as long as
he doesn't get in the mate's way. And he will probably then divide
his energies to killing time, lounging in the boys' house, yarning,
and generally exhibiting that sad spectacle--a young man wasting his
life, squandering opportunities that many a friendless youngster would
give all he possessed to obtain. The men make a butt of him except in
harbour, where, as he is usually well supplied with money by his fond
parents, they are full of compliments to him in exchange for sundry
drinks or the price of them. He is to be seen in all his glory, with
a well-fitting uniform on and his gilt-badged cap stuck right on the
back of his head, dawdling about the bars in Melbourne or Sydney, or
parading the streets with questionable lady friends, who, when his back
is turned, allude to him as the "poop ornament."

Now, I would not have it supposed for a moment that I intend this to be
a picture of the average third mate. By no means. But this particular
type of third mate is very well known to most officers of fine sailing
ships and as cordially detested. He is bred of careless skippers,
influential friends, and parents who dote on him and supply him with
far too much money. There is, happily, a far more general type of
third mate, who is thoroughly anxious to make himself fit for the
position he hopes presently to occupy. He is not noticeable for being
extra well dressed when at sea, for he is too fond of having his fist
in the tar-pot or manipulating a marline-spike to admit of his wearing
much finery. And in bad weather it is his pride to be first aloft at
shortening sail; and if he can only beat the smartest man forward in
getting out to the weather earing, at reefing top-sails or a course, he
is delighted beyond measure. Such a young mate, if he has the master he
deserves, will often find, on the passage home, the mate's watch handed
over to him entirely at night, the mate remaining on deck all day and
devoting all his energies to getting the ship as spick-and-span as
possible for going into dock. In this way he gains just the experience
he needs for taking up his position as second mate when the opportunity
arises, and he becomes an officer who can not only tell a man to do a
thing, but can show him how to do it if he doesn't know.

In a fine ship which I will not name there was a third mate of the
dandy type I have endeavoured to portray on the preceding page. The
master was a gentleman who tried to have man-o'-war conditions on board
as far as possible, and consequently never interfered with the work
of the ship beyond consulting with the mate. And the mate, a splendid
seaman of the old school, was so disgusted with the third mate that he
allowed him to loaf away his time just as he chose. He never reported
him to the master for inefficiency, but just ignored him. Upon the
vessel's arrival in Adelaide the second mate received an offer to
go mate of another ship, and the master allowed him to go. Now, had
Mr. Third Mate been any good he would of course have stepped into the
second mate's berth, but, as the mate said, "He's about as much fit to
be second mate of this ship as I am to be Prime Minister of England."
I joined the ship in Adelaide as second mate, being two years younger
than he was. But I was strongly recommended by my old skipper, whose
ship was laid up for sale, and I obtained the post with ease. This so
exasperated the third mate that he actually dared to sulk in his cabin,
and refused to even pretend to work on the passage home. I cannot
tell how it was he was allowed to do this, but it was even as I say,
until, when we put into Cape Town to land some passengers, the skipper
discharged him. He went ashore a disgraced man, who stood no possible
chance of getting a ship again as an officer, and probably went to the
dogs entirely, all the money that had been spent upon him entirely
wasted.

In many of the large American and Blue-nose ships a third mate is
carried, but he is of a different type altogether. As these ships do
not carry apprentices, they usually breed their officers up from lads
who are _protégés_ of the master or mate. They come on board young,
and while they have an exceedingly good time, they are rigorously
trained both in seamanship and navigation. They are taught that the
cardinal virtues are smartness and cleanliness. So well is this
training pursued, that I verily believe no smarter young men are to
be found anywhere, and while they are still mere boys they are made
third mates with full authority and a handle to their name that no man
dare refuse to give them. They are expected to lead the way whenever
anything of importance is being done aloft, and are encouraged to lift
up their voices with no uncertain sound in giving orders. What splendid
men they do make, to be sure. There are, it is true, many foreigners
in Yankee ships who have by sheer merit risen to be officers, having
first perforce become citizens of the Great Republic; but for the
_beau-ideal_ of a smart sailing-ship officer commend me to the pure
American lad caught young and trained in a big ship. One I have in my
mind's eye now, who was second mate of the _Pharos_, of Boston: tall
and lithe, with a clean-shaven, boyish face (he was just twenty),
close black curling hair, sparkling eyes, and a springy step. We had
a hard bitten crew, shipped in London, and I heard one of the hardest
of them, an Englishman who boasted that he had been in gaol over forty
times, say, as he caught sight of the second mate for the first time,
"What a ---- baby. Boys, we're in for a soft thing here." But he was
quite mistaken. Ten minutes afterwards there was a melodious thundering
voice reverberating along the decks, "Lay aft, here, an' rush this
hawser forrard. Lively now." And the astonished crowd skipped aft, the
gaol-bird at their head, to find the clean-limbed "baby" looking quite
unlikely to bear trifling with. They recognized the able man at once,
and thenceforward there was never any trouble. I never saw men work
harder than his watch did for him, or speak more highly of a man than
they did of this bright-faced youth, who not only knew his own work
thoroughly, but knew how to get the last ounce out of the men under
his command. The only thing that puzzled me about him was the almost
abject reverence he had for the skipper, who was an old man, but by no
means one whom I should have thought capable of commanding respect. But
that grand young second mate always spoke to him with bated breath,
esteeming his lightest word as a dread law, nor did he ever, even in
jest, speak of him but as one should speak of their sovereign.

The third mate of an American ship is, however, often a man of mature
age, who takes the place that would be taken in an English ship by the
boatswain. He is no mate's loblolly-boy. So far from that being the
case, he often is the "bucko" of the ship, the man who may be depended
upon to leap, striking with hands and feet, like an enraged tiger
into the midst of a mutinous crew. He has often a lurid history, and
can show you a network of scars, each one a palpable reminder of some
furious struggle in such lawless ports as Callao or San Francisco. In
fact, he is the fighting man of the ship, and, as such, is treated with
due respect. But he has not seldom the defects of his qualities; and
though he may be depended upon to drive his men till they drop, working
harder than any of them, and cursing them all at the finish for a set
of weaklings, he sometimes gets out of hand himself. Had it not been
for the drink, he would long ago have been master; but he cannot resist
its temptations, and when in port (never at sea, for American ships are
strictly teetotal) he gets a drop too much, he is far too apt to start
a fight for the pure frolic of the thing, and his fighting is usually
of the nature that ends in manslaughter. On the whole, I am very glad
that we do not carry this kind of third mate in British ships, although
there have been times when I could have wished for his aid for an hour.
But his habit of kicking or striking with little or no provocation, his
utter disregard for human life--either his own or anybody's else--and
his incessant blasphemy, are hardly compensated for by his tremendous
courage, his magnificent seamanship, or his power of command. One feels
that he is out of place on board a peaceful merchantman--he should
command a pirate or a privateer.

With this brief sketch of the third mate we must leave the
"afterguard," as the officers who live aft are called on board ship,
and come to the "idlers," or petty officers. It is hard they should be
labelled "idlers," since they are usually the hardest working men on
board; but Jack only means that they do not keep a watch at night.




CHAPTER XVII.

THE BO'SUN.


It is impossible to help regarding the boatswain as a great figure of
romance. His title rings on the ear like the voice of the sea. And
although not one person in ten thousand among our crowded populations
could give a definition of his position that would not be a caricature,
there are few, very few, who do not feel a responsive thrill when
the word is mentioned. But I am compelled to take for granted that
the average man or woman has formed some hazy idea of what a bo'sun
is like. For one thing, it is certain that to speak of a gentlemanly
bo'sun would be considered as absurd as to speak of a fair negro.
He is, of course, to the general, the _beau-ideal_ of a "Jack Tar,"
a magnificent monster with a bull's voice, burned almost black by
the tropical sun, with eagle eyes forth-looking from a thicket of
beard, and great hairy arms whose innumerable devices of Indian ink
or gunpowder are almost hidden by a hirsute covering that would shame
an ape. Brave as a man can be, he is terrible in his wrath, yet his
heart is tender as a little child's, and any tale of pity never fails
to empty his pockets. Now, it has so often been my ungrateful task to
shatter old beliefs in the untrue and impossible, that I am quite glad
that no necessity is laid upon me for doing so at this present. There
are bo'suns to whom the above fancy description would apply precisely,
only it would not be complete. Other qualities, not so picturesque,
perhaps, but far more useful, would have to be added to finish the
picture. And then you have a man whose better it would be almost
impossible to find in the wide world.

In the Navy, the bo'sun, upon rising to the full height of that
position, becomes for picturesque purposes spoiled. He wears a
frock-coat, a "boiled" shirt, and carries a sword. He is a warrant
officer at the head of his profession, as far as concerns any man who
enters the service as a seaman. No amount of ability, education, or
conspicuous courage can elevate him another step. But his mates, who
may go barefoot, who wear the characteristic and eminently suitable rig
of the blue-jacket, distinguished only by devices upon their sleeves,
and a silver whistle or pipe--these are the typical bo'suns of the
popular fancy, the fine flower of the naval seamen.

As with all the rest of the officers, there are differences, not
exactly in status, but in duties, between bo'suns of the highest class
of steamships and the sailing ships which are big enough to carry
bo'suns properly so called. But these differences are not nearly so
great as among the certificated officers, for the bo'sun, whatever his
ship may be, is essentially a foreman, a working man who, by reason of
his superior qualifications, has risen above his fellow workers, and
takes the oversight of them. It is his duty, not to originate work,
but to see it carried out. He is no theorist, but a practical seaman of
the best kind. In steamers his seamanship is seldom called upon, but
his power of carrying on work is tested to the utmost. And in case of a
sudden emergency, such as the outbreak of fire, breakdown of engines,
or falling in with a helpless sister that requires a tow, the boatswain
is of the utmost importance. A good boatswain in a big steamship is a
treasure of great price, although he does not command very high wages.
He it is that makes all the difference to the mate between a happy life
and one full of those minor worries that whiten the hair and wrinkle
the face.

It cannot need any argument to enforce this fact. When the mate can
call the boatswain to him, and give his orders, secure in the knowledge
that the work will proceed without hitch or neglect, he may attend
to his other duties with an easy mind. The boatswain looks to the
mate, and to him alone, for his orders, and would be indignant at
interference by any officer of a lower grade. That is, supposing him to
be, as usual, a man fully competent. Where, by some accident, he has
slipped into the position without ability to command or knowledge to
carry out, he will generally be glad to curry favour with anybody, not
merely junior officers, but with the men under him--which is fatal.

The boatswain's position is not affected greatly by a change from a
liner into a big cargo steamer, unless it be in cases where, from
mistaken notions of economy, he is called bo'sun and lamp-trimmer. This
degradation of an ancient and honourable position is quite unfair
to the man who in a moment of folly or being hard up accepts such a
queerly-associated employment. For how can a sailor be expected to show
due deference to a man who, after all, is only "lamps"? In all the
steamers of the Australasian colonies a lad is carried as lamp-trimmer,
and his duties are confined to that and cleaning brass-work, both tasks
that are quite unfit for a man who is a leader and commander of the
crew, as a bo'sun is. Small tramps, of course, do not carry a bo'sun.
The duties which he should perform fall upon the hapless officers, as
aforesaid.

But if you would see the bo'sun in his glory go on board a large
sailing ship. There he has room and scope for his talents, can show of
what metal he is made. Even the radical changes that have taken place
in the rigging of sailing ships during the last quarter of a century do
not affect him much, except in so far as undermanning has reduced the
number of men available to carry out his directions. I am old enough
to remember the stately ships of Messrs. Green or Wigram or Devitt and
Moore coming into Melbourne and Sydney with crews more than double what
they would now carry if afloat. The bo'sun with his two mates were most
prominent figures, while their hoarse voices and the shrill scream
of their pipes resounded over the adjacent water as the vessel came
up to her berth. Those grand old vessels are gone, and with them the
fine complement of British seamen they used to carry, men who were so
disciplined that transference to a man-o'-war would have come as the
easiest and most natural thing in the world.

Yet it must not be supposed that the type of bo'sun they carried is yet
extinct. Fortunately, no; for he would be a heavy loss indeed. He has
grafted the old on to the new, and may be found to-day aboard the great
sailing ships, that still do a fair share of ocean traffic, carrying
on the work under the changed conditions, even as his forerunners did.
One of the greatest changes made in modern sailing ships has been the
substitution of wire rope for hemp. First of all wire was used for the
standing rigging, that is, for the great stays which support the masts.
Then came the invention of mild steel, and the discovery that ropes
made of mild steel wire were sufficiently pliable to be used for a
great deal of the running gear, that is, ropes that had to run through
blocks or pulleys. Then it was found that, instead of having a cumbrous
arrangement of stout ropes called lanyards to "set up" (tighten) the
standing rigging, stout screws would answer the purpose equally well;
and instead of needing a large number of men, much complication of
tackles, and many hours to "set up" the rigging, one man with a short
iron bar to turn the screws could do all that was required in about
a couple of hours. But this innovation, although it lessened labour
in one direction, did not make any difference to the work of the ship
aloft, where, on account of increased sail area and the practice of
carrying an additional mast, the work was more onerous than ever.

So the bo'sun of to-day must, in addition to the knowledge possessed
by those of bygone days, be an expert at handling wire rope, that
is, splicing the refractory stuff. He cannot be content with simply
knowing how it should be done, but he must be prepared to educate a
crew such as he may very easily find under him--a crew whose only
previous experience has been in steamers, and who hardly know one end
of a marline-spike from the other. He must be able to keep a ship in
thorough repair, going over the mastheads himself, and prying into
every detail for little defects, which may bring disaster if not
attended to in time. And his mastery of ships' work should be such
that it will be sufficient for the mate to say to him, "Bo'sun, I want
so-and-so done to-day," and then turn away completely easy in his mind,
because he knows that the work will be done, and done well.

I have had the misfortune to be once shipmates with, I was going to
say, a bad bo'sun; but perhaps the better description of him would be
that he was not a seaman at all, much less a bo'sun. We used to call
him "the Curiosity," abbreviated to "Curio." He said that he had been
bo'sun of the ill-fated _La Plata_. That may have been so, because the
vessel was lost only two days after leaving port, although none of us
could in the least understand how he had been able to obtain such a
berth. At any rate, he managed to get shipped with us in the _Herat_ as
bo'sun, and as she was a 1300-ton sailing ship, there was a fair scope
for his abilities. We found him out on the first day, although, as
nearly all hands were suffering from the last drunk, little notice was
taken. But before we cleared the Channel he was made of less account
than one of the boys. He was actually ignorant of how to do the most
trivial job. Even as a foremast hand he would have had a bad time; as
a bo'sun, his sublime audacity took our breath away. The officers were
all good men, and were able to carry on the work easily enough, leaving
nothing to him but such matters as washing decks or repeating their
orders. Then he took to coming into the fo'c'sle, and trying to curry
favour with the men by telling them of his varied experiences ashore.
By his own confession, he had been a salesman at Mortlock's in Oxford
Street, a door-keeper at a West End restaurant, something in the ring
at a circus, and other equally curious, out-of-the-way employments. His
impudence as well as a certain _bonhomie_, which, however out of place
in a bo'sun, would have been admirable in any of the positions he had
occupied ashore, softened the crew towards him, and really he did not
have such a bad time.

Of course he was discharged as soon as we reached Calcutta, the master
informing him that he would not carry him but for ballast, giving him
a "declines-to-report" discharge, which is equivalent to useless,
but paying him on the seamen's wages scale. Three days afterwards
he visited us, an overpowering swell of _distingué_ appearance, and
grandly informed us that he was ring-master in a great travelling
circus. After distributing orders lavishly, and inviting all hands
to come ashore and drink at his expense, he left, and I saw him no
more--the most amazing bo'sun I have ever even heard of.

At the other end of the scale I place the bos'un of the _Harbinger_,
a man of rot more than thirty, a giant in stature and strength, and
completely master of his profession. Of all the seamen I have ever
known, he was the most perfect specimen as far as rigging work was
concerned, and the handling of a ship's company. So splendid was his
work that, in conversation with him one day, after watching him splice
a two-inch wire grummet round the goose-neck of the spanker-boom with
far greater ease than most men would have done the same thing in rope,
I asked him whether he had not received some special instruction in
handling wire. He then told me that he was a Blackwall rigger, _i.e._ a
man whose trade is rigging ships in harbour, and that he only went to
sea when he could find a ship that suited him. That explained a great
deal; but I must admit that he was just as smart at handling sails
aloft in bad weather as he was at rigging work proper, so that I should
say he never allowed himself to get in the least rusty.

Other bo'suns I have known intimately by being shipmates with them,
good men as one would wish to sail with, but never one that came quite
up to this paragon among sailor-men. For some were perfect in all
their ways as far as "sailorizing" was concerned, yet could not get
the work out of their men; others were good drivers, but were weak
in their technical knowledge--at least, not quite so good at certain
work as some of the seamen under them; others were lazy, and one
especially do I remember, although a splendid seaman, was so great a
coward, that he was a by-word fore and aft. He was an Alsatian from
Metz, who had somehow got to sea, and after serving several years in
British ships, had become a bo'sun, a post for which his one defect
eminently disqualified him. And he never learned to talk intelligible
English. Sailors can understand almost any jargon that is spoken at
sea under the guise of English, but this man's talk was too funny for
anything. He would come to the fo'c'sle door as the watch was turning
out, and say, "Now, poys, gum lonk. Ve shrub und shrabe mit sant unt
racks alla now;" which, being interpreted, was, "Now, boys, come along.
We'll scrub and scrape with sand and canvas to-day." Poor fellow, his
abilities and long service deserved a better fate than he met with at
last. A couple of years after I left the ship I met him in Old Gravel
Lane, hopelessly crippled by a fall from aloft on his last passage
home. He was hobbling off to the workhouse to try and get in, to be
saved from starvation, for there is no redress for the sailor who is
maimed in the execution of his duty.

As I have said in the previous chapter, bo'suns are seldom carried in
American ships, where the third mate or second mate, as the case may
be, will efficiently perform a bo'sun's usual duties. But where they
are carried, they will be found, like all the other American officers
of whom I have spoken, the best seamen that can be found anywhere, but
in general conduct undoubtedly brutal to those under them. One case
of a "brevet" bo'sun is, I believe, sufficiently quaint to be noticed
here. A friend of mine, a man of rather small build, was second mate
of a Nova Scotian barque bound from New York to Hong Kong. When the
crew came on board--eight of them--he saw with some trepidation that
they were all huge negroes, and he did not feel any too comfortable
at the prospect of keeping them in order if they should turn out to be
a rowdy lot. But, putting a bold face on the matter, he mustered them.
As they trooped aft he noticed that, big as they all were, one towered
above all the rest, a black giant. A bright idea struck him, and as
soon as they had answered to their names he turned to the monster and
said, "Now look here, bo'sun, I want you t' hurry up 'n git these
spars lashed." "Ay, ay, sah," bellowed the delighted black man, "I put
de b'ys froo, sah." And put them through he did. There was never any
trouble from that day, the black bo'sun doing his work well, just for
the sake of the title with which he had been so suddenly honoured.




CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CARPENTER.


How shall I do fitting justice to the dignified, invaluable petty
officer (warrant officer in the Navy) whose title stands at the head
of this chapter? The honest journeyman ashore hearing the same title
has always had a peculiar fascination for me, whether joiner or
cabinetmaker. But he is no more to be compared with the carpenter of a
ship than a hod-carrier is with an architect. It is not every port that
can produce ships'-carpenters. Any shipyard where work is specialized,
as it is in many that I could name, is fatal to the breeding of such
men as ships'-carpenters must be. Like all the rest of the officers
I have written of, there is, of course, considerable difference in
the duties of a carpenter in steam and sail, the former being much
the easier billet for him. In a fine passenger steamship his duties
are mainly confined to seeing that certain gear is in working order,
attending to the shipping and unshipping of gangways, etc., but of
actual constructive work he seldom does any at all. That, owing to
the shortness of the voyages, is done when the vessel reaches home;
but it is essential that any needed repairs or alterations should be
noted during the voyage; and for this particular oversight a carpenter
is invaluable. And any remarks such as have been made hitherto about
incompetent men may be safely left out when considering the carpenter.
I do not go so far as to say that there is no such thing as an
incompetent ship's-carpenter. But I do declare that I never yet met or
heard of one. He is the man who may be relied upon to give less trouble
than any other man on board a ship.

As to his position, it is unique. He is a tradesman, of the mysteries
of whose craft the sailor does not pretend to knowledge. But he is
usually an old salt of keen observation, able to criticize sailor
work in all its branches, and with the proud conviction that he is
indispensable to the safety of the ship, a conviction that is based
upon expert knowledge of the constructional needs of the ship. The
real glory of a ship's-carpenter, however, does not shine out in any
steamer. It is in the sailing ship that he finds his opportunity for
the display of those abilities in which he is not to be approached by
any other man on board. I have often spoken in the highest terms of
admiration of the wonderful versatility of Canadians, Down Easters, and
Finns, who seem to be born with the power to use either marline-spike,
adze, plough, or sextant with equal facility. But their carpentry,
though sufficient for sea needs, is rough. It is, as they would be
the first to admit, only to be used where poverty or pressure of
circumstances forbids the employment of a man who has been through the
curriculum of the "yards" and has emerged ready to do all that a ship
in her utmost need can require at the hands of a man.

Perhaps the best ships'-carpenters known come from Scotland. In all
my experience I have only met with one who did not, and he was one of
the fine old school that used to be bred forty years ago in Thames
shipbuilding yards. But on the Clyde and in Aberdeen they breed a race
of men as ship-carpenters who are silent, thoughtful, and strong, men
who study the requirements of their ship as a great surgeon studies
his patients, and who never need telling what should be done. And this
is so recognized by masters that it is popularly supposed on board
ship that if the chronometer went wrong the carpenter would be called
upon to put it right. For he is no mere specialist. A ship's-carpenter
who was _only_ a carpenter would be of very little use on board a
modern sailing ship. He must be also a blacksmith, a block and spar
maker, a joiner, a sartor, and a boat-builder. Of course he must be a
caulker. I should not mention the latter were it not that in the minute
subdivision of labour, that for economical purposes obtains almost
everywhere to-day, caulking, roughly the stuffing of seams between
planking with oakum to keep out the water, has become a trade by itself.

The pumps are under the carpenter's charge. He knows not only how
to fit their boxes and renew the packing--many sailors have that
knowledge--but he can invent in time of need substitutes for leather,
and by all sorts of devices make it possible to keep the hold clear
of water. Also he is responsible for the due working and up-keep of
the iron-work aloft. The great trusses and goose-necks upon which the
massive yards are balanced, so that they swing from one side to the
other, are his care; he visits them at regular weekly intervals with
oil feeder and scraper, and with minute scrutiny assures himself that
there are no flaws in them which may in a moment of stress extend into
breaks, and let half the ship's company go howling to leeward, and be
swallowed up in the hissing vortex of white foam that surges hungrily
upward. He attends to the due working of iron block and sheaves, and
examines with a critical eye both masts and yards for flaws. To do
this, it is necessary that he be able to climb in any weather, since
the gear is permanently fixed aloft, and thither he must go to examine
it. But it is seldom that he is called upon to work aloft unless he be
an ardent seaman as well as a carpenter. Some members of the honoured
family of "Chips" I have known who scorned to be left on deck when a
rising gale demanded the services of all hands to shorten sail. They
were as keen and eager to wrestle with the mighty wings thundering at
their confining gear as any purely seafaring man that ever hung on to
a jackstay by his eyebrows, or scorned to secure himself on a yard by
thrusting his arm through a becket. There was never any need to call
them specially when it was all hands; they were always on deck with a
leap, as if they had been waiting ready rigged for the word, although
had one gone into their berths for anything an instant before the
cry was given he would have found them sleeping with the care-free
soundness of the sailor.

The bo'sun, carpenter, sailmaker, and cook generally live together in
a compartment of the forward house on deck. Formerly their berth was
known as the "half-deck," a survival of ancient days, when they were
really berthed in a horrible dungeon that rightfully bore the name.
But now the title is often carried by the berth set apart for the
apprentices, and the petty officers' quarters are as often divided in
two, one for the bo'sun and carpenter, and the other for the sailmaker
and cook. They are attended in simplest fashion by a boy, not at all
as a servant, but just to carry in their simple fare, wash their
mess-traps, and scrub out the berth. They may feed a little better than
the men, but not much, and the manner of their table is practically
the same, the "table," indeed, being often non-existent, as they eat
their meals in the good (?) old way, that is, with their plates upon
their knees or on a chest at their sides. But the carpenter has, in
addition to this home, which he shares with one or two others, a place
of retreat, sacred to him alone, wherein no man has any right to enter,
save the master and mate, and I am doubtful about the mate. It is his
"shop." Here is his bench; here he does such small work as comes under
the head of carpentering proper, or, on a long passage, makes cabinets,
writing-desks, or bookshelves for the skipper. It is a temple of peace,
fragrant with the scent of new wood, with a sub-tone of pungent tobacco
smoke, for here the presiding genius may, and does, smoke, with no one
to say him nay.

Unlike any other officer in the ship below the rank of mate, Chips
finds his own work; unless, indeed, the master may have some special
piece of work that he wishes done. And even then it would probably
not be undertaken if Chips did not think it was feasible. Under
ordinary circumstances the carpenter goes on his own even way, no
man interfering with him, and few knowing what he is employed upon.
Once, when on the homeward-bound passage of a long voyage, I asked our
carpenter whether he was not sometimes puzzled to know what to find to
do. It was a piece of daring on my part, for he was a dour Aberdonian
of middle age, so taciturn that his voice was seldom heard, and with a
grim expression on his face that discouraged familiarity. But he had
thawed out a bit on this occasion, and told me several yarns, so I
ventured to put the question, which had often occurred to me. "Mahn,"
he growled, with lowering brow, "Ah cud fin' wurrk fur seven year, 'f
we wur oot sae lang. Fat du Ah fine tae dae? ye say. Did ye ever see ma
idle in wurrkin' oors?" I shook my head vigorously, feeling that I was
on exceedingly delicate ground. "Nah," he muttered, "there's nae lack
o' wurrk, but ther's plenty wantin' wull tae dae it. But Ah niver hahd
ta worry aboot siccan a thing in a' ma life." And I said no more, being
no wiser than I was before, but feeling that what he said was true.

On the other hand, it may very well be that a ship's-carpenter
sometimes comes in for an overwhelming pressure of work which taxes all
his energies to cope with. On one occasion, in my own experience, the
skipper of a big ship, as we then considered her, bound from Liverpool
to Bombay brought with him to sea a number of huge rough spars, bought
cheaply, I suppose. These he purposed to replace the yards that were
already doing duty aloft, and as soon as opportunity offered the work
was begun. It was a tremendous task for one man to undertake; but our
Chips, although it was only his second voyage to sea, was fully equal
to the demand made upon his skill and strength. More than that, he was
able to train sundry members of the crew in the handling of broad axe
and rip-saw, so that they could take off him the most laborious part of
the work. During a calm that persisted for eight weeks, we practically
shifted every yard in the ship, working all day long, and--shall I say
it?--sleeping all night. I will not go so far as to say that the man
at the wheel went to sleep, but I dare not say that he did not, for no
demand was made upon his steering skill by the ship--she lay as nearly
motionless as a ship can lie upon the ocean. It was then that I learned
how wonderful a tool in the hand of an expert is the adze. Our Chips
seemed to prefer it to all his other tools, and the way he made it
serve him was marvellous. I heard him tell a story of how some braggart
was boasting in the yard of his skill with the adze, when an old
carpenter challenged him to take off a shaving under his foot, staking
his week's wages that he, the challenger, would take off the thinnest.
The boaster tried, and succeeded in slitting the sole of his new boot,
at which there was much laughter. Then the veteran, taking off his
shoe and stocking, placed his naked foot upon the plank, and swinging
his adze over his head, brought it down with a whir. On removing his
foot, a shaving no thicker than note-paper lay upon the broad blade
of the adze. And the old man slyly said, "Ah dinna keer fur reskin' a
guid peyr o' butes in a ploy laik this yin. But it'll mebbe teach ye
no' to give way tae ungodly boastin' agin." I have no difficulty in
believing the story, having seen the truly marvellous way in which this
awkward-looking (to a novice) but ancient tool is handled by an expert
shipwright.

That same carpenter mended the skipper's wife's sewing-machine,
"sorrted," as he would say, the same lady's bracelet. In fact, he was
always being called upon to do some job as far removed from carpenters'
work as one could well imagine, and always-succeeded.

Carpenters in American ships are, of course, super-excellent, but they
are not so good at iron-work as a Scotchman. For a Scotch carpenter
seems equally at home in handling wood or iron, as a result, I suppose,
of the thorough training he receives while an apprentice. But in
woodwork, in extensive repairs to a ship, the Yankee cannot be beaten.
Indeed, he must needs be good, for otherwise he "would almost certainly
find some of the officers who "would offer to teach him his trade.
And in British North American ships a carpenter is not often carried,
since nearly every Blue-nose sailor is a born worker in wood, and would
consider the carrying of a carpenter a superfluous expense, quite
unwarranted by any ship needs whatever.

Although not strictly within the purview of the present work, I may
be pardoned for paying a belated tribute to the excellence of the
American carpenters carried in the whaleships. Their strong point
was in boat-building; and to see what they could and did do with a
batch of broken boats, some of them indeed with hardly any vestige of
a boat remaining! Without any help, without rest for a couple of days
and nights, except for necessary food, they would toil until they had
again made it possible for the pursuit of the whale to be undertaken;
and they had to work in such cramped quarters, not free from the
all-pervading greasiness of trying out, that how they managed to do
anything at all in workmanlike fashion was a mystery. One of them that
I knew was also an artist in ivory and bone. He had a lathe of his
own construction, and by its aid he turned out such exquisite pieces
of ornamental work that they would not have been put to shame in any
exhibition in the world.

These ships also carried another artisan--the cooper--whose province it
was to make casks, barrels, tubs, buckets, piggins; anything that could
be made with hoops and staves. Consequently utensils that in other
ships would have been of iron were in the whalers of wood, and I once
heard our old cooper declare that he'd undertake to make a lady a pair
of stays if he was favoured with the order. And I have no doubt that he
would have done so, a pair that would have lasted a lifetime. No one on
board would have had the slightest difficulty in believing that, given
a sufficient number of trees and a little iron, these two worthies
would have speedily constructed a ship, in case of our vessel's loss,
in which we might have sailed round the world.

One more old carpenter I must mention who, with a broken leg and
covered from head to foot with suppurating mosquito bites, crawled from
his bunk when our vessel was found to be on shore in the middle of the
night. In this pitiable condition of body he immediately began to caulk
the only serviceable boat we had, which, lying bottom upward upon the
skids, had got so impoverished by the sun that her seams were gaping
wide, rendering her absolutely useless. And from thenceforward, without
one word of complaint, for over twenty hours that heroic man laboured
on until all that he could do was done. He did not seem to think that
his doing so was in any way extraordinary.

Perhaps the carpenters who read this may smile at the presumption of a
mere sailor in praising their work, but I hope they will believe that I
do but express toward them the ordinary sentiments of their shipmates
of all grades.




CHAPTER XIX.

THE SAILMAKER.


This most useful man's position on board ship will give me less trouble
to deal with than any other that I have either handled or shall handle;
for the sufficient reason that steam knows him not--has no need of him.
It is quite true that on board ships of war the sailmaker is still in
evidence, is still most busily employed, but not in making sails. His
work is much simpler now. It consists of making deckcloths, awnings,
mast and yard covers, and all the varied canvas screens whereby alone
it is possible for so complicated a machine as the modern ship of war
to be kept in anything like cleanliness. People are apt to inquire
what can be found for so large a crew to do as a man-of-war carries.
They either forget or do not know how defiling, how all-pervading is
the grime from the funnels and the dust of the coal used. As far as
making work goes, it far more than compensates for the disappearance
of sail power. Even with all the canvas protectors that are made and
kept in repair by the sailmaker and his crew, the dirt is so persistent
that one is tempted sometimes to cry despairingly, "All the protection
we get from these covers is so inadequate that it is more than
counterbalanced by the necessity for keeping _them_ clean; we should
be better off without them."

On board the sailing ship, however, going as she does for long voyages,
sometimes extending to two or even three years before returning home
again, the sailmaker is indispensable. Not that even in ships like
these a sailmaker as such is always shipped. Sailmaking has always
exercised a certain fascination upon seamen, and it will sometimes
happen that a master or mate will be so excellent at the business that
they will dispense with a sailmaker altogether, relying upon finding
among the crew some men sufficiently expert to do the stitching as
it should be done, while they design, cut out, and fit. But where it
is any one else than the master who thus adds the sailmaker's duties
to his own, the practice is rather dangerous. For there may be many
things happen which will cause the amateur sailmaker to declare rather
suddenly that he will have no more to do with it, that he has quite
enough of his own work to do; and then the consequences may be awkward.
Owing to the tremendous stress of competition, and the resultant
cutting down of crews, a far less number of sailmakers are carried than
used to be, ships of 1000 tons now being turned into barques, and all
their complement reduced, until it seems marvellous how she is handled
at all. In vessels of this size the sailmaking must be done by the
seamen, and with the decrease in number of thorough seamen who along
with their other accomplishments are capable sail-sewers (it would
hardly be fair to call them sailmakers), the problem of how to keep the
vessel clothed aloft is not an easy one to solve.

Possibly landsmen think very little about the matter, but they may
be assured that the making of a sail is by no means what they might
suppose--say, as easy as preparing a pair of sheets for a bed. There
is considerably more art required in cutting out a jib, for instance,
than there is in cutting out a suit of clothes. In a properly equipped
sail-loft ashore the various measurements may be laid off upon the
floor in chalk, and then it is comparatively easy to cut the numerous
cloths of canvas out by simply laying them down. There need be no
calculation of angles, only allowances made for "roach," _i.e._ curves
at the edges, so that the sail shall set properly, not hang like a
wrinkled rag when it is hoisted. But to do this on board ship in the
same way is impossible, so the sailmaker must make a tiny draft of the
sail to scale. From this he must calculate the length of each cloth
required, and, what is more important still, if possible, the number
of cloths which the width of the sail will take. For a cloth of canvas
is only two feet wide, and from this must be deducted the width of
the seam, which is usually about an inch and a half, but varies a
little according to individual fancy. Then there are the angles to
be calculated, and certain allowances made, which only practice can
estimate so correctly as to insure a well-fitting sail when finished.

Even with all the care imaginable in cutting, a bad workman will spoil
the set of a sail by not keeping the right amount of stress upon each
cloth as he stitches. It would not be an easy task to cut out a sail
if the material were all in one piece; when it is made up of a number
of pieces as it is, the work needs a master of the trade in order to
produce a well-finished article. And when it is remembered that some
sails will contain forty-five cloths of canvas, each ten yards long,
canvas, too, that is stout enough for the heaviest work that ship-sails
are called upon to do, it ought to be seen that sailmaking has nothing
in it of the nature of unskilled labour at all. In fact, so much skill
is required for sailmaking, so much innate ability, that it may be
truly said of the perfect sailmaker that, like the perfect tailor's
cutter, he is born, not made. Even then the dead hand of tradition
weighs heavily upon the sailmaker. Certain fashions in sail-cutting
exist in this country which are scouted in America as being in the
last degree clumsy. And the Yankee sailmaker goes so far as to say
that a British sailmaker cannot cut a sail! This taunt does really
seem justified to an impartial observer when looking at the difference
between a British and American ship's sails set side by side. I have
often seen a new set of sails hoisted on board a British ship that
looked more like a miscellaneous collection of rags hung out to dry
than the "white wings" famous in song. And it was not till long after,
when a great deal of stretching and humouring had taken place, that the
sails came to look at all neat and unwrinkled.

I don't know whether it is justifiable in a work of this kind to say
so much about sails; but I feel that since the popular imagination
is so stimulated by a sight of that most beautiful picture, a ship
under full sail, that it would hardly be fair to pass the subject
over perfunctorily, especially when it is so deeply studied and argued
upon board ship. There is nothing in a ship's equipment that excites
so much interest among her crew as the sails. Every one on board who
has any claim to be called a sailor poses as a critic when a new sail
is set, or when another ship heaves in sight, and as many intelligent
opinions may then be heard as might be expected from a party of trained
workmen going through an exhibition of work with which they were well
acquainted.

It must not be supposed that sailmaking is merely a matter of stitching
together a certain number of pieces of canvas of a certain shape. Far
from that being the case, the strength of the sail lies in its borders.
These are first "tabled," _i.e._ a broad piece is turned over and
stitched down all round the sail. Then a tarred rope, technically "bolt
rope," of the very best make, is carefully stretched, having a number
of turns taken out of it to prevent its cockling up the sail when it is
wet. It varies in thickness, not only on each sail, but on different
parts of the same sail, according to the strain that it may be expected
to bear. When duly prepared it is stitched on to the tabling with
several parts of stout twine (roping twine) well tarred. This work
demands considerable skill, for the canvas must be gathered up in the
process, so that the strain shall come on the rope, yet not so much as
to leave wrinkles in the sail. And at intervals small loops of rope
(technically "cringles") must be worked on the rope, from which they
stand out at right angles. They have grooved iron rings fitted into
them, so they be not chafed through by wear, and they serve to secure
the sail by "sheet," "tack," or "earing" (although the earing cringles
are seldom iron-lined). Of late years the fine hemp bolt-rope has been
much discarded in favour of flexible wire rope, neatly covered with
canvas and spun-yarn to prevent rust. This is stronger and more durable
in itself, but it makes the sail far more refractory to handle, and
cannot be stitched on to the canvas as of old by pushing the big needle
in between the strands of the rope. It has to be "marled" on, a method
of securing it that always looks clumsy and insecure.

But I fear that in all this I am straying far away from the sailmaker
himself. It may very reasonably be supposed that on leaving her
home-port a ship would have a sufficient supply of sails to last her
(barring accident) for the voyage. That is really so in all well-found
ships. Two, and sometimes three, complete suits of sails are carried,
the best or newest suit for seas where the stormiest weather may be
expected, the next best suit for general use, and the fine-weather suit
for regions where light, variable airs are always found, and where it
would be a great waste of money to allow good canvas to bang itself
all to pieces against the masts as the vessel rolls idly upon the
sleepy swell. Now, the sailmaker's first duty is to keep these sails
in repair; and since they have a great deal of wear, it will usually
be found that he has not only quite sufficient to do himself, but can
find constant employment for some favoured seaman out of each watch
at sewing seams. Generally speaking, he is a man who has served his
apprenticeship to the trade, although a good discharge from his last
ship where he has been engaged in a similar capacity is all that a
skipper looks for from him upon engagement. That is hardly correct,
though: many skippers will ask in addition for a written personal
reference, regarding the official certificate of discharge as a mere
formality that signifies little concerning the quality of the man. But
this applies generally to all seamen above the rank of A.B.

It will often be found, however, that a master who is an observant man
will have noted during the voyage that one of his A.B.'s has shown
a special aptitude for sailmaking. Then, at the end of the voyage,
he will inform such a man that if he cares to come next voyage as
sailmaker he will employ him--of course at a lower wage than he would
give a regular tradesman. In this way many seamen have risen from the
forecastle to be sailmakers. Very good men they are, too; but I never
saw or heard of one of them who had attained to the competency of
cutting and fitting new sails. Not that there is any personal reason
why they should not do so, but they do not get sufficient practice.
They are smart hands with the "palm and needle" and the "fid," that
is all. Of course regularly trained sailmakers are very wroth at this
cheating them of their privileges, as they consider it, but they are
quite powerless in the matter.

Sometimes, however, they have their revenge, as in the case of a ship
carrying an amateur "sails" that meets with a dreadfully sudden squall
and "carries away" all her sails. This term does not mean that the
sails are stripped entirely from the yards, but that they are rent into
ribbons, mere outlines of sails. An enormous amount of construction
as well as repairing sailmaking is thus thrown suddenly upon the
sailmaker, and every available stitcher on board is then pressed into
his service. Then, if he be a regular tradesman, he is in his glory;
but if a promoted seaman, he will usually be just a terrified unit
of the crew, badgered by the master and flouted by the men. And the
ship herself suffers accordingly. It is false economy, saving at the
most but a few shillings a month, and should never be indulged in.
The sailmaker, poor man, useful though he may be, is never very well
paid, fifteen shillings or a pound a month more than the A.B.'s wages
being about his maximum. And, like the carpenter, although not so
indispensable, he is almost always a good, reliable man whom it is well
to have on board a ship in a position of some responsibility.

As with the bo'sun, it will be found in American and Canadian vessels
that a sailmaker as such is rarely carried. The business of sailmaking,
like carpentry, is in those vessels considered tacitly to be part
of the education of a thorough seaman, and it would be a rare thing
to find one of them without an expert amateur sailmaker among the
officers. They get some beautiful patterns to work from when leaving
home, and doubtless study them deeply, for, in spite of their habit of
not carrying professional sailmakers, it is an unknown thing to meet
one of them anywhere with badly-fitting sails. I know of no lovelier
sight than a full-rigged American ship on a bright day with a new
suit of sails set to a good beam wind. The canvas being of cotton
(ours is made of flax unbleached), is dazzlingly white. Catching the
glint of the sun, it gleams against the deep blue of the sea or the
lighter azure of the sky like the wing of a mighty angel, so pure and
clean that the eye cannot bear more than a passing glance at it. Not a
thread is slack, not a curve untrue; she has the very poetry of motion
induced by a gloriously beautiful arrangement of wings, that make her
look like nothing earthly. Alas, that this splendid canvas should, when
wet, become like a plank for stiffness, so that in the stormy Atlantic,
when searching cold, howling gale, and drenching rain combine, and
the hapless sailors are strung aloft to furl those fiercely-straining
wings, the task is too terrible for words! The naked hands, torn and
bleeding, cannot bend the stiffened canvas, and in the fight many a
broken sailor has gone to the rest that was denied him in life.




CHAPTER XX.

THE STEWARD (IN STEAM).


The consideration of this worthy official's position has flung me back
again into all the difficulty of differentiation from which my dealing
with the sailmaker was free. More; because of all the men who serve
in the Mercantile Marine, there are none who know such changes of
fortune, such a range in value of their position as does the steward.
From the chief steward of an Atlantic liner to the cook-and-steward of
a small foreign-going brig what a tremendous distance there is! And
yet, given push, a gentlemanly appearance, and ability in organization,
there is really no reason why the holder of the latter position should
not aspire to, and reach, the former, with all its emoluments and the
command over a couple of hundred men. These hierarchs of the steward
order are really very closely allied to the managers of great hotels.
In fact, speaking from an outsider's point of view, I am inclined to
think that a man who can manage the domestic arrangements of a couple
of hundred people at sea--that is, in a floating hotel which is quite
cut off from any external source of supply for a week or more--has a
far greater task in hand than any hotel manager ashore can have. Such
an official has naturally enormous weight in deciding the question
of a certain ship's popularity. Her master may be one of the most
splendid and genial of seamen, her officers the best of their kind,
but after all, if the creature comforts are not well looked after she
gets branded as an uncomfortable ship. Therefore the chief steward is
in close touch with the office ashore. He and the purser--an officer
whom I have left out of my list, because he is really one of the
shore officials carried to sea for business purposes--are really the
autocrats of the passenger department. Like every one else on board,
they are under the master's command, but he has nothing else to do with
them. Carefully selected men as they are, they take care that their
part of the business shall not trouble his majesty. If he were troubled
by them the chances are that there would be changes in the _personnel_
of their department very soon.

Most people will need no argument to convince them that the position of
chief steward of a big liner is a most lucrative post. It is also one
whereof the holder should be a man of good appearance and gentlemanly
manners. Yet--and I say this delicately, because I would not for
a great deal give pain to any member of a most estimable body of
men--every seaman, no matter how humble, feels towards them, no matter
how high, a certain disdainful sense of superiority. He can never
quite get rid of the feeling that they are menials. I do not excuse or
encourage such a feeling, but that it exists is quite certain. Nor, in
spite of the rich prizes that are to be won in the business, do you
ever find parents who can afford to pay a premium for their youngsters
being apprenticed to the sea contemplating their being made stewards.
I see no reason why the steward's post should not be considered as
honourable as the master's myself, and certainly, taking the chances of
promotion one with the other, the prospects of fortune are far brighter
for the accomplished steward than they are for the most valuable master
to-day. But there is among sailors a marked repugnance to the _tip_,
to being expected to do body-service to other people, unless in an
emergency or as an act of charity, and this feeling can by no means be
explained away.

Below his high mightiness the chief steward in a liner come a host of
subordinates in as many varying grades as are to be found in a big
hotel. Unto each is allotted work, which goes on like clock-work, day
and night, in fair weather or foul. Efficient service in your hotel
means a great deal, one cannot help feeling, not only a great deal
of thought on the part of the management, but a great deal of hard
work and manual dexterity on the part of those who actually do the
work. And these toiling ones are always expected to wear a smile, no
matter what their physical condition may be; must always be ready to
spring at your call, and do for you whatever you choose to desire.
But what does such service as this mean at sea? When what the sailor
calls a stiff breeze is blowing, with "a nasty bit of a cross sea on,"
and the big ship is writhing her way through the green masses with
a perfectly indescribable combination of pitches and rollings, the
seasoned passengers must have their meals in due order, with all the
usual accompaniments; the helpless ones must be waited on. How is it
done? Only by the most loyal, eager subordination of self in the desire
to please, backed up, if you will, by a wish to get on, and tempered
by the prospect of a substantial tip by-and-by. Whatever the motive,
the work goes on with a regularity that is so unostentatious that the
passenger ceases to wonder at it after a day or two, and accepts it as
he does the unseen machinery below.

At the head of each department of bed-room stewards, waiters,
pantrymen, and what-not--I do not know the designations--is a gentleman
who is steadily working his way to the top, climbing to the giddy
height where he may go about all day long in the dress of a private
gentleman, and use only his brains, not his hands, for the prosecution
of his work. As in all businesses, efficient devolution is the whole
secret of success. But let the work be devolved as much as it may,
every one beneath the chief has quite as much as he can do by steadily
working on with little sleep, little rest, but abundant food. This is
so in the finest weather at sea and in harbour; in bad weather at sea
work is greatly added to, not only in quantity, but in the difficulty
of doing it. There is no mere child's play in the distribution of food
alone, without the arrangement of all the paraphernalia of the meal
tables. And in the cleaning up afterwards, and carrying away of china
and glass, the washing and stacking thereof in secure places while
the decks dance beneath the feet and every little bit of panelling
complains, there is very much severe toil, done no less thoroughly
because out of sight.

This ocean hotel service has grown to great dimensions, but not without
dragging into its toils a great many burden-bearers, whose labours
are essential to the luxurious comfort of latter-day passengers. It
is to be hoped that those who enjoy this wonderful attendance while
crossing the great and wide sea do at times give a thought to the human
machinery ever at work on their behalf. For a little thought would
surely make them less intolerant of mistakes or seeming neglect.

As we come down the scale of passenger steamers and lengthen the
voyages, the position of the stewards gets worse, while their wages
(that is to say their entire gains, which means wages _and_ backsheesh)
get less. Their labours increase by reason of the shortness of hands
and lack of accommodation provided for them. They are not to be envied
at all. Yet they are a cheerful crowd and a respectable, for any
dereliction of duty, misbehaviour of any kind, means dismissal from the
ship, a serious matter, which often carries with it a great difficulty
in finding another.

Coming down still lower, to the cargo-carrying steamer, or tramp pure
and simple, the stewards have dwindled to one, and a mess-room boy,
who waits upon the engineers; and although the steward of a tramp does
not get much of a salary, his duties are simple and his masters are
few. Indeed, he may be said to have but one master--the skipper--if
he be well up to his work. With that proviso and civility, no other
officer in the ship will ever interfere with him. Even here he is a
most responsible man. Upon him devolves the outlay of the consumable
stores. They are placed under his charge, and he is expected to see
them duly served out to all, keeping due record of their going, so
that he may not be unable at any time to answer a question put to him
by the master as to how the ship is prepared for the next portion of
her voyage. His part it is, too, to do battle with wily "dhubash" or
"compradore" in the far East, who will cheat not only in quantity, but
quality of stores on every possible or even impossible occasion. Upon
entering ports abroad, one of these worthies, or their prototypes, is
always engaged to supply harbour-food, fresh meat, vegetables, fruit,
etc., and a good, honest steward will make a tremendous difference to
the comfort and well-being of the ship's company. A dishonest one is of
the devil, because bribes will be offered him to wink at short weight
and inferior quality, and he will accept. Then there is discontent, and
often blame cast upon the wrong shoulders.

His other duties consist in keeping the saloon and the skipper's berth
clean--the officers must get _their_ berths cleaned by somebody else,
usually a deck-boy, the steward being no body-servant of theirs--and
waiting at table. Where the cook is incompetent, the steward will have,
in addition, the duty thrown upon him of preparing food for cooking.
In fact, some stewards prefer to do this, considering that their
pastry-making cannot be excelled by anybody. But the practice is by no
means so common in steam as it is in sailing ships.

I can hardly close this portion of the subject without an allusion
to the curious principle that obtained when I was sailing in
inter-colonial steamers, and may still be in force for all I know to
the contrary. It was there usual for all the ship's provisions to be
supplied by a speculator on shore, whom we called the _providore_, at
a fixed rate per head for every member of the crew, _i.e._ so much for
a sailor per day, for a fireman, for an officer, for a second-class
passenger, for a saloon passenger--the rate varying from one shilling
to half a crown a day. For this the _providore_ not only supplied food,
but cooks and attendance. The chief stewards were always supposed to
be deeply interested in making the scheme pay, but their peculiar
position often led to their being very unjustly abused. Any attempt
on their part to stop waste was almost certain to be met by the
accusation that they were stinting the food in the interests of the
_providore_, and naturally they could look for no countenance from the
master or officers. And as the waste forrard was simply abominable,
they were always in more or less hot water. Of course they could, and
did, control the expenditure of food aft and among the passengers, but
the crew did as they liked. I have seen a man go to the galley for
breakfast, and receive a tin dish containing four or five pounds of
chops and steaks for six men. It is true that they were vilely cooked,
and therefore usually as tough as leather. The fellows would turn the
meat over, saying bad words the while, and presently one would say,
"Well, this isn't good enough for me." Then taking the tin to a port,
he would cast its contents overboard, and go calmly to the galley for
more. And if he were refused he had only to complain to the master, who
would, of course, give no sympathy to a _providore's_ man. Enough food
was wasted on that ship to feed a large ship's company every day, and
by men who had all known what it meant to be very hungry.




CHAPTER XXI.

THE STEWARD (SAILING SHIPS).


There are even now a few sailing ships which carry passengers, but in
these no such luxury is to be expected as in steamers, for obvious
reasons. Nevertheless, a great deal of comfort may be got out of a
voyage in one of these grand flyers--comfort of a kind that, while it
does not appeal to the passenger pressed for time, is to the invalid a
perfect godsend, one of the most sumptuous rest-cures in the world. In
such vessels the steward is a man of some importance, as well as skill,
for he must do a great deal of contriving in order that such food as
may be carried on a passage lasting, perhaps, for over a hundred days
without a break by calling at any port, may not become too monotonous
to a landsman's pampered appetite. Live stock is carried--poultry, and
sheep, and pigs; and the steward is a good deal exercised about the
care of these useful passengers, although it is a matter over which
he has little control. He attends to their feeding, but the cleaning
of them and their protection from the weather does not rest with him,
while it makes all the difference possible to their condition. A bad
feeling towards him by the crew may often mean serious trouble in
respect of his live-stock. Or for other reasons trouble may be made.
As, for instance, in one ship wherein I was an ordinary seaman there
were two fine sets of coops on the forward-house, which contained ducks
and geese. Now, geese at sea are a great nuisance, owing to their noise
and wakefulness. We had many passengers; and it was well known among
the crew that not one fragment of the meat we carried alive would ever
find its way to their mouths, although the food supplied to the crew
forward was disgraceful to the last degree. Therefore, after enduring
the brutal cackling of the geese for a few nights, some revengeful
fellow's climbed up to their quarters in the darkness, armed with
belaying pins, and as the long necks were thrust out between the bars
to give vent to strident songs, one after another received a blow which
quieted them effectually.

In the morning there was not one left alive. The steward was
inconsolable, but all efforts to find out the perpetrators of the deed
were in vain.

It is, however, rather late in the day, I fear, to talk about stewards
in passenger sailing ships. Their palmy days are over. But in the
ordinary sailing cargo-carrier they still flourish, a race apart, and
as distinct from the steamship steward as can well be. Their berth is
by no means a bad one, assuming that they know their duty and do it.
There are many instances where a steward has sailed so long in the
same ship as to be almost as much a part of her as the mizen-mast, a
faithful servant of the owners, and a privileged member of the ship's
company, who is a prime favourite with all on board. Occasionally a
master will make a favourite of the steward, allowing him privileges
which he denies to any of his officers. This is exceedingly bad,
leading to all sorts of trouble on board with both men and officers;
for it is too much to expect that any man occupying such a position,
and pampered in such a way, should retain his respect for those whose
rightful claims to authority are ignored by the head of affairs. I have
in mind two such cases. In one of them the steward was undoubtedly
a clever man, who ran his department like clock-work, and although
undoubtedly petted overmuch by the skipper, did not take the advantage
that he might have been expected to do; at least, not until we arrived
in India, where he suddenly exhibited an amazing aptitude for getting
drunk, and keeping so for intervals of about a week at a time. This
led to complications of various sorts, and disagreeable scenes in
the cabin, where the skipper, when he was exasperated beyond measure
by the filthy behaviour of his favourite, often went the length of
rope's-ending him. But he (the skipper) expected his officers to endure
all the drunken abuse and neglect that the steward was inclined to
favour them with, and make no demonstration. The whole thing ended in a
fierce fight between the master and the mate, much to the edification
of the crew, peace being restored only by the discharge of the steward.

The other was in a big ship where I was second mate. I joined her in
India, and on the first day of my service was struck by the calm way
in which the steward bandied doubtful jokes with the mate and third
mate. Me he had not yet become sufficiently acquainted with. Not,
of course, that there was anything wrong or unpleasant in that of
itself; it might, I reasoned, be merely exercising the freedom of an
old servant, who meant nothing like insolence. But I could not help
wondering very much at the way in which that steward omitted to give
the mate his title of Sir, or Mr. Evans. I had never heard a chief mate
called by his surname, all short, before, by any inferior, without
a full measure of immediate trouble ensuing. Yet this man did this
amazing thing, while the mate made no objection. The master was not at
the table. I, of course, said nothing, but meditated much, and at the
earliest opportunity broached the subject to the third mate, a very
fine young officer just out of his time in that ship, asking him what I
was to understand by it. His explanation was that the steward, a gross,
flabby man, by no means smart or remarkable for ability in any way,
was so great a favourite with the skipper that he was allowed to do
practically whatever he chose. And this was the more remarkable because
the skipper was not only part owner, but a man who was very sharp with
his subordinates as a rule.

For a month I was very comfortable. The master used to chat with me
amicably during my dog, or first watches, and even went out of his way
to compliment me on the way I did my work, until, in an evil hour, I
offended the steward. It was in this wise. He came to my room door
in my watch below, saying to the third mate as he passed his door,
"Where's that feller Bullen?" And then he flung my door open, crying,
"Here, you, I want a cask o' beef got up as soon as the devil'll let ye
after eight bells." Now, I maintain that if an officer is to have any
authority on board a ship, such language from one of his subordinates
to him cannot, must not be permitted at all. The man was not drunk;
he was deliberately insolent, because backed by a foolish skipper.
Of course I resented his words, receiving more insolence; and then,
instead of knocking him endways, as I ought to have done, I went and
reported him to his master, who jeered at me, and warned me that I had
better let _his_ steward alone. I tried to explain, but only succeeded
in drawing abuse from the skipper. And from that day forward my life
was utter torment, such misery as I have never experienced on board
ship before or since.

But such cases as these are by no means common. The average
sailing-ship steward of to-day is a quiet, inoffensive man, who does
his duty unostentatiously, lives rather a solitary life, since the only
person he can associate with is the cook, and endeavours to serve out
the provisions to the men with perfect justice. If the master carries
his wife with him, the steward may be very happy or very much the
reverse--he can never plod along in the same easy, jog-trot way as is
usual when there is no woman on board. In American and Canadian vessels
he is often a negro, and sometimes a Chinaman; but it may be taken
for granted that whatever countryman he may be, he is also a paragon,
because the American skipper will have nothing less than perfection
in cleanliness and service. That must be rendered him whether the
steward be white, black, or yellow. And he is ready to enforce it by
the rudest and readiest means to hand. Wherefore it follows that he is
served as probably no other seafarers in the world are served.

But even here the officers are not personally attended by the steward,
except when they are at meals. It is the commander who must needs have
his every wish anticipated, his linen kept spotlessly white, and the
woodwork and the adornments of his cabin as clean, yea, cleaner than
on the day they were first fitted into place. Many of the old ships
carried stewardesses instead of stewards, often the wife of the cook;
and although to some people such an experiment might seem to be one of
the extra-hazardous kind, it was not so. The American is a wonderfully
chivalrous man towards all women-folk, especially when under his
protection.

Stewardesses are carried, of course, in British steamers--must be, for
attendance upon the ladies. They are well treated by everybody on board
except their charges, but some of them can tell some queer stories of
endurance at the hands of these, who owe them so much comfort. These
quiet, deft-handed women, who balance themselves so featly, roll the
ship never so heavily, could tell many strange tales. Strange, is it
not, in these days of reminiscence-writing, how carefully they hold
their peace? Once I was shipmate with a lady passenger, one of the
most accomplished ladies that it has ever been my privilege to speak
to. She knew all that a woman should know, and many things that good,
useful men did not know. And whatsoever she learned, if it seemed good
to her, that she would put into practice. She was going out to that
far country with a little capital, to prove to a sceptical world that
a lady who could ride, shoot, swim, and run a farm as well as play the
piano, sing, paint, and talk several languages, could make her way
alone in a new world as well as any man. But fortune was unkind to her,
and she failed in those days. Then she took on a stewardess's berth in
a coasting steamer that carried some hundreds of passengers from port
to port around one of the stormiest coasts in the world. We met when
she had been at this for some months, and she had aged ten years in
appearance. She was weary of life by her look, but she made no moan.
Then in an awful gale her ship went ashore on an outlying reef. There
were ninety female passengers on board, whom she considered a sacred
charge. That charge she fulfilled, seeing them all safely boated away,
while she retired to her cabin and locked herself in to meet the death
that she had grown to look upon as a delivering friend.

I would not close this all-too-brief account of the steward without
again emphasizing the fact of his heavy claim to the consideration of
all men. His business is not a showy one, and Jack is far too fond of
hurling the opprobrious epithet, flunkey, at him; but there is a great
deal of quiet heroism in his annals, and, in any case, his work is just
as important as any other seafarer's. For men must be fed and their
food taken care of. The doing of this with regularity, cleanliness, and
cheerfulness is the part of the steward, and how well he does it let
all sailors testify.




CHAPTER XXII.

THE COOK (IN STEAM).


In many respects the cook is the most interesting figure on board ship.
From him of the vast floating hotel, where the cook is a man of many
attainments, an artist in foods, who should, but does not, command
as great a salary as the chef of a first-class London hotel, down to
the miserable urchin who crouches low over his scarcely-shielded pot
on the open deck of a foreign-going barge, they not only deserve our
attention, they demand it, dumbly yet imperiously. How are the cooks
of first-class passenger steamers trained? Whence are obtained those
able manipulators of provisions who are always to be found on board
of excursion steamers that are laid up half the year, as soon as they
commence running? What do they do in the dead seasons, these magicians
who, in a space no larger than a reasonably-sized cupboard, succeed
in turning out a dinner of several courses for five hundred people,
no matter what the weather may be? Magician is surely the word, if
only for the marvellous way in which every corner of cramped space is
utilized, every trick of the culinary art--whereby the same thing is
presented under two or three totally different aspects and flavours,
and roasting, boiling, frying, and stewing go on apparently in the
same glowing chamber at the same moment--is practised. These things
amaze me; but, after all, much of the work may be done ashore, or in
the quiet of the moorings before starting-time in the morning, and
pastry may be bought all ready for table, also cold side-dishes.

But none of these adjuncts are available to the sea-going ship. His
dinners must be prepared, down to the smallest item, by the cook
himself and his subordinates. It is true that he has a large staff in
a liner, and that those assistants are carefully selected for their
several duties; but he has not, as his far better paid brother ashore
has, the power of dismissing any assistant summarily if that assistant
be incompetent or worse. That is, he has not such a power at the
time when it would be of use. In the day of battle, when the great
organization of an Atlantic liner's catering is going on, he must use
such men as he has; they cannot be exchanged for others. But how very
striking is the moral to be drawn from such a state of affairs. It is
that, considering the excellence of the work performed by these men,
there must be a most exalted standard of quality among them. And they
would seem to be a contented folk. We know, most of us, that the great
steamship companies have a reputation for treating their servants
generously, but generously-entreated workpeople are not always the most
contented. The cook and steward class in these vessels must be, or we
should hear them, for they are by no means a feeble folk. You will find
them occupying comfortable positions ashore while still in the prime of
life, having earned sufficient within a few years to enable them to
abandon the strenuous toil demanded of them at sea. They have earned
every penny, and have not been compelled to "carry the banner" in order
to get more. And in strangest out-of-the-way places of this wonderful
England of ours, you will come across quiet, gentlemanly men who,
upon opportunity arising, will inform you that they were cook of the
steamship _So-and-so_, or steward of such another one. They enjoyed the
life, but presently, like sensible men, they felt the need of a wife
and home and children, and they therefore looked about for something
suitable ashore, found it, and made room for a younger man.

No one, unless he belongs to the cooking-staff, has much opportunity
afforded him for prying into the galley on board a big passenger ship
during working hours. Those splendidly-fitted hives of industry may be
viewed at other times, but then they reveal nothing to the outsider.
This exclusiveness is not malicious, or for fear of being found fault
with. It is solely because there is no room for any but the workers,
who work indeed. Every inch of space is needed. Look down through the
hatch above, or peer in through the ports, and you will be astounded
at the way in which the cooks are handling the food, how in a space
where, by all ordinary rules of cookery, they should not have room to
move, they are turning out with conjurer-like dexterity a state dinner
of ever so many courses for a couple of hundred saloon passengers. And
then contrast their surroundings, if your previous experience enables
you so to do, with the palatial spaces of a grand hotel kitchen. Only,
you must remember at the same time the gale raging over the wide sea,
and the complicated movements indulged in by the ship as she strides
over the tremendous waves. So shall you acquire a respect for the
sea-cook that will endure all your days.

To compare great things with small, this mental picture brings before
me by association the cooks in the Australian coasting steamers. We
have nothing like the same lavish arrangements for cooks and stewards
on our own coasts, because our system is different. Here the fare is
exclusive of food. You may dine or not as it suits your purse or your
appetite. When you dine, you pay. But in the colonies the fare between
ports includes sumptuous feeding arrangements for the first-class
passenger, for the second--there are no third or deck passengers, as
with us--rough accommodation, but an unlimited supply of excellent
plain food. Australasia is truly the land of plentiful eating. And
the cooks--well, they are good, some of them super-excellent, and all
of them trained by hard experience to do much work in a very small
compass and with a tiny staff. The cook of the _Wonga Wonga_ stands
out boldly in my memory as one of the characteristic figures of my sea
experience. A huge negro with a voice of thunder, and an effervescing
humour that made him a prime favourite, he succeeded in his vocation
where many a better man might have failed. He was a fairly good
cook, but in his details of work reminded me strongly of the elderly
negress in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," who dished up a dinner out of chaos
and old night somewhere down below. Such an extraordinary jumble of
pastry-making, poultry-trimming, and all the varied operations required
in the preparation of a dinner was surely never seen. And out from
the weird confusion of things Sam would burst, smeared with blood and
grease and dusty with flour, brandishing a big knife and declaiming
Shakespeare on the slightest provocation. But in spite of the fact that
the whole preparation of a dinner for sometimes as many as five hundred
people, except peeling potatoes and the actual cooking, devolved upon
Sam alone, he was always up to time. It was dangerous to come near him,
though, as that time drew near. For then he drew perilously near being
a howling maniac. Yet no sooner had the last dish disappeared aft, than
Sam would sally forth from the galley, his ebony countenance aglow with
satisfaction, and a big pipe in his mouth. Down anywhere he would fling
himself, ready to discuss any question in the world, from the ruling of
an empire to the winning moves in a game of draughts. His successor,
when he got promoted to the _City of Melbourne_, was a far better cook,
and a paragon of order and cleanliness, but there wasn't a man in the
ship to say a good word for him. He was a shy Englishman.

Then, dropping still lower, I have every reason to remember the cook
of the _Helen M'Gregor_, sweetest of small passenger steamers had she
been on the London-Margate route, but a grisly terror when scaling the
steeps of the Southern Pacific waves in a "southerly buster" between
Grafton and Sydney. She was far too small for such an arduous service.
Yet we carried over a hundred passengers when full. All her cooking
was done in a caboose--just such a square box as may be seen on the
deck of any old sailing barque--a cube of about eight feet clamped to
the deck by iron rods. There was no table within it, only a locker seat
which contained coals running across it in front of the stove. Two men
could not pass between this locker and the stove without careful edging
or one of them getting burnt. Most of the implements had permanent
abiding places on the stove, but a few lived on racks above when not in
use; and when the skittish little ship was dancing they would clatter
down at intervals. Outside, in an angle between the back of the galley
and the steam-chest, was a movable board for pastry (and other things).
Its dimensions, with liberal measurement, may have been two feet
square--not another inch, if I were bribed to say so.

The presiding genius of this most primitive of arrangements was a
hunchback, a shrewd little Yankee with a French face, who received £11
per month and earned £50. He had one assistant, a nondescript man of
indefinite age, who never wore an apron, and whose duties were confined
to peeling potatoes, stoking the fire, plucking fowls, and washing up
pots. But these things he would do as long as there were any of them
_to_ do, mechanically, even though, as was frequently the case, the
conditions all about us looked as if another ten minutes would see us
all at the bottom of the sea. He earned £5 a month. But what he lacked
in ability or initiative was more than made up by his chief. That
man was a miracle. On that two-feet slab he would make pastry of all
kinds, prepare most elaborate dishes, yes, although the salt spray
whistled around him, and on occasion an eddy of the gale would flip
a dish with its contents off his board far away to leeward. He would
shout an order to his acolyte for half a dozen fowls and a bucket of
boiling water. A few rapid motions of the hands, and they were all
gyrating in the scuppers, while one after another he plunged them into
the steaming bucket and slithered the feathers off, flinging each as he
did so to his waiting henchman for the minor picking. Thus I have seen
him serve six fowls at noon--at 12.35 they were being eaten. Ask me not
how, for the details are unpalatable.

But his great achievement was butchering in bad weather--butchering
sheep. Stolid Joe would bring the sacrifice along, mercurial Bill
would seize it, stab it, and unaided commence to rip off its hide
immediately. There, on the deck, outside his galley door, the struggle
would go on as if it were a fight to the death, so great was the fury
that little man displayed. And it was one of the commonest sights to
see, in the midst of the operation, a green comber of a wave come
hissing along, embracing carcase and cook, and sweeping them clean off
in a dishevelled heap bang aft up against the second-class berths.
Knife in one hand, half-skinned sheep gripped by the other, he had no
buffers wherewith to ward off bruises; but he had a voice. And he used
it, not in canticles of praise. Yet punctually the meal for which that
sheep was being prepared would appear on the table. And it would not
be an unsavoury dinner, either. The one thing that always seemed to
dishearten him was the lifting clean out of its fiery bed of a copper
or kettle, that fitted into a hole on the stove-top, by a vicious
plunge of the vessel. And as such an event was usually followed by a
green sea thundering over all, and flooding him and his lieutenant
clean out of the galley amid a smother of steam, coal grit, and spoilt
food, his temporary subdual could not be wondered at.

But I must forbear. Mental pictures of that super-excellent cook's
doings arise before me in almost interminable succession, tempting me
to forget the fact that there were many others doing almost precisely
the same things unsung, and unrewarded save by the meagre pay they
drew. Who, for instance, could envy the cook of a "weekly" tramp?--a
steamer, that is, which, making quite long voyages, has engaged her
crew at so much a week and find themselves. Perhaps there are no cooks
at sea who are more worried than these. For Jack, left to his own
devices for supplying himself with food, does some of the queerest
things that ever were or could be recorded. And each individual expects
his own mess to be as carefully looked after as a whole saloon dinner.
Natural, perhaps, on his part, but for the hapless cook purgatorially
inconvenient. I was once a passenger from an Irish port to Liverpool in
a weekly boat, and in the grey of the dawn was waiting at the galley
door to buy a cup of coffee. Men came and went incessantly, banging
oven doors and flinging utensils from side to side of the red-hot
stove-top. The cook was absent, engaged aft in some business or other.
Presently he appeared with a teapot, and immediately snatched at a
huge copper kettle which stood on the stove in the middle, where the
top plate was almost transparent with heat. The kettle flew up in his
grasp, being empty. "Why, there's nothin' in it!" he screamed. "No,"
replied a fireman who was groping in the starboard oven; "I tried it
ten minutes ago, and it was empty then." "An' you putt it back on that
stove!" said the cook tragically. "Course I did," was the calm reply;
"think I was goin' ter fill it?" I really thought the cook would have
died of suppressed emotion before he found words wherein to express
himself. But his tongue was loosened presently, and then his remarks,
if sulphurous, were fairly comprehensive. The fireman only laughed.

What shall I say of the cook of the tramp pure and simple? Only this, I
am afraid that, while he has a bitter, hard berth of it, he gets little
better pay than his brother of the sailing ship. One consolation he
has, and that not a little one--he has more to cook, and consequently
he is, taken generally, a better workman. For there is nothing tends
to disgust a man more, no matter of what trade he be, than the being
compelled to make bricks without straw. And there can be no doubt that,
hard as are the tramps in many respects for their crews, the food is
much better than that provided in sailing ships, taking the average.
Having such a rough crowd to cater for, however, does not tend to
improve the quality of the cooks carried in tramp steamers. A decent
man hardly cares to face the possibility of being violently assaulted,
for no fault of his own, by members of a gang of ruffians of every
nation under heaven save his own countrymen. And this is the state
of affairs that any man in such a position as a cook holds must be
prepared to face in most tramps. If he be fortunate enough to get into
one of the north-east coast tramps, owned by canny firms, who like to
have their ships manned by their own people, and whose highest ambition
is to see efficiency combined with comfort on board of them, he will be
as well off as any sea-cook, not an artist, can reasonably ask to be.




CHAPTER XXIII.

THE COOK (SAILING SHIPS).


It may, perhaps, have appeared strange to many that, in dealing with
the cook in the preceding chapter, I hardly mentioned anything about
the materials with which he is called upon to deal. Most people have
heard something about the badness of food in the Merchant Service,
and therefore it might seem at first sight a great mistake to write
a chapter on the sea-cook, and say nothing about the kind of food.
My excuse must be, that in the kind of ships with which I have been
dealing the food question rarely causes any trouble. In the finest
steamships I doubt very much whether the workers are not fed quite as
well as are any corresponding class of toilers ashore; and even in the
lowest tramps there is not that general lack of decent food which does
press so hardly upon the seamen in sailing ships.

For one reason, the steamship is never so long away from port, except
she breaks down, as to give the same excuse for carrying the kind of
food considered necessary in sailing ships. And in many, as I have
said, there is a system in vogue of paying the men so much per week,
and permitting them to "find" themselves--a hateful system, and one
that can only be indulged in by the authorities at the cost of much
suffering and loss of efficiency by the improvident men who are under
it. How can a man do his work who, without more forethought than a
babe, comes to sea for a fortnight's passage with a few ship-biscuits
and a dozen salt herrings? Without any of the minor comforts, such as
tea, coffee, cocoa, or sugar, he is in misery all the time, besides
being an unmitigated nuisance to those of his shipmates who have come
provided with what they need. Then when the vessel arrives in port, and
such a man gets his pay, it is but rarely that his bitter experience
results in his being more careful. He will have an extensive drunk, and
again face the passage in a condition of starvation. But, in any case,
his behaviour does not affect the cook.

Therefore, to see what manner of man it is whom sailors have had to
deal with their food in the majority of vessels up till the advent of
the great passenger-steamers, and who is carried as a cook of to-day
in thousands of sailing vessels, it is necessary to take a trip in a
vessel dependent upon sail-power for propulsion--a vessel wherein you
may be a matter of five or even six months at sea without making a call
anywhere, for ever so short a time. It is perfectly safe to say that,
even at the present day, seven out of ten sailing-ship cooks are only
so styled by courtesy, or for want of a better name to give them. And
this is in despite of the well-meant, and, in most cases, philanthropic
efforts that have recently been made to train cooks for ship work.
The good people who, with the welfare of the seaman at heart, take
so much pains in order that he shall have his food properly prepared
are undoubtedly doing a good work for their pupils; but the unhappy
sailing-ship man seldom gets the benefit from those educated cooks that
their teachers hope for. And this for the simple reason that, when
once a ship's cook has really learned cookery, he will use his utmost
endeavours to get a ship where there is something that requires skill
in cooking. So he gets into steam, and, once there, only some dire
misfortune will bring him back to a wind-jammer again.

Yet, strangely enough, even the elementary skill required for cooking
the staple food served out in the great majority of sailing ships
to-day is generally wanting. Surely it is only reasonable to expect
a man who engages to serve as cook of a ship to be able to boil salt
beef and pork, make pea-soup, and bread, and boil rice. Nothing more
is required of him at sea than this, for the better food carried for
the cabin is prepared by the steward, who will generally give an eye
to it also during preparation. But it is seldom that you will find a
sailing-ship cook who will, or who can, do these things properly. And
as to taking a little trouble to make this coarse food palatable by
varying its treatment, such cooks would be astounded, indignant, at the
revolutionary idea. Then, when in port the fare is changed to that of
fresh meat and vegetables, the only thing that the cook seems capable
of doing is to make one kind of soup. That is usually good, but soon
becomes monotonous. As to roasting meat or cooking potatoes nicely,
such a thought is not to be entertained; or, if the cook does try to
do such a thing, the meat is usually so hard as to be uneatable by any
one but a sailor or a savage.

Now, I am aware that these statements of mine will be met with
indignant denials in some quarters. I shall be told that things have
altered so much for the better since my day (sixteen years ago) that
I should hardly recognize them. Unfortunately for the makers of such
remarks, I have taken pains to find out whether this is really the
case, ready and eager to rejoice in the fact, if it were a fact. And
I have found to my sorrow that among sailing ships the improvement
is practically _nil_. When I was going to sea there were good-living
ships, where plenty of preserved meats were carried, and the crews
treated periodically to fresh messes; ships where abundance of potatoes
and turnips and onions were put on board, and served out liberally to
the crew forward as well as the officers; where a regular allowance of
butter and pickles was made, and in cold weather oatmeal porridge was
served out for breakfast. And there were lines of sailing ships where a
scale of provisions such as these was drawn up on generous lines, and
incorporated in the ship's articles instead of the shameful Board of
Trade scale. There are such ships to-day, but their proportion is no
greater than it was then. And if any will speak of official inspection
of provisions, in order to ensure a high standard of quality, I would
respectfully call their attention to the innumerable statements made
and uncontradicted this present winter of the abominable condition of
the food supplied on board many of the transports to our troops on
their way to South Africa. Not that I believe such food would find its
way into the kids of the crews of those transports in the ordinary
course of things. No; but such food as that is in the ordinary course
of things carried by sailing ships, the majority of them for the supply
of their foremast hands.

Now, in these days such behaviour on the part of those whose business
it is to supply ships with food is unpardonable, not only because
it is cruel, but because it is unbusinesslike. It would be cheaper
to supply preserved fresh meat than salt, cheaper to vary the food
instead of giving hapless men the infernal monotony of beef and duff,
pork and pea-soup, every other day for a matter of a hundred to a
hundred and fifty days on end. There is really no reason why every ship
afloat should not have a pound of butter per week served out to each
sailor, or why a sufficient quantity of such easily kept vegetables
as potatoes, turnips, and onions should not form a regular portion of
a sailor's dietary. It is also very well to talk of the healthiness
of sailors; but you will very seldom find a hale, deep-water sailor
over fifty years of age. Nor is this due to volcanic outbursts of
intemperance and other forms of vice while on shore. It is due to
privation of vegetables, and bad, highly-salted meat as the only flesh
food for long periods. Dried peas can never make up for the want of
fresh vegetables, although apparently they are expected to do so,
even when flavoured by the boiling with them of pork so salt that if
allowed to remain in the soup for more than half an hour the latter is
rendered uneatable. And then so many cooks are fond of an over-dose
of carbonate of soda in the soup in order to ensure the peas bursting.
No one ashore can have any idea of the craving which seamen on long
voyages feel for fresh vegetables, the thought of them at times being
almost maddening.

It may be said--although, from the real importance of the subject just
touched upon in the few preceding paragraphs, I sincerely hope it
will not be--that I have been making a purely gratuitous digression
from my text. At any rate, I will now drop the subject-matter of
cookery, and proceed to deal with the cook himself as fairly as I may.
Unfortunately, my experience has been so unhappy that it is rather
difficult for me to remember that there must be many good cooks in
sailing ships, even if I have not had the good fortune to be shipmates
with them during my sailing-ship voyages. However, I will do my best to
be impartial.

In the first place, the routine of a cook's duties in a sailing ship
is fairly fixed; there is not much room for variation. We will suppose
that it is Monday morning in the middle of a long passage. At 4 a.m.,
when the middle watch is relieved, the cook is called. Going at once
to his galley, he lights his fire with a handful of tarry yarns and
a little wood, and pops the kettle on. Then a grating noise and a
pleasant smell are manifest; he is grinding coffee. While the water is
boiling he will attend to the mixing of the sponge set overnight for
bread or duff, whichever it is his custom to make out of the half-pound
of flour which every man is entitled to on that day of the week. At
two bells (five o'clock) he puts his head out of the galley door and
cries "Coffee." On the word every man of the watch on deck, except the
steersman, brings his pannikin to the galley door and receives a little
more than half a pint of--well, we'll call it coffee; but really, when
you come to think of it, the name is somewhat misapplied. For the daily
allowance is half an ounce of green beans, which, by the time they are
roasted and ground, are hardly capable of yielding sufficient caffeine
to make a pint and a half of drinkable infusion, or rather decoction,
since the cook must boil it to get any flavour at all. But that is a
detail. At any rate, the liquid is hot, and it may be sweet, if the
drinker is economical with his twelve ounces of sugar, careful enough
to make it last him the week.

This morning coffee is a great institution. However unsavoury it may be
as a beverage, it is looked forward to as no other meal of the day is,
for it breaks up the long and sleepy morning watch, it ushers in the
day, and its medicinal effects are undoubted. After it has been drunk,
the man at the wheel relieved for his share, and a smoke indulged
in, the cry of "Wash decks" is heard, and the day's work begins. The
cook's duties are light. He has nothing to prepare for the men's
breakfast--that is, in eight ships out of ten--except another jorum of
questionable coffee, about a pint for each man. In most ships breakfast
for the men is the grimmest farce imaginable. A few fragments of dry
ship-biscuit, and a pint of coffee, cannot by any stretch of courtesy
be called a meal. A little butter would go far to make it one. A few
potatoes wherewith to make dry hash or lobscouse with a few remaining
fragments of meat left from the two preceding meals, and an onion to
flavour it with, would cause the ship to be gratefully regarded as a
"good-living" packet. In American ships this is the rule; few indeed
of them are to be found where a good breakfast is not provided for
the men, and, what is quite as important, the quality of the bread
(biscuit) supplied is usually superior to that found in the cabins of
British sailing ships. Not so in Canadian vessels. It is a profound
mystery to me, the way in which Canadian sailors, or, for the matter
of that, longshoremen in Canadian coast villages feed. The fattest of
fat pork, potatoes, and salt cod seem to be the staple food in the
coasters, and as often as not "coffee" is made with burnt bread, and
sweetened with exceedingly dubious molasses.

Lying in a Nova Scotian harbour once, loading lumber from a large
schooner, I went on board at breakfast time. I found the skipper
preparing breakfast for all hands--four of them. They did not muster
a cook. He unearthed a mass of cold cooked potatoes and a block of
pale pink fat, got out a big square tin, which he put on top of the
hot stove, and, carving up the lump of fat into dice, sprinkled them
over the bottom of the pan. He then peeled his potatoes, and dropped
them into the pan on top of the hissing fat, stirring them round with
his knife. As soon as the mass was warm through, breakfast was ready.
The "coffee" was warmed up from yesterday, and its aroma was enough to
kill a mosquito. I should think it would have made a fine disinfectant.
Yet in that splendid country there is no want of the best food. There
is a serious lack of cooking ability. I stayed in a "hotel" in one
coast village for nearly two months one winter, where at least thirty
always sat down to meals. Those meals never varied. Fried blocks of
meat, potatoes boiled in their skins, soggy bread, and "pies," a sort
of stew of cranberries or dried apples, spread over a dough-covered
plate, and indurated in an oven, always formed the menu: never a bit
of green vegetable, or any suggestion that even the same kind of meat
might be made just as palatable, if not more so, by being treated in
a different kind of way. I suppose these strong men look down with a
certain contempt upon any careful treatment of food as being effeminate.

But to return to the British sailing-ship cook getting ready for
breakfast. As I have said, the men's repast does not burden him. He may
have in the oven a panful of "cracker-hash," a mess of pounded biscuit,
chopped beef or pork mixed with water, and plentifully anointed with
grease skimmed from the cook's coppers. This will have been got ready
overnight by the younger members of the forecastle crowd. In many
ships, however, this form of filling is strictly forbidden; that is to
say, the cook is not allowed to have it in his oven, because it is well
known to be most unwholesome, producing various intestinal disorders,
and covering the men with boils. But the temptation to invent some
means of distending the craving stomach is great, so most men break
up the biscuit into their coffee, and shovel it down soaked, to the
ruin of their digestions. Meanwhile the watch on deck are getting a
razor-keen edge on their appetites. The strong, pure air, and the
vigorous exercise of thoroughly cleansing the decks with a flood of
water and much scrubbing, from stem to stern, is enough to do this,
even if it were not aided by an occasional appetizing whiff from the
galley of frying bacon or cunning stew, which is being got ready for
the officers' morning meal. Those who have been sleeping in the crowded
forecastle are naturally not so sharp set; they can do with a drink
of coffee and a smoke. But when at eight bells (8 a.m.) the watch is
relieved, and those who have been at work all the morning come below to
the mockery that awaits them, there is much bitterness and bad language.

No sooner has the cook cleared off the cabin breakfast than he turns
his attention to the duff or bread. The former curious compound is
peculiar to British Merchant sailing ships. It is really boiled bread.
It is made, like bread, with hop yeast, but a certain quantity of
grease is mixed with it, and it is not put into the bags dry, like
dough, but slack enough to run. The bags are made of canvas, conical in
shape, to allow of the duff being turned out easily. Before the mixture
is poured into them they are dipped in hot water--salt, of course; you
cannot afford to use fresh at sea for such cooking purposes, except in
steamers, where a condenser is always at work. When the due amount is
poured into each bag it is loosely tied to admit of its rising, and
plunged into a boiling copper, whence, if all be well, it will emerge
at seven bells light and spongy. Usually a modicum of molasses is
provided, to give it some flavour; but I have been in ships where even
that poor adjunct was wanting.




CHAPTER XXIV.

THE COOK (SAILING SHIPS)--_continued_.


Having got the duff off his mind--and allow me to assure you that a
sailing-ship cook's reputation hangs principally upon his ability to
turn out a satisfactory duff--there is the beef. It has been soaking
in sea water since the previous evening, to mollify in some measure
its terrible salinity, and now the cook removes it therefrom, unless,
as often happens in small ships, the steep-tub is the wash-deck tub
also, in which case the meat must be taken out at 6 a.m. in order to
allow the tub in which it has been soaking to play its part in the
cleansing of the ship. But that is only a detail. If the cook be a
clean man he will now wash the meat carefully (it needs washing badly)
before putting it in the copper. But he may, and often does, think that
process not at all necessary; it will be clean enough by the time it
is cooked. With the duff bubbling fiercely, and the beef on the other
side of the stove keeping in tune with it, the men's dinner needs
no more thought on his part except to keep the fire going; so that
he will be able to do a bit of cleaning up, if he has a weakness in
that direction, or he may sit and smoke and meditate. The steward is
preparing the cabin dinner aft in his pantry: a fruit pie, some tasty
combination of tinned meat and potatoes, or even a fowl, if they are
carried. In any case, as a rule the cook has only to see the food for
the cabin through the actual cooking.

At seven bells (twenty minutes past eleven, the ten minutes to the
half-hour being allowed for the men to turn out) some one, usually an
ordinary seaman, or boy where they are carried, in other cases the
"cook of the mess," comes to the galley for the dinner. It must be
ready, and is, almost invariably. Any delay is unpardonable, for there
is only the "chunk" of beef and the "phallus" of duff. Since they
have probably been fasting since the previous supper time, except for
such few morsels as they have been able to get down at breakfast or
"coffee-time," the arising watch are usually very sharp set, and the
duff disappears like magic. The beef, too, although there be nothing to
eat with it but the flinty biscuit, receives considerable attention,
but is generally spared for supper, as it is better cold--if "better"
can be used in connection with it at all.

But the watch that have been working all the forenoon on an empty
stomach are ravenous. At eight bells (noon) they come below, and eat
like starving men. If it were not for the filling "whack" of duff,
though, their hunger would soon be destroyed, not satisfied. In some
ships the cook is not allowed to make duff, for the same reason that
he is not allowed to cook cracker-hash; and then the men's principal
meal on flour days is a sad business. A roll of just-made bread,
seldom palatable, and a chunk of salt beef, is not a fair meal for a
hard-worked man under such conditions; and in these days of cheap,
good, and tasteful food ashore, it is not to be wondered at that seamen
before the mast embrace the earliest opportunity available of quitting
such positions and getting work ashore, where even the convicts in our
prisons are far better fed. This is the more to be deplored because
it is so totally unnecessary. The difference between a good-living
ship and a bad one to the sailor may be expressed in the simplest
terms. It is not true that the sailor is never satisfied. Men will
speak for years afterwards of a ship in the most grateful terms where,
instead of the incessant salt meat, they had a fresh mess three times
a week, where potatoes and onions were served out occasionally, and
where butter and pickles were given. And these things make a mighty
small difference to the total expenses of the voyage--nay, by slightly
reducing the quantity of salt meat, the expenditure might be kept
almost, if not quite, at the same level. And then good cooks would
become the rule.

American ships have earned their reputation for good living solely
on the strength of their bountiful supply of potatoes and onions and
flour, their lavishness in the matter of dried apples and cranberries,
and their high standard in the matter of cooks. And Americans are not
extravagant in business matters, either. They know how to run a ship
economically as well as any seafarers in the world, and they think it
is the most wasteful thing imaginable to starve a ship's company for
the sake of a little attention to detail. This is a vital principle
with them. They will work their crew to the last ounce, often in what
cannot by any stretch of courtesy be called necessary tasks. I have
been with men who have actually known what it is to be slung aloft
scraping yards in a gale of wind at night; but they said that when they
got below there was always a tasty meal ready for them, and any neglect
on the part of the cook would have resulted immediately in his feeling
the burden of severe suffering.

Once the dinner is over and the gear washed up, the cook's work is
practically done for the day. He may find a few minutes' relaxation in
"burning coffee," as the sailors call it--that is, roasting it in the
oven. But that is about all. He has nothing to prepare for the men's
supper. He may have a little dry hash to get ready for the cabin, but
in many cases the steward will do even that; so that there is really
no excuse for his being dirty. Yet, unless the skipper is a man who
rigorously practises that most essential part of a shipmaster's daily
round, _i.e._ goes all over the ship every day, a cook will often get
so dirty that it is a wonder the men are not poisoned. And I am sorry
to say that this is by no means confined to negroes and Asiatics, who
have the worst reputation. I can remember three cooks, each of whom was
my countryman, and I do not believe it would have been possible to find
dirtier men.

Tuesday's work is like Monday's, except that instead of bread or duff,
pea-soup is the staple; and since board-ship pea-soup is simply peas
boiled in water, with a piece of pork allowed to simmer with it for
about half an hour to give it flavour, one would think that on pea-soup
days, at any rate, the poor sailor would be sure of getting his meal
properly prepared. But if you ask a foremast hand bow often he gets
good pea-soup, please look out for strong language. He will most
probably tell you, although that would be an exaggeration, that the
only time the pea-soup is good is when there's a heavy sea on, so that
the tumbling about of the ship renders stirring unnecessary--otherwise
it is almost sure to be burned, because the cook is too lazy to stir
it. And therefore it is often burnt. Now, burned pea-soup is perhaps
one degree worse than burned oatmeal porridge, which, it is said, a
pig will refuse. Or it may be that the cook cannot learn the secret of
getting the peas to mash, so that the soup is like yellowish water with
a collection of yellow shot at the bottom, a food that would disarrange
the digestion of an ostrich.

Another thing that always seemed radically wrong to me was the making
of tea and coffee in the same pot used for soup, and making these
infusions as if they were soups; serving them out, too, like soup,
by ladlefuls, stirring up the leaves or grounds, as if afraid of
defrauding some critical sailor of his due allowance. Surely it should
not be so difficult to utilize a kettle for making tea and coffee. But
these observances grow into the most conservative of customs, and it is
like suggesting mutiny if some enterprising individual dares to hint at
a change. One cook that I was shipmates with, a Maltese, perpetrated a
piece of cookery that I am never able to forget. Some one had caught
a dolphin, and, instead of frying it (in the oven) as usual, the cook
boiled it, and indeed it was very palatable. But the next morning at
coffee-time the coffee was too funny for anything. We were not at all
dainty, but that mixture would _not_ go down. So one of our number, a
sarcastic old Yankee, went to the galley and said, "Hyar, cook, what in
thunder hey ye ben improvin' th' coffee fur? It may be all right, but
I'll be doggoned ef I kaint do better with it ez before. I've gut used
t' it." So saying, he held out his pannikin invitingly. The cook took
it, smelt it, tasted it, looked puzzled for a second or two, and then
said triumphantly, "Oah, yez, I know. I boil him in de same pot I boil
de fish las' night, 'n' I don' wash her out, see!" He was quite struck
with his ingenuity in finding it out. And he wasn't punched either.

I mentioned the cook of the mess just now--but that is a term applied
solely to a man who takes his turn with the others, where there are no
boys or ordinary seamen in the fo'c'sle, to carry in the food, wash
up the plates, or clean the fo'c'sle out, and trim the lamp. Now, in
an American ship the crew's plates are washed by the cook, who also
keeps the tin dishes in which their food is served to them as bright
as silver. That, again, is a point where an American ship's cook
differs widely from his British _confrère_. Indeed, it is not too much
to say that a cook who would be called a very clean man in a British
ship would be looked upon as dirty on board of a Yank, so high is the
standard maintained there in matters of cleanliness.

Really I am half afraid to say what I have seen done by cooks on board
British ships, it seems so incredible to landsmen. But the subject is
so important in its bearing upon the well-being of the men, that one
hardly likes to leave it without telling all the truth. I have seen a
cook who did not know how to open a tin of meat, who tried to chop it
in half with an axe; who was too lazy and filthy to wash the saucepans
out, but _wiped_ them out instead; another, who made duff without
yeast, and boiled it in salt water without a bag--a lump of dough that
was like a piece of grey india-rubber when it was served up; another,
who did not use a frying-pan for steaks in harbour, but flung the
chunks of meat upon the top of the red-hot stove, and unblushingly sent
the charred flesh into the fo'c'sle for the men to eat.

But the strangest thing of all, a thing that puzzles me to this day,
was the action of a crew in one vessel where we were cursed with the
queerest specimen of an incapable for cook. We shipped a man in Rangoon
as A.B. who was really a good cook as ship-cooks go; and as soon as
he found out how things were, he volunteered to teach that wretched
food-spoiler his duties in his (the seaman's) own time. Then, wonderful
to relate, the very men who were suffering from the vile messes the
pseudo-cook was making, turned round upon that volunteer, saying that
if _they_ were the cook they wouldn't allow no ---- interloper to
meddle with their work, so they wouldn't. Of course this discouraged
the reformer, and he desisted from his laudable efforts, with the
result that we were in a state of semi-starvation all the way home.
Truly a sailor is a strange being.

There is a lower depth still, impossible as it may seem--in small
vessels where the galley dwindles to a "caboose," a sort of sooty
cupboard on deck, too small for the miserable youth who is both cook
and steward to get into. So he stands on deck, often swathed in
oilskins, his head in the grimy hole, with the smoke from the stove
nearly stifling him, doing his "cooking." Does this state of things
need any comment? Fancy cooking under such conditions, if you can. In
bad weather, of course, the fire cannot be kept alight, so that the
crew must go without any other comfort for their craving stomachs than
biscuit and cold water. A short meditation upon such conditions of
living should bring to many of us a sense of shame for our complainings
at food which, were it ten times as bad, would be an unheard-of luxury
to the sailors on board some of our ships.

Let me conclude with one more reminiscence. In a brig of which I was
mate, on the East African coast, we shipped two Zanzibar Arabs as
cook and steward. The skipper had his wife on board, and she, poor
woman, on the passage home, was in danger of being starved to death.
So the bo'sun and myself took it in turns to oversee those savages,
cannily, too, for they valued not their life one jot, and would as
soon have murdered us as look. Oh, how we suffered! At last we reached
St. Helena, and got some fresh beef and vegetables. I cooked a dinner
of these luxuries, and when it was brought into the cabin, the lady
actually wept with delight at the prospect of one decent meal.




CHAPTER XXV.

THE APPRENTICE (SUGGESTIONS).


I may as well admit at the outset of this chapter that I approach
it with a heavy sense of responsibility. For many reasons. I am
exceedingly anxious about the future of our Merchant Service; and
the decay of the apprentice system at sea is full of menace for that
future. Again, I know that many dear friends throughout the length
and breadth of this land of ours are looking with pathetic eagerness
for some guidance upon this subject. They want to gratify their sons'
inbred craving for a sea-life; but what are the prospects? How will it
affect their boys, supposing they find, after a short acquaintance with
the sea, that they are not fit for it at all?

In short, there are so many middle-class folks ready to apprentice
their boys in the Merchant Service, if that service is worth their
attention as a probable life occupation, and they are so pathetically
eager and earnest to obtain reliable information and enlightenment on
their utter ignorance of all the details of a nautical life, that it
behoves all who have that information, to give it carefully, without
bias, and intelligibly. That is therefore no reason why they should
withhold it altogether, from craven fear of being upbraided for
after-consequences of following the advice they had given.

With this in my mind, I would say at the outset that I believe the
system of apprenticeship might be revived, with great advantage to
the country and to individuals, but it needs revision. As it exists
at present its only effect is to flood the Merchant Service with an
enormous number of certificated men, who cannot get ships as officers,
and who find the fo'c'sle society disgusting, having trained themselves
to expect something better. Worse still, it will be found to have
unsettled many lads for any steady land occupation, while completely
disenchanting them as to the fine life they expected at sea. It
has just aroused in these well-brought-up, home-keeping youths the
nomad instinct that is latent in every human breast, and the love of
wandering once established, nothing short of main force will make that
man a settled citizen again until he reaches middle age.

Apprenticeship is often spoken of as a means to the laudable end of
replenishing the British Merchant Service with British seamen. But in
its present form such a suggestion about apprenticeship is utterly
absurd. Respectable people who have spent money upon their sons'
education do not pay a heavy premium, and apprentice him to a ship,
with the object of his becoming an able seaman. They expect him to be
an officer as soon as possible, and that is the goal to which the lad
looks forward. Now, it must be said at once, plainly and frankly, that
the supply of officers far exceeds the demand. The fact that there are
many foreign officers in our Merchant Service does not affect this
statement at all. All that it means is, that as the pay of officers is
a matter of individual bargaining, and not a fairly fixed quantity like
that of the seamen, there is always an opportunity for underselling.
Let me give an instance. Before my last voyage I had been prowling
about the docks, looking for a ship, until I was in very low water
indeed, and glad of almost anything. Yet, as I was married and had one
child, there was a minimum wage below which I could not go without the
prospect of my dear ones starving. Receiving information that there was
a brig in the St. Katherine dock wanting a mate, I hastened down to
her, finding the master a pleasant, genial man, and English. I told him
my errand, showed my credentials, and was asked what wages I wanted. I
suggested £6 10_s._ per month, feeling as I did so that I might as well
ask for the moon while I was about it. We finally agreed upon £5 15_s._
a month, which made my wife's income while I was at sea about 14_s._ a
week. But I went home light-hearted enough in the feeling that I was no
longer a dock-slouching mendicant, and that _something_ was sure for at
least twelve months.

The next morning, when I came on board to work, the skipper told me
that he had received an offer from a German, fully certificated, to
come as mate for £3 a month, and one from an Englishman, who said that,
as he had money of his own, and only wanted to get his time in for
master, he would come for _nothing_. "I didn't take the German," said
Captain W----, "entirely because I had given you my word, but because
I hold that it is a national crime to permit foreign officers to have
charge of our ships, apart altogether from the shame of having them
cut the already too scanty wages. And I didn't take the other fellow,
because I wanted a man to earn his wages, and I knew that he was likely
to earn what he offered to go for--nothing." So I kept the berth, but,
as the skipper truly remarked, had the owner known that he was paying
much more for my services than there was any necessity for him to do,
he would have been very angry.

My contention is that the apprentice should be classified. If there
were two grades established, one with a view to making foremast hands,
and another for training officers, I think much good might be done.
For instance, the poor lads who go in such charitable training ships
as the _Warspite_ and _Chichester_, the _Exmouth_, _Shaftesbury_, and
_Cornwall_, should not be sent adrift as they are now, shipped as boys
in whatever ship will take them, and discharged with the rest of the
crew on their return to the home port. It is true that the authorities
ruling the training ships are always ready to befriend these young
sea-boys when they return, to a certain extent; but it should be
remembered that there are always many fresh lads to be disposed of,
boys who have finished their training-time, and are waiting for a
ship in which to begin their sea-life. It is not always an easy task
to provide ships for them either, and therefore it is hardly fair to
expect the training-ship people to handicap them by looking after
the shipment of old boys as well. But if those lads were apprenticed
without premium, at a small wage, increasing each year, and with the
definite object of making good foremast hands of them, I am sure much
good might be done. They would certainly be no worse off than any lad
ashore who serves his time as a mason, a carpenter, or a plumber. In
the vast majority of cases the horizon of such apprentices is bounded
by the prospect of becoming a _good_ journeyman, for which the demand
is always greater than the supply. If they develop habits of thrift, a
faculty of organization, and power of command, the way is open for them
to become master, and in like manner there would be nothing to prevent
the non-premium apprentice from rising higher than a mere "journeyman"
sailor, if I may thus use the expression, in the fact that he had been
apprenticed on a lower grade than those intended for officers from the
beginning.

The treatment of such apprentices would be no different to that in
force now on board ship for "boys" so called. They would probably live
in the forecastle among the men, or with the petty officers. I know
that some people will raise an outcry against the idea of boys being
sent to live in the forecastle with the men, but from experience I am
sure that this would not be detrimental to the boys at all. When a
boy has spent two or three years on board a training ship (I do not
mean a training college like the _Worcester_ or _Conway_, although I
don't suppose all the boys there are unfledged angels), he has nothing
to learn in the way of evil in a ship's fo'c'sle. Please, my good
friends the officers in charge of these ships, don't imagine that I am
casting _any_ reflections upon you. You do your best, but it is simply
impossible for you to keep such a crowd of young rascals as you have
to deal with like an ideal Sunday school. I have been shipmate with
a great number of these boys--good, bad, and indifferent; but in one
respect their education was never wanting: the knowledge of such evil
as we do not write about, only hint at in conversation.

I have heard--of course I do not assert it--that even our great public
schools are not above suspicion in these matters. But there they are
all sons of gentle parents; they have led a guarded life from their
childhood, the foul innuendo and salacious gabble of the streets have
never reached their ears. So that if they in the carefully-guarded
precincts of these homes of education acquire a knowledge of the
grosser forms of evil, we need not be surprised at the poor street boy
who joins the _Arethusa_ or the _Cornwall_ being wiser even than they
are. I have often seen a boy checked in a ship's fo'c'sle for using an
expression that was not, well, fit for ears polite, although the man
who checked him was constantly in the habit of talking in that strain.
It is perfectly true that one occasionally finds a low-minded beast of
man's age, who will deliberately encourage a boy to swagger in foulness
for his private ear, but it is always in private; such a practice
would never be tolerated in the midst of the watch. And such loathsome
company will always be open to the boy, whoever he lives with on board.

No; it is not nearly as dangerous for boys to live with the men in the
open fo'c'sle as it is for them to live with one or two petty officers,
or, worse still, by themselves. The latter should never be allowed
at all--it is as bad as it can be. Living with the men they hear foul
language continually, but they have always heard it; most of them have
long been proficient in its use, and none of its shades of meaning
are lost on them. But they must not use it themselves, now. They will
not be ill-used, that is, beaten, because of that growing tenderness
for the young which is such a fine feature of our day, and one that
has been just as fully developed on board ship as it has ashore. They
must be civil and obliging, and if willing to learn, will always find
some one willing to teach. The fact of their being bound to serve for
a period of four years would operate powerfully against that tendency,
so fatal to the replenishment of our Merchant Service with young
British seamen, to quit the sea after the first voyage or two, and
get some job, requiring no skill, ashore. At present, when first the
training-ship boys go to sea, they are sure to find some fellow who
will lay before them a lurid picture of the hopelessness of ever doing
any good at sea. He will din into the young ears continually the advice
to sweep a crossing, become a dung-puncher, anything rather than lead
such a dog's life as he says the common seaman always endures. With
what results let the Registrar-General of Shipping and Seamen's Reports
tell. According to them, there is a constant drain of young men out of
the Merchant Service, lads who had served one, two, or three years,
and, consequently, the supply is cut off at its source.

Now, this sad thing is distinctly traceable, in my mind, to three
great causes. The first is the want of provision made for keeping
these lads a reasonable time at sea by some binding agreement like
apprenticeship indentures. The second is the utter carelessness
manifested in the majority of cases about food and accommodation. And
the third is undermanning. These last two do not in any way apply
to the highest class of liners, which is above reproach in these
matters. But it does apply to most of the ships we own in Britain; and
until the European standard of what is due to a workman's needs more
closely approximates to our own, either by our sinking to their level
or them rising to ours, it will continue to operate in the direction
of displacing British subjects by aliens. I do not believe that the
question of wages enters into it at all. Wages do not affect the
officers, who, as I have before said, make their individual bargains,
but if a crew of Scandinavians or a crew of Britons are shipped before
the mast, the wages paid will be the same in both cases. And when you
come to think of it, foremast hands are not at all badly paid. When the
A.B. was a skilled mechanic and received £2 10_s._ a month, while a
carpenter, a joiner, or a mason was getting 35_s._ a week ashore, the
former had some ground of complaint; but when, as is the case now, the
majority of seamen before the mast, in steamers at any rate, are really
little more skilled than labourers, £3 10_s._ to £4 10_s._ per month,
with board and lodging, is better pay than any of their fellows ashore
are getting. Sailing-ship A.B.'s deserve more, but they get less than
steamboat men, for some strange reason that has always puzzled me.

It must not be supposed that I am advocating anything revolutionary.
What I propose with regard to this second grade of apprentices is
already in operation, owing to the far-sightedness and liberality of a
north-country firm, Messrs. Walter Runciman and Co. of Newcastle. Of
course they are steamship owners--tramp owners, if you will; but, as I
have before hinted, tramps hailing from the north-east coast of England
have good reputations. The canny Geordie has made a speciality of
tramp-owning, and, backed as he is by a long course of most successful
experiences in all matters pertaining to the sea, he is going
remarkably strong. The men of the "Coaly Tyne" have the well-deserved
reputation of being the pioneers in several of our most notable reforms
in shipping matters. To quote only two: Board of Trade certificates
and Lifeboats will give an idea of what our hard-headed north-country
folk are capable. Mr. Walter Runciman says that his system of carrying
non-premium apprentices is most successful, and I am sure that his word
may be relied upon.

Then there is the premium-paying grade. A great many alterations might
be made on their behalf, to the end that a parent who is put to the
expense of outfit, premium, etc., may have something definite for his
money. It need hardly be said that if a boy is a born duffer, one
can hardly expect any skipper or officer to make him anything else;
but there is a medium in all things, and every sailor knows that
there is no trade in the world where the first duty to an apprentice
is so much neglected as it is at sea. I can honestly assert that I
was never on board of but one ship in my life where any attempt at
all was made to teach the apprentices their trade. That ship was the
_Harbinger_, before she was taken over by Lord Brassey's committee, and
made a special sea-training ship for cadets. In my day she was just
a fine merchant ship, belonging to Messrs. Anderson, Anderson, and
Co., and commanded by Lieutenant Henry Y. Slader, R.N. he formulated
stringent rules that every apprentice on board should have a share in
all sailorizing that was going on; that, as far as lay in their power,
these young gentlemen should work the sails on the mizen, the smallest
mast of the three; that one apprentice should always be on duty on
the poop, so that he might be in touch with the officer of the watch,
who was supposed to lose no opportunity of imparting to him practical
instruction in handling sails, trimming yards, etc. In addition to all
this, Captain Slader was himself in the habit of taking these young men
through a practical examination in navigation at stated intervals, and
inviting them to dine at the saloon table in rotation on Sundays.

Now, this treatment had its due effect in the building up of those
apprentices into first-class seamen and officers, as indeed it might
have been expected to do. Yet it was only on a par with common-sense
workshop treatment, and it was certainly no more than any parent who
had paid a premium of £70 to £80 had a right to expect. But even on
board that fine ship the lads were left entirely to themselves in
their watch below. They all lived together in the fore part of a
small afterhouse, and unless the senior apprentice happened to be a
young man of fine, forceful character, the tone of their "diggings"
could not help being bad. Be it noted that among that splendid set
of youngsters, the midshipmen of the Royal Navy, there is always to
be found a sub-lieutenant who is responsible for the behaviour of
the gun-room--who rules it, in fact, in despotic fashion. And the
conditions there are very different to what they are in the Merchant
Service. The lads don't sleep in the gun-room. They are not herded
together in one small apartment which serves as bed-room, bath-room,
dining-room, and sitting-room.

In the United States, the two great cities of Philadelphia and New York
maintain out of their public funds a fine vessel each, the _Saratoga_
and the _St. Mary's_. These are sea-going ships, especially set apart
for the training of men and officers for the Mercantile Marine. The
idea is distinctly a good and public-spirited one, and might, one would
think, be advantageously copied over here. But I fear that such a thing
is too much to hope for. At least not until our shore-folks are aroused
to the enormous importance of our Mercantile Marine.

If only we could get one-tenth as much interest manifested in the
gigantic business by means of which we are all fed, as is shown in one
great horse-race or a dozen first-class cricket matches, I should feel
hopeful. But I am afraid that is far too great a blessing to expect.




CHAPTER XXVI.

THE APPRENTICE (SOME FACTS CONCERNING HIS LIFE).


Perhaps it may be thought that in hammering away at this point of the
apprentices' lodging-place I am doing an unwise thing, as no alteration
is likely to be made; but I beg to say that I am speaking from
practical knowledge of the subject, allied to absolute conviction that
the worst possible thing you can do with a boy fresh from school is to
put him with half a dozen other lads about his own age into a house
with no authority therein to keep them in order, save, perhaps, one of
themselves who has made a voyage. Such a lad is usually to be found
among them, and is better than no one, for he has had some experience;
but in cases where all the lads are new to the sea it is absolutely
shameful to cast them thus upon their own resources. If the master made
it his business to give them a visit every day, things would not be so
bad, because presumably he would tell them what to do; but even then
it must be remembered that there are twenty-four hours in the day, and
mischief may be going on in every one of them.

To take the simplest matter, personal cleanliness. How many lads are
there to be found, I wonder, leaving good homes, such as the majority
of sea-apprentices do leave, who have ever washed a shirt or a plate,
made a bed, or sewn on a button? Not one in a thousand. These things
have always been done for them, and had they decided upon going into
any trade or profession ashore would have still been done for them.
It is one of the gravest defects of modern education, to my thinking,
that it leaves a man so helpless when thrown upon his own resources. I
would have every lad, no matter what his position in life, taught to do
for himself those personal services which, under settled conditions of
shore-life, are done for him by the other sex. He might never be called
upon to exercise these abilities; but what of that? The knowledge that
he was able to help himself could not fail to be of service to him in
any event.

The cadet ships do a great deal for sea-apprentices in this respect.
Not that they prepare a lad for the utter reliance upon himself which
will be suddenly thrust upon him in almost any ship he joins, for
parents would object; but still it may be taken for granted that a lad
who has been through a _Worcester_ or a _Conway_ course will not be
nearly so helpless as one who has come direct to sea from some quiet
country home. I was once on board a large barque as A.B., where every
apprentice (there were six) was on his first voyage. Sixty pounds each
had been paid as premium for them, and an average of thirty-five pounds
each for their outfit. They were nice boys; but one day, when we had
been a month at sea, I was invited into their house. And the first
thing I said to my host was, "I wonder what your poor mother would say
if she could see this place." It _smelt_; that rank aroma which is the
product of deficient ventilation, foul clothes, and stale food, caught
me by the throat as I entered. The bunks of those young gentlemen were
like the bins in a rag-dealer's shop, their chests were little, if
any, better, and there was a thriving population of vermin of various
sorts. Not a plate, knife, fork, spoon, or mug had been washed since
our departure from London. In short, the place was like the abode of a
group of savages, who had suddenly been introduced to 'board-ship life,
and given the habiliments and utensils of civilization to play with.

I made a few remarks to my young friend upon the state of affairs, to
which he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders--

"Yes, it's pretty bad, I know; but what can we do? Nobody ever comes
in here, nobody seems to care what we do when we're below, as long as
we're out on deck at eight bells. I'm sick of it. I've written a letter
to my father to tell him I've had enough of it already. I didn't know
I was coming to sea to live like a pig, and to be taught nothing but
sweeping up decks and cleaning out pig-sties and water-closets."

I had nothing to say to that, because I saw the full force of his
remarks myself. But I made him an offer to wash his clothes for him for
a pound of tobacco a month, and I told him that I was sure the other
fellows would find plenty of chaps forward who wouldn't mind doing them
the same service on the same terms. But, as he said, how was he to know
that he could get such things done for him unless somebody told him?
He wouldn't have dared to ask anybody such a question, for fear of
giving offence. Then he confided in me to the effect that during his
period of sea-sickness he had spoiled a large quantity of clothing,
which, becoming offensive, he had flung overboard under cover of night,
and that out of his expensive outfit he was afraid he should have
hardly enough left to carry him home. He was quite astonished when I
told him that was no news to me. Over and over again I have seen an
apprentice come on board ship with an outfit costing between £30 and
£40 who at the end of a twelve-months' voyage has not had enough to
dress himself decently. And then the lad scarcely ever looked decently
clothed.

The fact of the matter is that one of the first necessities of an
apprentice at sea is a little personal supervision by the master or the
mate. Some, esteeming it their duty, give this supervision; others,
and these the majority, look upon the hapless apprentices as a rather
troublesome and unhandy portion of the crew, more bother than they are
worth at any time, and certainly not entitled to any personal care.
I do not understand what kind of mind a man must have who will thus
deliberately neglect the interests of a crowd of youngsters committed
to his charge, but there is the fact. If any evidence to the truth of
it were needed, there are hundreds of men scattered about the country
who have served the whole or a portion of their time and have then
quitted the sea for good, who could and would supply it.

So much for their private life. As to the prime purpose for which they
become apprentices, it may be said roughly that they are more likely to
learn their profession in a ship where they are used dishonestly than
in one where they are treated with the contemptuous neglect which is so
often their portion. By dishonest treatment I mean their being utilized
to make good the deficiency of a purposely-reduced crew. Again I draw
upon personal reminiscences. I have often seen the sons of well-to-do
parents, who had given them a costly education, paid a heavy premium
with them, and provided them with a gorgeous outfit, driven harder
than any other item of the ship's company. Now, I do not suggest that
hard work is bad for anybody who is otherwise well-treated, but I do
assert with emphasis that to carry premium apprentices and make them do
what the men refuse, to make them the lackeys of the men, in fact, is
scandalous dishonesty. There is a certain amount of dirty labour to be
performed on board of every ship--any one will see that this must be
so; but that is no reason why the apprentices should be set to do it
because of the shorthandedness of the men. Moreover, in properly manned
ships this is not allowed. Such work would naturally fall to the lot of
the lower grade of apprentice to which I alluded in the last chapter,
whose preparation should be for an A.B.'s life. Some one must do it,
and as it is generally boys' work, boys are usually carried to do it.

Still, where apprentices are thus served it cannot be denied that they
do learn thoroughly the rougher part of a sailor's curriculum. They
speedily become expert sail-handlers and helmsmen, because in that way
they can best replace men. Sailorizing--a comprehensive term which I
am of necessity continuously using, but am leaving the explanation of
for a fitting occasion--they do not learn so readily, because they are
not allowed to watch a man at work unless they are told off to assist
him. The handling of a ship very often remains a sealed book to them
during the whole of their apprenticeship, because, treated as they are,
they acquire the habit of mind which is characteristic of the foremast
hand--that is not to bother their heads about anything except what they
are told to do. Besides, they are so hard worked that they are usually
weary and disinclined to waste one minute of their watch below in an
endeavour to gather information; while in their watch on deck at night,
a good opportunity for learning many things, they will be trying to do
as they see the men do--steal as much sleep as possible.

In a word, they are just ship-boys, fed like the men, worked harder
than the men, but living apart from the men in a little den of their
own, where they may, unhindered, sink into savagery. This is a lurid
picture, I admit, yet I dare not soften its details one iota. I can
only say that it is not universal. There are fortunately a good number
of ships in which conscientious masters consider themselves in honour
bound to act towards their apprentices as honest guardians of their
best interests, who would no more think of allowing them to be set
to cleaning out latrines, pig-sties, and fowl-coops, while the men
were comfortably engaged upon cleaner work, than they would think of
putting their own children to do it. But such treatment ought to be
made impossible. It should also be very distinctly laid down that no
apprentice with whom a premium is paid should be put to work cargo
in tropical ports. That is a task under which the strongest European
sailors often fail. Shovelling coal, guano, or nitrate, for instance,
with a temperature of over 100° in the shade in a ship's hold, is an
employment that no boy on board ship should ever be subjected to, much
less a lad whose parents have paid for him to be well treated.

So curiously are some men constituted, that I have seen two lads from
the _Chichester_ on board one vessel in which I was A.B. much more
carefully taken care of than I ever saw apprentices but once. Those two
boys were not even allowed to grease down any of the masts, because
it was their first voyage; they were never sent into any position of
danger on any pretext whatever; they were taken in hand by the mate in
their watch below, educationally; in fact, they received what I should
call the ideal treatment for an apprentice. Yet in my next vessel there
were three apprentices, two on their first voyage, with each of whom
£50 premium had been paid, whose treatment was so scandalous that even
the men cried out against it. I did not join the ship until half the
voyage was over, so I did not witness their early training; but while
I was on board they did _all_ the greasing down, and all the extra
dirty work of the ship, while for a season one was acting cook (?)
and another was acting steward. I am glad to say that one of them had
the _nous_ to prevail upon his widowed mother to write to the owner
upon the ship's arrival home, protesting against the most scandalous
treatment of her son. In this case the owner was certainly not to
blame, but that mother's letter had the effect of opening his eyes to
what might be going on in his ships without his knowledge or privity.
But in one most painful case which recently came under my notice, a
boy was actually done to death by overwork and neglect, both of which
crimes against him were abundantly proved, but went unpunished, owing
to official shielding of the criminal. And the broken-hearted mother
was advised to let the matter drop, as she could not possibly do any
good, and, in any case, she could not bring again her dead to life!

From all of which it may be gathered that I am of opinion that the
sea-apprentice system needs considerable overhauling. At present
everything depends upon the master. Where he is an energetic and
conscientious man, the apprentice will doubtless be thoroughly well
looked after, will be taught his profession, and his lot will compare
favourably with that of an apprentice in any other trade or profession
going. But such an important matter should not be left to individual
caprice at all. Certain rules for the treatment of apprentices by the
officers should be laid down by the owners, and it should be insisted
upon that those rules shall be carried out. Ashore, if a man binds
his son to any profession, he is in constant touch with him, able
to ascertain whether he is being taught, or just being used for an
errand-boy or odd-man. And if he be not satisfied, his remedy is always
at hand. But once a lad has gone to sea he is cut off from everybody
who might help him; he is at the absolute mercy of the skipper, and it
has not seldom happened that he has run away in a foreign port, to the
terrible grief of his parents.

It has long been the current remark concerning sea-apprenticeship, that
it is the only apprenticeship in the world where a lad is supposed to
learn his profession without being taught, as if in some mysterious way
he could absorb practical knowledge without ever having an opportunity
to do any of those things he is to be examined in presently. In no
other trade in the world would it be possible for a young man who had
spent four years at it to be so ignorant of its working details as to
require coaching in them when going up for an examination. I have seen
young fellows at the crammers' in London being taught such elementary
matters as sending up spars, bending sails, etc., for the purpose of
facing examiners, but I never heard of any of them "passing" until they
had learned it in the proper way, _i.e._ by assisting in the doing of
such work at sea, and taking careful note of how it was done.

It is quite true that there are some youngsters who will learn, no
matter how great may be the difficulties in their way. They belong to
the class from which spring all our leading men in every profession,
fellows whose thirst for knowledge and industry of application is so
great that, no matter where you put them, they would speedily rise.
But they are few. The great majority need to be taught, to be spurred
on, to be scolded for laziness or inattention, to be driven with a
tight rein. Having all the thoughtlessness of youth, they need to be
continually reminded that its days are brief, and that very soon they
will be called upon to stand alone, to take a hand in the working of
the world's big machine, no longer boys, but men.

In the United States and Canada, as I have before hinted, the
apprenticeship system finds no favour. It may be taken for granted
that every youth carried in those ships for the purpose of becoming
an officer has not only every facility afforded him of learning his
profession most thoroughly, but is compelled either to learn or quit.
Usually the master or mate has a personal interest in him (it is seldom
that more than one is carried), and they spare no pains to teach him
all that they know themselves. He is well looked after. No dingy
berth, shared only by other boys, for him; no hard and scanty fare,
differing in no respect from that of the sailors, as in most British
ships. He lives in the cabin, eats at the cabin table, associates
with the officers, and breathes the air of authority. Therefore it
is no wonder that when he has grown old enough to become an officer
himself, his promotion comes perfectly natural to him: he has had for
it the best preparation that could be given him. It may be said, and
with truth, that such a system would not answer our heavy needs, even
if a sufficient number of masters could be found to give so careful
an amount of attention to aspirants as is here indicated. But surely
some middle course might be taken, more closely approximating to the
treatment of midshipmen and naval cadets on board of a man-o'-war, but
without giving the youngsters the status of officer from the outset.
I believe, however, that a definitely drawn up programme for the
treatment of apprentices by officers such as I have hinted at in a
preceding paragraph would answer all needs.




CHAPTER XXVII.

THE APPRENTICE (SOME PRACTICAL INFORMATION).


And now, as a relief to all this gloom and vituperation, I wish to
give parents and guardians a few practical hints as to the course they
should pursue if their sons or charges insist, as so many do, upon
making trial of a sea life. Perhaps it is hardly necessary, after what
I have already said, to repeat that the ideal preparation for a lad who
is destined to become an officer is a preliminary training on board of
either the _Worcester_ or the _Conway_. Here a lad will not only be
thoroughly grounded in navigation and such seamanship as can be taught
on board a stationary vessel, but he will become familiar with life on
shipboard, in itself no small item. And his general education will not
be neglected either. In fact, whether a lad is intended for the sea or
not, I know of no more profitable place for him to spend a couple of
years than on board H.M.S. _Worcester_ or (although I have not the same
personal knowledge of the matter) H.M.S. _Conway_.

But there are many estimable people whose incomes will not bear the
modest strain put upon them by the fees chargeable in these floating
colleges--a much lower fee, by the way, than would be payable at any
public boarding-school of repute. It is as much as they can afford to
pay a premium of, say, sixty pounds and provide the lad with an outfit.
And this last word brings me to a subject that I have often wished to
enlarge upon for the benefit of parents sending their sons to sea as
apprentices in merchant ships. It is associated in my mind with a great
deal of downright robbery, heartless swindling. The Registrar-General
of Shipping does his best to warn parents and guardians of the wiles
of those landsharks who lurk in our great shipping ports ready to prey
upon the unwary, but often his warning does not reach those for whom
it was intended. Therefore I would say, beware of all advertisements
in the newspapers for sea-apprentices. Remember that no ship-owner of
repute needs to advertise for apprentices. If you go to a firm like
Messrs. Devitt and Moore, for instance, you will probably, almost
certainly, find that they have no vacancies--that if you wish to enter
your boy with them you must put his name at the bottom of their list,
and he must await his turn.

It will be found almost invariably that these advertisements emanate
from shady firms of outfitters, or shadier firms who are nothing at all
but blood-suckers--people who can most assuredly do nothing for you
but that which, with a very little trouble, you could do much better
yourself, and who will mulct you in heavy fees and commissions before
you get out of their clutches. And, in addition, be quite sure that
you are unlikely to find through such agencies a good ship for your
son. You may, but all the chances are dead against it, because, as I
have said, firms of repute do not do business in that way. Moreover,
in handing yourself over to the apprenticeship-broker, or whatever he
calls himself, you will surely be let in for a far heavier expenditure
upon outfit than there is any necessity for, and in addition you will
surely get an outfit that will not be worth carrying away. I well
remember one case in particular, of a young friend of my own, whose
outfit cost the modest sum of thirty-five pounds. It was bought from a
great firm of outfitters in London that I dare not name, for fear of
the law of libel, and would certainly have been dear at one-third of
the money. Indeed, I believe I should be justified in saying that it
would have been dear at any price, since it was of the veriest shoddy
throughout. When my friend showed it to me, or rather what remained of
it after a month at sea, I was almost speechless with indignation. I
should say that such rubbish must be specially manufactured for such
purposes, since I cannot imagine anybody ashore buying such stuff.
A pair of sea-boots to reach below the knee was among this precious
outfit. Their price was forty-five shillings. Now, a sailor can always
get a really good pair of sea-boots for twenty-five shillings--a
swagger pair of best make, with high fronts to cover the knees, for
thirty-five shillings. The first time my friend put his sea-boots on
they naturally got wet, and when he came below, four hours after, they
hung in graceful folds about his ankles. As to keeping out water,
you might just as well expect a sponge to keep out water. They could
be wrung like a piece of flannel. In a word, they were absolutely
worthless, and the sale of them was a heartless fraud.

This outfit business requires only a little common sense to be
conducted economically. In the Navy a list of articles required for
a naval cadet or midshipman is supplied to him, and no deviation
therefrom is permitted. But no such hard-and-fast rule obtains in the
Merchant Service. Uniform, of course, is compulsory, but beyond that
the parent may use his own discretion. In the matter of underclothing,
for instance, it may be taken for granted that what the lad already
possesses will answer excellently well. Flannels, too, boating or
cricketing, come in very useful; in fact, any of his old clothes are
good enough to work in. In any case he should not have too large
a stock, for however many clothes he may take with him, they will
certainly require washing before a long sea passage is over; and
too great an accumulation of dirty clothes is, for many reasons,
undesirable. If I were asked to draw up a list of the requirements of
a lad on his first voyage as apprentice in a southern-going ship, it
would be something like this:--

A strongly-made chest, of three-quarter inch pine, dovetailed
throughout, and without any iron about it, the lid and bottom very
carefully fitted, should first be procured; such a chest as a working
carpenter would be willing to make for a pound, but would cost at least
double in a shop. It should have a small mirror fitted inside the
lid, but removable, and also a tray dividing it into upper and lower
compartments. Above all, it should be perfectly watertight when closed.

It should be painted black, with brass drop-bandies, and inch
rising-pieces on the bottom.

Two suits of uniform clothing--one of fine blue cloth, the other of
good blue serge.

Six white and French pique shirts for shore wear, with collars and ties.

 Three woollen shirts   { Not necessarily new, but such
 Three cotton shirts    { as he has been wearing at
                        { home or at school.

Three thick vests.

Three thin vests.

Three thick pairs of pants.

Three thin pairs of pants.

Six pairs of socks--three heavy and three light.

Four pairs of working trousers. (Any old ones that he has been wearing.)

Three pairs of blue jean overalls (Dungaree).

Three blue jean blouses.

Three coarse towels.

Several caps. (Old golf or cricketing caps are just the thing.)

A stout, wide-brimmed straw hat for harbour use in the country.

One dozen coloured cotton pocket-handkerchiefs.

One pair of woollen mittens without finger spaces.

Two pairs of suspenders.

A leather belt with a sheath attached for holding an open knife.
(Note.--The above should never be worn tightly for the purpose of
keeping the trousers up. Such a practice is a most frequent cause of
rupture.)

A horsehair mattress, cot size.

A full-sized feather pillow, with three stout slips.

Three coloured cot blankets.

One pair of shore-going boots.

Two pairs of canvas shoes of very best quality.

Two pairs of working boots without any iron in their soles.

One pair of sea-boots reaching to the knee, and either sewn or pegged
soles, preferably the latter.

A box of dubbin, also blacking, and a pair of very small shoe-brushes.

A small clothes-brush.

A tooth-brush, hair-brush, and two combs.

A housewife, well supplied with needles and thread (not cotton), and
mending wool, scissors, and tweezers.

Three bars of good yellow soap.

One dozen boxes of safety matches.

One block-tin plate.

One block-tin basin.

One block-tin quart pot.

One block-tin pint cup.

Knife, fork, and spoon.

A complete suit of _good_ oilskins.

A pilot coat.

       *       *       *       *       *

From this it will be seen that much of his old clothing will come in
useful; but it should be remembered that he will probably grow rapidly,
so that he may not be sent away with clothing that will presently be of
no use to him. If the supply be thought meagre, I would suggest that a
larger quantity would probably only lead him to waste; the above will
be found quite sufficient for all his needs, and he should never miss
a single opportunity of having his clothes washed, or, better still,
washing them himself. Provide him with some good books, especially
a copy each of the Bible, Shakespeare, and some good book of poems;
lighter reading at discretion. He must have an epitome of navigation,
and a blank book to work examples in, also plenty of writing-paper and
envelopes to encourage him in writing home--a duty that lads are prone
to shirk. A pair of good binoculars are very useful things to have, but
not at all necessary; while a sextant, for the first couple of voyages
at any rate, had better be left at home. It usually receives very rough
treatment, and its use requires little practice to make one perfect in
when the time arrives that it is necessary.

But I would strongly advise, in addition to this outfit, that a boy
be provided with the ability to wash a shirt, to sew a button on,
and to keep his eating utensils clean. A few lessons in the kitchen
before he goes away will save him a world of trouble in this respect,
besides saving the parent a good deal of expense. I need say no more on
this head, as I have spoken very strongly about it before. Of course
the list I have given, although I consider it quite sufficient for a
twelve-months' voyage, represents the minimum. Any additions may be
made that are considered desirable, but it can be taken for granted
that to burden a lad with the care of too much clothing at sea is to
invite him to fling some of it away on very small provocation.

Then as to the choice of a ship. It is here impossible to give any
written advice. If you have no seafaring friends the matter is
difficult. There is really no recognized medium of communication with
ship-owners for this purpose. This is why one is so often tempted to
reply to the specious advertisements, since they seem to provide a
royal road out of the difficulty. A little, very little knowledge of
shipping matters would enable them to select from the columns of the
Mercantile Navy List a good firm of sailing-ship owners; but assuming
that they do not know that much, the next best thing would be to apply
to the shipping master in any of our large shipping centres. He would
almost certainly forward a list of the best reputed shipping firms. But
the services of an old seafaring friend (not naval) would here be of
great value, not only in the selection of a suitable firm, but in the
little matters of advice to the boy himself. There are many dangers
which beset the path of the young sailor, especially in foreign ports,
against which a word of warning from the initiated is worth much fine
gold. It is not fair to send a gently-nurtured boy to sea unwarned of
these things, lest he learn of them by bitter experience, which may
cost him a lifetime of fruitless repentance.

Having found a ship and gone through the official routine, it is always
wise to try and enlist the sympathies of the skipper and the mate.
They have probably heard it all before; but, in spite of that, it is
pleasant to be consulted, pleasant to feel that their importance is
recognized by any one ashore. And if you cannot do much good, you will
at least do no harm by reminding a skipper that you are entrusting him
with one of your most precious possessions.

As to the duties of the apprentice, they may be dismissed in a very
few words. His first duty is implicit obedience. He has come to sea to
learn, and he can only learn by obeying. It is unlikely that he will
learn much on his first voyage besides familiarity with his ship, on
deck and aloft, by day or by night, and to be of use in assisting to
furl sails, etc. And this is no trifle. He should remember, too, that
it is not enough to obey in a lazy, sulky manner; he must, if he would
ever be worth anything, cultivate smartness, the habit of ready and
cheerful obedience. He must not slouch, he must spring; he must not
skulk, he must keep in evidence--not merely for the sake of gaining the
good word of those in authority over him, but for his own sake, because
he is now laying the foundation of his future career as an officer.
The lazy, skulking, slouching apprentice becomes the miserable,
discontented, and generally worthless seaman, if indeed he ever becomes
a seaman at all, which is in the highest degree problematical. Let
him never be afraid to ask anybody for information, never ashamed to
inquire what he had better do, and especially, emphatically, avoid
becoming dirty in his personal habits because he has not on board ship
the conveniences of home. Some day, perhaps, our fine sailing ships
will provide a bath-room for lads and men, and water to wash with more
frequently than once a week; at present it must be admitted that the
way of personal cleanliness on board a sailing ship is hard.

And I earnestly hope that the few hints I have been able to give may be
of good practical service to many.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE A.B. (GENERAL QUALIFICATIONS).


And now we approach the discussion of the A.B., the man of the rank
and file, the "common sailor," as he is sometimes contemptuously
termed by those who, God forgive them, know absolutely nothing of
his uncommon trials, virtues, and temptations. It is most probable,
nay, almost certain, that for what I have written in the preceding
pages the A.B. will bear me little good-will. He will most likely set
me down in his own mind as another mercenary scoundrel, paid by the
owners to vilify the fo'c'sle man. When you come to look at the matter
you will see that it must be so. Such a one-sided view of themselves
is not confined to the sailor. It is rampant among men who should be
able to weigh questions impartially--intelligent workmen ashore of
all kinds. As a general rule, they lay themselves open to the charge
of grossest unfairness, because they will not abide the truth about
themselves. One need not use any names, because they will occur to
all who keep in touch with current events--names of men who have been
chosen from among their fellows for their exceptional abilities, and
empowered to represent them in various councils. As long as such
representatives could see in capital no white and in labour no black
they were popular, cheered to the echo; but as soon as they learned the
fundamental fact that there are two sides to every question, and wisely
endeavoured to use that knowledge, they were subjected to much abuse,
gross misrepresentation, and perhaps the mildest suggestion made about
them was that they had been "got at."

But although the foremast hand finds it impossible to be fair; although
he, taken collectively, regards all owners as blood-suckers, and all
officers as traitors or tyrants, every one of his well-wishers--of whom
I claim to be one of the warmest--can, and do, find many excuses for
him. Please to consider his position. For the great majority of his
days he lives in the utmost ignorance of what is going on in the world.
He is like the inhabitants of some undiscovered country where-into none
of the latter-day adjuncts of civilization had penetrated. From year's
end to year's end he never reads a newspaper, at least not until it is
long out of date. During his quiet voyaging from one side of the world
to the other, the whole political aspect of the planet may be changed,
but he knows nor recks nothing of it. Speak to him of the rise and
fall of governments, the strife of parties, the hubbub of a general
election, and he will look upon you as one that talks in an unknown
tongue. To those of his class who read, supposing that they possess
the right books, this aloofness from the world-movement is all to the
good: they can enter into the spirit of those giants of literature
as no other men can. Bringing to the consideration of immense topics
minds unfettered and undisturbed by the petty squabbling and sordid
tricks of politics, whether Imperial or local, they enjoy their reading
as few other men do. One of my chief delights when I was before the
mast was to sit on deck in the brilliant tropical moonlight, or on a
lotus-eating evening before the dark had arrived, and read aloud to
the assembled watch. I had no inattentive listeners. Hardly breathing,
except to keep their pipes aglow, they drank in every syllable,
their long acquaintance with all sorts of hybrid variants of English
enabling them to catch the sense, even if they were unable to grasp the
full meaning of the sonorous sentences. For I never would read them
rubbish, or what I considered rubbish. I carried with me for years
three volumes of the Chandos Classics, the "Odyssey," the "Æneid," and
Longfellow. Shakespeare I always had, and I should be puzzled indeed
to say which of the two, the "Odyssey" or Shakespeare, they relished
most. They did not favour discussion of the books read very much; they
were content to enjoy. I grieve to say that their discussions were
usually most trivial and unprofitable. They would start an argument
upon some question about which none of them knew anything, and carry it
on with the utmost fierceness and heat, even unto blows. Once I used
to intervene with some reliable information, but I found that when, in
reply to the query, "Who told you that?" I admitted that I had learned
it from books, I was thenceforward scouted as a purveyor of second-hand
information, and I desisted.

It is a poor task bringing book evidence to the average sailor. Marshal
your authorities as you may, you will ever be met with the stolid
question, "How do _you_ know? You _wasn't_ there!" etc., until you
retire like a man who in the dark has run head first against a stone
wall. It is no good to argue with the average sailor, either. He lives
in a little world of his own, its horizon bounded by the blue sky,
and unbroken by any vision of the movements of shore-dwellers except
at long intervals. Then when those brief periods of contact with
landward folk arrive, he is like a boy suddenly let loose from school.
He forgets his sea-troubles, his long confinement, in the strange
sensation of liberty. How can these men be expected to use their
freedom wisely? Their experience of it is so limited, their ignorance
of shore ways so pathetic, that it would be surely a miracle to see
them behave themselves in reasonable fashion. But one peculiarity I
have often noticed among sailors is their preternatural suspicion,
allied to a blind trustfulness--two opposite qualities meeting. Only,
with the perversity of poor human nature, they exercise suspicion
where they should be trustful, and confidence where they should be
most cautious. Any scoundrel that lays himself out to cajole and cheat
a sailor is almost certain to succeed, while a philanthropist, aiming
only at the seaman's highest welfare, will find it a most difficult and
disheartening task to gain his confidence or even attention. And so it
comes to pass that at seamen's missions, wherever anything is being
done for destitute sailors, the greatest care has to be exercised, the
wisest discrimination used, in order that meals, etc., provided are not
entirely monopolized by longshoremen, and the sailor conspicuous by
his absence. It must always be borne in mind that the sailor is just
a big child, whose opportunities for being understood by shore people
are almost _nil_, who cannot tell you what he wants, and whose life is
hidden from you. Herein is one of the greatest difficulties confronting
missions to seamen. They have but a very short time to work upon any
individual sailor, only a few days wherein to teach him things that
shore people, when they learn them at all, often take years to acquire,
and then the exigencies of his calling remove him from all those
hallowed influences for perhaps four or five months on end. On shore
it is recognized by all the Churches that if you would do good it is
not sufficient to preach godliness to people: you must provide for them
the right kind of society in lieu of that which they must abandon, you
must nurse them through their period of babyhood in grace until they
are able to stand, or walk, or run, in the way of righteousness. But
the poor sailor gets no such nursing. Before he has scarcely awakened
to the fact that old things have passed away, all things have become
new, he is back again to the fo'c'sle. And now he is very lonely,
because he knows that the only things that are continually talked of
are those that should not be so much as named. His quietness is taken
for moroseness, he gets nicknamed the "queer fellow," all sorts of
influences are brought to bear upon him, tending to push him back into
the slough; and if he stand firm, be very sure that he is a man, in the
highest sense of that much-abused word.

I feel, however, that I must apologize for straying into this side
issue, which, although it is so important to me, hardly comes within
the scope of the present work. Perhaps I ought to have begun this
chapter with a definition of the A.B.'s position. It is popularly
supposed, even at sea, that the able-bodied seaman, a term whereof
the initials "A.B." are the recognized official contraction, is a man
who can "hand, reef, and steer." These three duties mean, first, the
furling of sails--that is, rolling them up, and making them secure;
secondly, the reducing of a sail's area by enfolding a portion of it,
and securing it by a series of short pieces of rope sewn into a doubled
or trebled band of canvas across it, technically "reef points;" and the
third requires no explanation for any one. But while it is undoubtedly
true that a seaman who can do these things, and no more, cannot have
his wages reduced for incompetency, it is absolutely certain that an
A.B. on board a sailing ship, at any rate, who could do nothing more
than these things would be looked upon as an impostor, not only by the
officers, but by his shipmates. Yet there are an immense number of
A.B.'s whose qualifications are hardly up to that primitive standard.
More than that, their number is increasing; for in steamships the
handling of sails is reduced to a continually lessening minimum,
reefing is a vanished art, and as for steering, well, steamships of any
importance carry quartermasters, who do all the steering, receiving a
few shillings a month extra pay therefor. So that you shall often find
a man occupying an A.B.'s position who is really only an unskilled
labourer. Placed on board of a sailing ship he would be as helpless and
useless as any landlubber, except that he would not be seasick.

An A.B., properly so called, is a skilled mechanic with great
abilities. In the first place, he is able to splice hemp- or wire-rope,
work that requires a considerable amount of technical skill, for
splicing is not by any means simply the joining of two pieces of rope
together in a certain way. There are many kinds of splices: short
splices, long splices, eye-splices, sailmakers' splices, grummets,
etc., etc. And it is not sufficient to be able to make a splice;
it must be done neatly, in workmanlike fashion, so that when it is
"wormed," "parcelled," and "served," it shall only show as a smoothly
graduated enlargement in the rope, or, as in the case of a sailmaker's
long splice, be without any covering, hardly visible at all as a
splice. He must be able to make all the various "seizings," or securing
of two parts of a rope together by a neatly passed lashing of tarred
cord or wire--make them, too, in any position aloft, while the ship
is tumbling about, and not merely in a comfortable corner on deck. He
must know the right method of "bending" sails--that is, of fastening
them to yards or stays, for setting by "robands" and "earrings," so
that they shall remain doing their work, no matter how severe the
weather. He must understand the technique of sending up or down yards
and masts, be able to improvise lashings for the securing of sails when
carried away in a gale, or broken spars dangling aloft like fractured
limbs. He should know how to handle a "palm and needle"--that is, sew
canvas for making or mending sails, and understand the manipulation
of "purchases" (pulleys and ropes), the rigging of derricks, and the
distribution of strains; how to "set up rigging," "rattle down," and
"heave the lead," of course.

Now, all these queer-sounding names of duties that the good A.B. must
be able to perform would require a vast amount of laborious explanation
to make their meaning and purpose clear to any landsman, and it is
doubtful whether one person in ten thousand would take the trouble to
master their details if an attempt were made to give them. But I think
that few will assert that a man who can do all these things as they
must be done at sea can be in any sense classed as an unskilled man.
And I must add that what I have given are only the broad features, as
it were. There remain still an enormous number of smaller matters,
knowledge of which is expected of an A.B. But I must admit that the
class of A.B. which is capable of answering to such a description as
this is growing yearly smaller and smaller. That, of course, is the
fault of steam. While sailing ships endure there will always be some
of them--there must be--but they are not wanted in steamships, and so
the supply dwindles with the demand. But it is a great pity, because
these men are capable of rising to the height of an emergency. They
have individuality and resource as well as technical ability. And when,
as so often happens, a steamer gets into trouble at sea, breaks down,
or is overtaken by a gale against which her low power is helpless, the
need of skilled seamen is often sorely felt.

An old shipmate of my own was telling me the other day of a case in
point. He was one of the A.B.'s in a large steamer called the _Bengal_,
outward bound to Japan. They were overtaken in the Bay of Biscay by
a tremendous gale, before which they scudded with the huge square
foresail set, in order to keep her ahead of the sea. (It was being
overtaken by such a sea that caused the awful loss of the _London_.)
But at last it became necessary to take in that foresail, and heave
the ship to; it was unsafe to run her any longer, especially as the
sail might carry away at any moment, and the very evil they dreaded
come upon them instantly. So all hands were called aft, eight of them,
and the skipper said, "D'ye think ye can take that foresail in, my
lads?" At which question they were amazed, for none of them had ever
heard such a question put before. After a moment's silence one fellow
shouted, "Take it in! Why, 'course we can, sir. We c'd _eat_ it!"

That comforted the old man, and he gave orders to haul it up, at the
same time manipulating the spanker so that she came round cannily, head
to sea, and did not ship any heavy water. They furled sail without any
difficulty more than usual; but when they had cleared up the gear, the
old man's voice rang out again, "Splice the main-brace." Pelting aft
at the double, they received each a glass of grog, and the old man's
heartfelt thanks. He told them that on the previous voyage he had a
crew of steamboat sailors, who in just such a night as that refused
to go aloft--they were afraid; and he had to see the sail blow away,
see also a great deal of damage done to his deck-gear, and at one time
it looked as if the vessel would be lost. So this voyage he had been
careful to select sailing-ship sailors, and the result had entirely
justified him. "Yes," said one man, "that's all very well for you,
sir. But how about our getting a ship next voyage? We shall be called
steamboat sailors now." Of course the poor shipper had no answer to
that, but I have no doubt he felt the full force of the remark. For
therein lies the great difficulty. No skipper of a sailing ship dare
take steamboat men, unless he has absolute proof that they know the
work on board a sailing vessel. And even then he is sure that a few
months in steam rusts a sailor; he is not likely to be very smart
getting aloft, or to be as expert as a man in training when he gets
there. More than that, the steamboat sailor being, as I have said,
almost invariably better fed than he is in any sailing vessel, does not
take at all kindly to a return to the same miserable way of living,
neither does he appreciate being so long at sea. And all these things
tend to assist the influx of the foreign element which, flocking into
our sailing ships, speedily overflows into steamers, and, having once
obtained a secure foothold, never returns to its own place again.




CHAPTER XXIX.

THE A.B. (HIS ROUTINE).


Nautical routine, although in certain broad features alike in all ships
of all nations, varies almost indefinitely in detail, not merely in
ships belonging to different countries, but in ships of the same flag
and of the same character. And this is not only true of the details of
duties to be performed, but of the method of rigging, sail-setting,
etc. The master, having a free hand, may, and does, use his own
discretion as to how and when he will have work done. There is no one
to gainsay him, although his fads will certainly be keenly criticized
in the fo'c'sle. But where a certain routine is fixed and universal
there are no exceptions to its rule; as, for instance, the incidence
of the watches. The first thing to be done after a vessel has cleared
her home-port outward bound is to muster the crew by their names. Then
the mate and second mate face the assembled seamen and draw each a man
alternately, the mate beginning, until each has a moiety. If there is
an odd man the mate gets him, unless some private arrangement is come
to between the two officers. The number of men under each officer is
called his watch, and for further convenience of definition the mate's
is called the "port" watch and the second mate's the "starboard" watch,
the left side of the ship, looking towards the bows, being the port
side, and the right the starboard. Thus divided, the crew select their
bunks on the side of the forecastle answering to their watches, and so
they remain throughout the voyage.

Now, there is an unwritten sea law which says that "the cap'n takes
her out, and the mate brings her home," which, being interpreted, only
means that the starboard watch have the eight hours out on the first
night of the outward passage, and the port watch the first eight hours
out on the homeward passage: which again needs explaining. A simple
method of dividing the twenty-four hours into watches would be to have
six of four hours each, but it would have the demerit that the same men
would be on watch for the greater part of every night. So a simple plan
was long ago devised for the continual change of watches. The day was,
indeed, divided into six watches of four hours each, but the last watch
of each working day, viz. that from 4 to 8 p.m., was subdivided into
two "dog" watches of two hours each. Nearly all the pleasant memories
of fo'c'sle life cluster around the second of these. From 4 to 6 p.m.
(I speak of an ordinary British ship) the watch on deck round up the
day's work, put things away, sweep up decks, etc., preparing for the
night. The men of the watch below get their tea (supper it is called
on shipboard), and at four bells (6 o'clock p.m.) the members of the
other watch go below and get their evening meal. The watch that have
relieved them have now no work, unless sails require trimming, with the
exception of the helmsman, and when supper is finished all hands can,
and do, foregather on deck or in the forecastle, according to the state
of the weather, and exchange yarns or read. All smoke if they list. It
is the time of the day when all hands meet, and it is looked forward
to with a good deal of interest in every ship where things are as they
should be. At eight bells (8 p.m.) the night begins. The watch that
have the eight hours out, that is, the watch that cleared up decks from
four till six, begin their vigil, which will last till midnight; the
watch below turn in.

In every decent ship the bell is struck every half-hour, increasing by
single strokes, _i.e._ half-past eight, one bell; nine o'clock, two
bells; and so on up till four, when the helmsman and the look-out man
are relieved; then five, six, seven, until five minutes to twelve,
when "little one bell" is struck, and the watch below are called to be
ready for appearance at eight bells (midnight), when they are mustered
by the appearing officers. The watch going below then turn in, and the
bells begin again and go on up till 4 a.m., eight bells again. Then the
"eight hours' out" men reappear, and at two bells (5 a.m.) "coffee" is
called. At four bells "wash decks" begins, and with it the "secular"
work as distinguished from the mere handling of the ship's sails, etc.,
steering, and look-out. At seven bells (7.20 a.m., really 7.30, the ten
minutes being slipped in for "coming up," as we say) the watch below
are called for breakfast, and at eight bells (8 a.m.) they come on deck
ready for work, the retiring watch going to breakfast and afterwards to
bunk, or whatever they think fit, until seven bells (11.20 a.m.). Then
they rise for dinner, and at noon, which is made by the sun, and never
by the clock, unless the sun is obscured, they come on deck for the
afternoon's work, while the other watch retire. With their going below
again at eight bells (4 p.m.) the twenty-four-hours' day is completed.
And it will be found that at 8 p.m. the watch coming on deck are the
watch that on the previous night were at that time turning in.

Now, this routine of watch-keeping is universal, but not so by any
means the distribution of work. I have just sketched the outlines of
duty in a commonplace sailing ship or tramp steamer under the British
flag. But when we come to a smart liner or an American ship this
humdrum, jog-trot round is shattered like a bubble. In the former it is
necessary for the comfort of the passengers that their promenade decks
shall be clean and dry at an early hour, therefore the deck-scouring,
paint-washing, etc., must be got through before the time at which work
is usually commenced in a non-passenger-carrying ship. I do not suppose
that any one can be so thoughtless as to wonder "what on earth the
sailors find to do" who has ever made a passage across the Atlantic
in a big liner. Such a foolish question is often asked about ships in
general, but surely even the dullest must comprehend that the splendid
cleanliness and order on board those floating hotels means a vast
amount of work done while the passengers are sleeping, since it is
never obtruded upon them in their waking hours. It must also occur
to the more thoughtful among them that the modern sailors duties are
largely made up of housemaid's work. Yet, with so little opportunity
for keeping up his acquaintance with the higher duties of his calling,
he is expected to rise to the fullest heights of a sailor's duty at the
first call. I submit that the meagre drill he gets in boat-handling and
fire stations can hardly be sufficient for that purpose, _i.e._ the
keeping him up to "sailor" pitch.

In American ships, on the other hand, sailing ships, that is to say,
no such easy-going precession of duties is allowed. The first thing
that a seaman learns when introduced to an American ship is that
his time belongs to the ship, that if he is allowed to have any for
himself at all it is a matter of grace, not of right. He must at all
times hold himself at the disposal of his officers, and whatever work
they consider it necessary to undertake he must, on the word being
given, throw himself into it as if it were a matter of life or death.
Theoretically this is the case in all ships, but it is nowhere carried
out as it is in American vessels. It is their tradition, and they
have a pride in its maintenance. What it means to the sailor under
the despotic rule of a bowelless master and iron-fisted officers it
is impossible to convey to any one who has not seen the process. It
sometimes happens in British ships that all hands will be kept at work
in the afternoons at sea, usually on the passage home, when the vessel
is being thoroughly overhauled and renovated, but where this is done a
great deal of laxity is permitted at night. The watch on deck during
the hours of darkness, with the exception of the man at the wheel and
one on the look-out, are allowed to sleep, unless the sails require
trimming, and even this very necessary work is performed with a great
deal of grumbling and bad language. But in American ships it is often
the proud boast of a skipper that he keeps his men at work in the watch
on deck throughout the voyage, by day or night, in gale or calm; and
as for an afternoon watch below--absurd, makes men fat and lazy! No
grumbling is permitted, no dilatoriness of movement, and due attention
to all these severe rules is enforced by blows, and, if necessary, by
shooting. It is the other extreme of the scale. We are much too slack
in our discipline; the Americans, as a rule, are far too severe. Of
course there are exceptions on both sides, but I speak of the rule.

Sailors often wonder whether landsmen realize what it means for a ship
to be always watched and tended, from the time she leaves port until
she arrives at her destination; whether, when coming on board a ship
in harbour, and looking curiously at the deserted wheel aft, they
appreciate the fact that for every minute of perhaps five or six months
there is a man at that wheel, steering the ship over the trackless
sea, guided alone by the compass. This ceaseless care of the vessel
has always struck me as a very impressive thing, especially where, as
in an ordinary sailing ship, every man in the fo'c'sle takes his turn,
or "trick," as it is called. At the commencement of the voyage the
men settle among themselves, in an informal manner, the order in which
they shall follow each other at the wheel, and, subject to alterations
in their number, this order is preserved throughout the voyage. Some
curious terms are current among them about the steering turns. For
instance, when a man has neither "wheel" nor look-out occurring in a
watch he solemnly announces he is a "farmer;" when it happens that his
"wheel" occurs from 4 to 6 a.m. he growls at the idea of his having the
"gravy-eye" wheel, a coarse but most expressive designation for that
sleepiest of watches. This is the time when more accidents, through
lack of watchfulness, occur than any other in the twenty-four hours.

His duty of steering varies greatly with the ship and the man. Some
vessels are beautifully docile, responsive to the lightest touch on
the wheel, and actually sympathetic--I can use no other word--to a
good helmsman. I have been in vessels that one could almost steer
blindfold by the feel of the wheel, where the making of a serpentine
course was a certain proof that the helmsman was either a bungler
or grossly careless. It is popularly supposed that a ship is always
steered by the apparent movement of the compass, and this is fairly
true of steamships, but it is ridiculous when applied to sailing
ships. The compass must be watched, of course; but the man who keeps
his eye fixed upon it will soon find that not only must he work like a
slave, but that no amount of wheel-twisting will keep his ship steady
on her course. He must watch the movement of the ship's head against
the sky, the clouds, the stars, for he can then see instantly what
amount of helm she requires, whereas the compass does not tell him
until too late, or it is so lively that it is no guide at all, except
that its average swing from side to side of the point he is told to
steer by will be approximately the same. I have often been steering a
large iron ship running before a heavy westerly gale in high southern
latitudes when the compass has swung continuously round through its
whole thirty-two points. Some men get so bewildered by this that they
are useless as helmsmen. Others, again, when steering before a heavy
following sea, will lose their nerve. The mighty waves thundering up
astern like ravening monsters, only to be satisfied by the overwhelming
of the vessel, are terrible to see, and a prudent officer who notices
the helmsman looking astern at such times, with a wild eye and a
blanched face, will have him relieved at once, before that appalling
disaster "broaching to" takes place. This occurs when a ship running
dead before a gale of wind, with her yards square, is suddenly caught
a little on one side by a furiously rushing wave and whirled round
until her sails get caught aback, the sea thunders over her broadside,
and she is in the greatest danger of being dismasted, turned over,
or smashed up altogether. Many a ship posted as missing has thus
been destroyed; she has disappeared from the face of the sea in five
minutes, without giving any one on board the slightest chance of life.

As far as the A.B.'s workaday duties are concerned, the same rules that
apply to other workmen ashore do not apply, for obvious reasons. If a
carpenter, for instance, were employed in the building of a house,
and it were found that he could only boil glue, sweep up the shop,
or turn a grindstone, he would be discharged on the instant. But you
cannot discharge a sailor until his return home, unless he is willing
to go, and, in a foreign country, unless the consul is also willing to
allow him to be discharged. He may be absolutely worthless from the
seaman's point of view, which, as I have shown, must be considered
in relation to the ship, whether she is a steamer or a sailing ship,
but unless he is unable to steer, it is almost impossible to reduce
his wages. I well remember a case, years ago, tried before the late
Mr. Raffles, where the master of a ship had reduced one of his A.B.'s
wages for the voyage by £1 a month, that is to the level of an O.S.
(ordinary seaman). There was no doubt whatever as to the kind of man
the quondam A.B. was. He had never been to sea before that voyage, but
some enterprising boarding-master had supplied him with another man's
discharge, rigged him up like a seafarer, and got him shipped in a
big southern-going sailing ship as an A.B., at £3 a month. But he had
the wit to put his case into the hands of a smart lawyer, who bullied
the master to the verge of desperation. Among other things, he said,
"Did you have your ship's decks washed, Mr. Brown?" "Of course I did,"
replied the sorely-tried skipper. "Oh, you did. Was this man able to
assist in washing decks?" "Oh, well, I suppose he could do _that_."
"I don't require any of your supposing, sir; could he do his duty in
this respect, or could he not?" thundered the counsel. "Yes, he could."
"Thank you" (ironically). "Now, did you carry any pigs?" "Yes,"
answered the bewildered commander; "there was----" "That is sufficient.
Kindly answer my questions without comment. I suggest to you that those
pigs required their sty to be cleaned occasionally." "Yes; and it----"
said the skipper, getting redder in the face as the lawyer stopped him
again. "Could this man clean out the pig-sty? Yes or no?" "Yes, he
could; but----" "_Answer_ my questions in a proper manner," roared the
lawyer.

And so on, until, in triumphant tones, the legal gentleman exclaimed,
"Then I submit that you have no right at all to deduct one penny from
my client's miserable earnings. By your own admission he could perform
all those duties, very necessary duties, about which I have questioned
you. They had to be performed by some one, and surely you do not expect
to get the work of your ship done for nothing," etc. In the result the
man got his wages in full, and the skipper went away in the belief
that the law was a dangerous thing to meddle with, even if you knew
you were right. But every sailor worth his salt knows what it means to
get a few of these yokels foisted upon a ship. They can be, and they
are, put upon the dirty work, the unskilled labour, of which there is
so much to be done; but, in addition to the fact that they cannot do
even that work in sailor fashion, all the work which they cannot do
at all falls upon their shipmates who can. This often means terrible
overwork and suffering for everybody on first leaving home, before
"useless articles" have been taught their work aloft. I know of no more
difficult position to be in than aloft on a top-gallant yard, for
instance, in a snowstorm in the Channel, with three other men, for the
purpose of furling the sail, and finding that two of them are not only
useless, but helplessly in the way. Poor wretches, they are suffering,
too, no doubt, clinging to the yard in an agony lest they shall fall,
sick with fright; but the men who _must_ do their work are the ones
deserving of pity. They get neither pity nor pence for the extra work
they do.

Of all the injustice from which the sailor suffers, I know of none
that he feels more keenly than this. To be shipmates with half a dozen
wasters who are getting the same pay and treatment as himself, to be
overworked because they cannot do the first thing at sailorizing, and
as likely as not obliged to keep very quiet in the fo'c'sle, because
of them being in the majority, is a bitter pill to swallow. One very
unpleasant recollection of my own is of a ship where I was an A.B. In
my watch, besides myself, there was a Swede, a very good man; a little
Frenchman from St. Nazaire, who was also a smart sailor-man; a Finn,
who knew how to do his work, but was so slow and stupid that he was
very little good; another Frenchman from the vicinity of Nice, who,
strange to say, was useless, and, in addition, knew only about half
a dozen words of English; a big, brutal bully of a fellow, who was a
Briton, I grieve to confess, and one of the basest sort; also a negro
ordinary seaman. With such a watch, those of us who could do what we
were asked had a very hard time of it; and, to make matters worse, the
big Briton was, although as worthless an animal as ever stepped on a
ship's deck, the "boss" of the forecastle. I was working hard for my
certificate, and did not care to complain; until at last, in Hong Kong,
while that great loafer was quietly sitting in the shade, toying with
the task of chipping the iron rust off the cable, I was sent over with
the negro to scrape the ship's side in the blazing sun. I went, feeling
very hard done by; but presently the fine dry dust of coal tar which I
scraped off the planks stuck to my sweating face and began to blister
it, just as a mustard-plaster would have done.

Then I felt that, under these conditions, life was not worth living,
so I left my job and sought the mate. I appealed to his sense of
justice. "Here is a man," I said, "who has not been able to do a single
job of sailor-work, except take his trick at the wheel (and he's a
gorgeous helmsman), since we left Cardiff. I, on the other hand, have
been continuously at work, splicing, serving, sailorizing in all its
details, with never a complaint of my work. Yet because this man is
a truculent beast, who growls blasphemously whenever he is put on a
job, he is allowed to carry things so pleasantly that he might as well
be on a perpetual picnic. Is it fair or just?" To the mate's credit I
record it that the champion loafer was immediately sent overside to
scrape, and I went below to poultice my blistered visage. But even
there he scored, for he quietly shifted his stage under the counter,
where he could not be seen, and there sat in the shade and smoked his
pipe. Still, the business did not suit him, and two days after, to the
delight of every one on board, he deserted. He had the assurance to
come back for his kit; but he was not allowed to come on board, so I
lowered it over the bows to him. He knew that the skipper was too glad
to be rid of him to prosecute.




CHAPTER XXX.

THE A.B. (HIS POSITION).


From all of the foregoing it will doubtless be rightly assumed that the
A.B. is in a most anomalous position at the present time. He may be a
skilled mechanic, a man of energy, resource, and great abilities, or
he may be just an unskilled labourer, with precisely the same pay and
treatment as the best seaman afloat of the same grade. This is a bad
state of things, but it is to be hoped that the system of continuous
discharges now being introduced will make some alteration for the
better. The maritime nations of Europe have long ago recognized the
importance of having some definite record of a seaman's service, some
means whereby it could be told at a glance whether he was a sailor or
not. So that each French, or German, or Italian sailor has a little
book wherein is entered what manner of man he is in appearance, and
the date of every shipping and discharge he has experienced during his
seafaring career. His behaviour also is there set down, and _viséd_
by consul or shipping-officer, as the case may be. Without this book
he can in nowise get a ship of his own country's flag, but he can,
and does, ship in British vessels where the rules are lax; where a
discharge may be bought from a brother seaman outward bound, and used
with impunity; where a man may be a worthless loafer, and yet suffer no
penalties for taking a job for which he has no qualifications whatever.
Let us hope that the system of continuous discharges will be all to the
good.

But the prime cause of the lowering of the A.B. and of the anomalies in
his position is undoubtedly the advent of the steamship. Blink the fact
how we may, it remains true that what is wanted in a steamer is only
a burly labourer who is able to steer--that is, as long as all goes
well; and the percentages of disaster year by year are so small that no
steamship owners need fear to take the risk of sending their ships to
sea without a sailor, properly so called, except the officers on board.
As I have said, matters are very different in the sailing ship. There
the _sailor_ must be had, but the supply of British seamen dwindles so
fast, that the foreigner from Scandinavia, from Germany, from Italy,
comes in ever-increasing numbers for the sake of the higher pay and the
easier life. And if the influx of foreign seamen was only confined to
the sailing fleet the situation would not be so perilous. In one sense,
of course, it will always be a danger, as long as sailing ships are
considered, and rightly so, the only real training places for seamen.
Because it means that we are not raising any more seamen to fill the
places left vacant by death, and by men leaving the sea for shore-life.
But, unfortunately, foreign seamen flow into the steamships as well,
also in ever-increasing numbers. This is not at all easy to understand
in the face of the facts that so little technical ability is required
of the A.B. in steamers, and the number of unemployed men there are
about our streets.

It may be that what is frequently said by our critics at home and
abroad is true: that Britons are getting more and more loth to work
at all; that when they get a job their first care is not to see how
they can best satisfy their employer, but how little they can do for
their money. If this be so, it is a fatal mistake on their part. It
would be bad enough for themselves personally, if they had the monopoly
of the world's labour markets; but, confronted with the down-trodden
millions of Europe, who will work till they sink from exhaustion,
without a complaint, who learn our language easily, and swarm into
every opening that presents itself, such behaviour on the part of our
workers is surely suicidal. This is especially true of seamen, where
no restrictions are placed upon the number of foreigners employed,
and when they can always be obtained. If a shipmaster happens to have
had much trouble with a crew of his own countrymen on a voyage, he is
almost sure to look out that he has foreigners next time. They are
fully qualified--it is the rarest possible thing to find a foreign
sailor who cannot do his work--and they will obey orders without
grumbling.

Personally, I feel absolutely sure that the British seaman, properly so
called--I do not mean a ship-navvy, who couldn't make a short splice,
or seize a ratline on properly to save his life--is the finest in the
world. For endurance, for skill, for reliability in time of danger,
for resource in time of difficulty, he has no better. But, alas for
the truth, he is departing; and I fear it will be no long time before
his place in the Merchant Service will know him no more. What British
seamen are capable of may be seen in the Navy, whose splendid handy-men
are the envy of the world. Is it too much to hope that by some better
method of training and treatment we might get just as fine a body of
men in the Merchant Service? Perhaps it is, and yet--and yet there are
those among us who do dream such a dream as this. We think that by
means of a properly fostered and trained Naval Reserve we might build
up a magnificent body of Merchant seamen with characters to lose; men
who would take a pride in their position, and be a real bulwark to the
country.

But such a Reserve would require the whole-hearted support of the
Admiralty, not hardly-veiled enmity. Every seafaring man, with the
best interest of his country at heart, knows full well how pitifully
the grand opportunity afforded by the institution of the Royal Naval
Reserve has been allowed to go to waste. Perhaps some day, before it is
too late, the history of the Royal Naval Reserve will be written with
inside knowledge of all the facts, and an amazing document it would
make, though not more amazing than many similar documents dealing with
the non-understandable ways of the great departments who spend the
country's money.

Theoretically the Royal Naval Reserve should be a success. As far as
the obtaining of officers is considered there is little doubt that it
_is_ a success, even though Merchant officers who seek to pass into
the Navy _viâ_ the Royal Naval Reserve are known by the invidious
sobriquet of "the hungry half-hundred." Great shipping companies make
it known that they wish their officers to belong to the Reserve, and
straightway the thing is done. There is no compulsion, the suggestion
is sufficient, and the retaining fee, being quite a nice little sum
per annum, is also an inducement. But the numbers of the seamen in
the Royal Naval Reserve do not increase. Why? There is a retaining
fee of £6 per annum; there is also a guinea a week pay during drill,
of which every member is supposed to put in six weeks a year. Seeing
what sailors are, one would have thought that such a bait would have
allured them in large numbers. And yet there is only about one-quarter
of the number there should be. It is to be hoped most devoutly that,
in the present agitation about the Navy and its various shortcomings,
this will not be forgotten, and that it will be fully recognized that
the only possible source of supply for the Navy in case of war is the
Mercantile Marine.

To secure such a supply, it is imperative that the A.B. shall be looked
after, made to feel that he is a man of some importance to the state,
and that the good men shall not be handicapped by the wastrel; that a
man shall earn the title of A.B. before he is permitted to take it, and
that every man shipping as an A.B. who has no qualifications for that
honourable post shall suffer for his misdeeds, his fraudulent burdening
of his shipmates with work that he is unable to perform. Then I believe
that we should get in the Merchant Service a good class of seamen, men
who would not say that the sea was a life fit only for dogs. Under
proper conditions, such as may even now be found, that statement is a
libel. Speaking for myself, I can say with perfect candour that I have
been as happy in ships before the mast as any workman could hope to
be ashore. Where there is a good crew of men who know their work and
will do it, decent food of good quality, and experienced officers, a
sailor before the mast may, and does, have a very good time--infinitely
better than any journeyman ashore, with all the worries attendant upon
loss of employment, rent, strikes, etc. Only get the sailor to see that
his business is a business that requires a trained man to make any
hand at it, that the door into it is closed against the dock-walloper
and the loafer, and that the same consideration that is meted out to
mechanics ashore is accorded to him, and I am sure there would be a
steady increase in the number of British seamen in British Merchant
ships: aided, of course, by the institution of such a feeder as the
non-premium apprenticeship I have already spoken about would be.

I am quite sure that British seamen are to be got and kept, if the
powers that be will only go the right way to work, remembering that
what is wanted is not so much fresh legislation as a little more use
of the legislation already existing. Ship-owners are not anxious to
carry foreign seamen, except, perhaps, in eastern trades, where lascars
and Chinese come in handy. And even in those ships there will usually
be found a stiffening of most excellent white seamen, who are usually
British. No; the only question for the average ship-owner is, "How,
in the face of the fierce and unscrupulous competition against which
I have to fight, can I get my ships efficiently manned?" He wants men
to earn their pay, pay which is higher than that of any other country,
except America and Australia, and he does not at all concern himself
about the nationality of those men. He leaves them, very properly, to
those who will have to command them; but if masters of ships are made
to believe that, no matter how good the pay and provisions given, they
can never rely upon getting, in the first place, sailor-men of their
own race at all, and, in the second, men of their own nationality who
will work cheerfully for their pay without a constant succession of
worrying rows, it must not be wondered at if they prefer the foreigner,
who comes already broken in, trained in seamanship, polite, and
hard-working, no matter where he hails from.

In bidding farewell to the A.B., I again earnestly express my full
sympathy for and with him, and trust that ere long I shall have the
joy of seeing A.B.'s of my own race again increasing in the British
Merchant Service.




CHAPTER XXXI.

THE O.S. (ORDINARY SEAMAN).


In the days when the A.B. was properly considered to be a man who had
learned his trade, and would have been ashamed to ship as an A.B.
unless he were fully capable of doing any job of sailorizing that was
given him, the O.S. was quite an institution. He was a young seaman
who had been through a time of considerable tribulation as a ship-boy;
but, having grown bigger and stronger, able to take his trick at the
wheel, and make himself felt in furling sails, he ventured to take a
step up the ladder. There was no specified manner in which this was to
be done. With that haphazard disregard of the seamen's best interests
which has characterized our Mercantile Marine for many generations, it
was left to chance. One would have thought that a recognized method
would have been for a boy to present himself before certain properly
constituted authorities for an examination into his qualifications, and
that, having satisfied them that he was able to do all that an ordinary
seaman should be capable of, they would grant him a certificate to that
effect.

Nothing of the sort. Sometimes a boy would make friends with an
officer, who would report favourably upon him to the master at the end
of a voyage, and then that master might, if he remembered it or felt
so disposed, give to the boy an ordinary seaman's "discharge." Or if
he were a big fellow, the boy might get a master to ship him as an
O.S., even though he had nothing but a boy's discharge to show. The
whole business was as slipshod as it could well be, for it depended
entirely upon the caprice or kindliness of the master granting it.
There was just this in its favour, that it recognized an A.B. as a
seaman who had been through the regular routine of boy and O.S. before
he became an A.B., so that the presumption was entirely in favour of
his having learned his business. But, as I have shown, perhaps with
what might be brutal clearness, in the preceding pages, that has all
been changed. Under present conditions you _may_ occasionally find an
ordinary seaman on board of a ship, but be very sure that if you do he
is having it drummed into him every watch that he is a fool. "Why," he
will be asked, "should you ship as O.S. when there's plenty of A.B.'s
going that don't know the knight heads from the main-brace, bumpkin?
Don't be a fool. You might just as well have the other pound or thirty
shillings a month as them fellows that ain't half as good as you are!"
And presently he thinks so too, so that he makes up his mind that he'll
never be an O.S. any more.

That determination is mightily strengthened if he happen to be on board
of a ship where there are two or three modern A.B.'s, wastrels who
would be dear if they came for nothing a month and found themselves;
as, for instance, when I was an O.S. in a big ship going out to New
Zealand. There was never a job of work came my way that I didn't do as
if it was going before a Bench of Examiners. I was as nervous of blame
and delighted at commendation as if I had been striving for a valuable
prize. But we had among our A.B.'s four men (if I can call them so) who
were not worth a penny a day, and one black night it was my hap to be
on the main royal yard with one of them for the purpose of furling the
sail. Had the weather been what it should at the furling of this, the
loftiest sail in the ship, I should not have so much minded; but our
redoubtable skipper was always loth to waste one breath of a fair wind,
and so he had "hung on" until it looked as if the three huge masts
would have been blown clean out of her. Then all hands were called in
hot haste, royals, top-gallant-sails, and other top-sails were lowered
all at once, and a pretty fine job it was with our crowd. However, as I
have said, I found myself up there on that giddy height, with all those
vast sails battering far below me, a gale of wind roaring against me,
a sail before me that was straining madly to tear itself away from its
confining gear, and a helpmate who was absolutely paralyzed with fear,
an A.B. an't please you.

I did not know what was the matter with him. Being on the weather-side
of the yard, I was doing my best to get the sail quiet; and although
I wondered greatly what had become of Johnnie, I could not go round
and see. At last, after a hard struggle, I succeeded in getting the
sail snug, only to find that there were no "gaskets" on the yard
(gaskets are small ropes used to wind round the sails and the yards
to keep the sails fast when they are furled). All there was available
for the securing of what I had gained was the "bunt-gasket," a little
criss-crossed piece of plaited spun yarn, which is fitted to hold
fast the centre or bunt of the sail when it is furled--a feeble thing
at the best, but, such as it was, I made use of it to the best of my
ability. Then, twisting my legs round the royal back stay, I slid down
to the deck, rushed below into the bo'sun's locker, and cut off several
fathoms of ratline stuff (small rope). I must here admit that she was a
very slackly ruled ship. Such a piece of impudence by any seaman would
never be allowed, because it would not be necessary, on board of a
properly managed vessel.

Having secured my gaskets, I hurried aloft and made the sail fast. When
the work was done, I discovered Johnnie, clinging like a bat to the
extreme lee-end of the yard. I shouted to him till I was hoarse, but
he made no sign, so I left him, for I did not care to run the risk of
putting two men's weight upon the lift; and, moreover, I was something
scornful at that A.B.'s behaviour. I went below and helped in the work
that was being done until the time came for us to go below, and there
was Johnnie, the A.B., talking as boldly as the rest, and ordering me
to do this, that, and the other. Then a little explanation ensued,
and from that night forward I took orders from him no more. But I had
learned something, and when the time came I met the bo'sun, and put the
question to him whether he did not think I was as well worthy of an
A.B.'s discharge as some of the fellows who had been unable to do the
work that I had undertaken. In the result I got my coveted piece of
paper, and never sailed as O.S. afterwards.

The precise definition of an ordinary seaman's duties has never been
laid before me. But I fancy that those three qualifications which are
often spoken of as the desiderata for an A.B. should more properly be
applied to the O.S., viz. that he should be able to hand, reef, and
steer. Once, and once only, was any question raised with me when I was
an O.S. about my qualification, and that was by a man who was very sore
indeed at having to pay £3 per month for my services. I joined the
vessel in Sydney, where A.B.'s wages were, at the time, £5 a month for
deep water, resisting all the skipper's efforts to get me for £2 10_s._
a month. This so annoyed him, that he tried in various ways to pick
holes in my work, and at last declared that I could not steer (although
I never missed a trick during the whole voyage), and also that I was
not competent to "cross a royal yard," which was fantastically untrue.
I should very much like to explain how this piece of work is done, but
am almost afraid, because of the inevitable use of technical terms.
Still, I feel that I have not worried my readers much, so far, with sea
language, and that perhaps some would like to hear just a little bit of
sailor-talk.

It must be understood that this piece of work is one of the smallest
of rigging manœuvres that is performed on board ship. By "rigging
manœuvres" I mean work aloft which is not always being done or undone,
such as furling or setting sails. In fact, the work aloft of a ship
may be divided into three categories--the temporary, the sub-permanent,
and the permanent. Under the heading of temporary work comes the
setting and furling of sails. Sub-permanent work is the shifting of
sails--heavy-weather canvas for that carried in the doldrums and
trades, and the manipulation of studding-sail gear--although this
latter, except in old ships, rarely troubles sailors much to-day.

But permanent work, by far the most important, and demanding the
greatest amount of seamanship, includes all the care of the standing
rigging, the sending up or down of masts and yards, and the thousand
and one repairs that are necessary in order that the mazy fabric of a
sailing ship's top-hamper may do its work of propulsion in association
with the wind. Of all the heavier work of this kind, _i.e._ shifting
the yards and masts, that of handling the royal and sky-sail yards is
the most frequently indulged in; for many skippers commanding old ships
dare not put too much strain upon the lighter masts in heavy weather,
and they therefore make a rule of sending down the loftiest yards when
they bend their heavy-weather sails. Now, a royal yard _in situ_ is
a spar of, say, thirty-five feet in length (varying, of course, with
the size of the ship), seven or eight inches in diameter in the slings
(the centre), and tapering at both ends, or yard-arms, to four inches,
or even less. By means of three (sometimes only one) encircling iron
sling-bands in its centre, it is attached to an iron, leather-lined
collar, which goes round the royal mast, and is called the "parral."
It is also suspended by a chain "tye," which leads through a
sheave-hole at the masthead, and is connected on the after-side to a
purchase for hoisting the yard, the whole tackle constituting the royal
"haulyards," "halliards," or "halyards," the latter for choice.

From each yard-arm to the masthead run pieces of rope, which are tight
when the yard is lowered. They are called "lifts," and are for the
purpose of keeping the yard horizontal, and of sustaining the extra
weight put upon it by men who go upon it for any purpose. Looped abaft
the yard are the "foot-ropes," upon which the men stand when furling
or bending the sail, and attached to each yard-arm are the "braces"
for the purpose of slinging the yard from one side to the other. All
this gear is for the yard alone. Then there is the sail, with a rope
running through a block under both quarters of the yard, and down
to the corners of the sail abaft all, the "clew-lines," while from
a block at the masthead another rope runs down through a block or
bull's-eye seized on to the tye close down to the yard, and so, being
forked before-all to the foot of the sail, where it is seized, one leg
on either side to the foot. This is the "bunt-line." The clew-lines,
bunt-lines, halyards, and braces are worked from the deck, and
constitute the "running-gear" of the sail.

From the foregoing perfunctory description of the gear attached to
_one_ of the lightest yards in the ship, some slight idea may be
gathered of the immense combination of cordage required to work about
thirty sails, some with much more gear than a royal, of course. But my
principal object in attempting to describe the gear of the royal yard
was to show what used to be considered fair work for an ordinary seaman
in "crossing" it. The running gear was, of course, already aloft; the
standing gear and the sail were sent up with the yard, which was swayed
aloft by a long rope running through the sheave-hole in the masthead,
from which the halyards were temporarily unrove. The youngster charged
with the duty of crossing the yard goes aloft as it is swayed up,
guiding it clear of the rigging as it jerkily ascends. Of course it is
so secured that it rises vertically, and the work of keeping it clear
of the rigging when the ship tumbles about is by no means easy; and, of
course, the higher it ascends the greater is the motion, until, when
it is high enough, it often taxes the utmost strength and skill of
the smartest youngster to deal with it. As the upper yard-arm reaches
the top-gallant masthead he must put on the brace and lift for that
side and cast off the "yard-arm stop," then, as speedily afterwards
as possible, get the lower brace on, and the lift for that side also
secure. As soon as that is done, he can, by casting loose the quarter
stop, allow the yard to be lowered in its proper horizontal position.
It will now be supported by the lifts, so that he can fix the parral to
the mast, and those on deck having steadied the braces tight, the worst
of his troubles are over.

He can now "come up" the yard rope by which the yard has been hoisted,
and, letting it run down on deck, reeve the tye of the halyards in its
place. Then he must secure all the gear to the sail properly, sheets,
clew-lines, and bunt-lines, loose the sail, sing out "Sheet home the
royal," "light up" the gear, and, when the sail is set, "stop" it
loosely with one turn of roping-twine, so that it will not chafe the
sail by being stretched tightly over it, and come down. If he can do
all that smartly and well, in spite of the ship's uneasy motion, he is
superior to two-thirds of the so-called able seamen of to-day.

In the absence of a boy, the ordinary seaman is also the lackey of the
watch in an English ship. The law in this respect is unwritten, and
I have seen a sturdy youngster successfully appeal against it. There
is really no reason why an O.S. should be compelled to sweep up the
fo'c'sle after every meal, keep the men's plates, knives, and forks
clean, trim the lamp, make the cracker-hash, etc. But few indeed are
the fo'c'sles where an O.S. would be able to claim exemption from such
servitude. And if he did get off from dancing attendance upon the
men in his watch below, he would almost certainly be made to do much
of their legitimate work during the watch on deck. For that is one
of the worst features of British ships--that, owing to the peculiar
want of discipline which obtains, so much work that should be fairly
distributed falls upon those who are either indisposed to grumble or
are in a junior position.

For instance, in a sailing ship, let us say, which carries no boys
or apprentices, but an O.S. in each watch, that young man during his
watch on deck will certainly be expected to keep on the _qui vive_.
If he have the good fortune to be commanded by a thoughtful officer,
he will probably be allowed to take a regular trick at the wheel, in
spite of the grumbling of the men, many of whom will be no better than
he is, if as good. But in the great majority of cases he must mount
guard near the break of the poop during his watch on deck at night,
solely in order that he may pass the word along to the sleeping men,
or do himself any job that he can manage without disturbing them. When
any work has been done that requires them all, he will do the lion's
share of it--I have often seen the whole watch standing waiting for an
O.S. to do something, because every one of them was too lazy to make
a start, and the young officer did not care to risk a row by sending
any particular man; and when the pulling and hauling is done, the last
"belay" or "well" has been cried, the men all slouch off to their
corners and pipes, or sleep again, leaving the O.S. to go the round of
the ship and coil up all the ropes.

Of course I am not quoting this as a great hardship. I only mention
it to show how peculiar are the notions held by foremast hands of
the duties of boys and ordinary seamen. It was doubtless a very good
training for the latter, this being made to do everything possible
while the men looked on criticizingly, but it was often carried to
cruel lengths. I have myself seen as well as experienced such treatment
of an O.S. in a ship's fo'c'sle at the hands of men, who certainly did
not deserve to wield any authority, as was sufficient to make a lad
wish himself dead. Worse, remember, for the O.S. than the boy. What do
you think of a fine young man being compelled to wait for his food till
every one else in the fo'c'sle is served, to find then that of his poor
allowance he had been robbed nearly half; made to feel at all times
that the only object of his existence during his watch below was to be
the body-servant of eight or ten men, to preserve before them a silent,
respectful demeanour, and to consider himself honoured if any of them
addressed him in any other than terms of opprobrium? Yet all this might
be changed, has often been changed, in a moment. If one of the little
kings in a burst of magnificent rage at some dereliction of duty on
the part of his slave--fo'c'sle not swept clean, or plate not washed
quickly--struck the O.S. a shameful blow, and the latter had the grit
to return it with interest, following it up with a victory over his
aggressor, thenceforward that fo'c'sle would not be a bad place for the
hitherto-put-upon junior. But under the altered conditions of modern
sea-service this fo'c'sle etiquette is being swept away, and soon will
have as completely disappeared as the reluctance to sail on Friday has
before the necessities of steam.




CHAPTER XXXII.

THE BOY.


At last we have arrived at the very bottom of the social scale of
board-ship life. The "boy," as distinguished from the "cabin" boy, has
long posed as a hero of romance in sea fiction. We all know that boy.
His marvellous deeds have inspired generations of home-bred youths with
an unquenchable thirst for the sailor's life, where, to quote one of
the most charming of song-writers,

 "We watch the waves that glide by our vessel's stately side,
   Or the wild sea-birds that follow through the air;
 Or we gather in a ring, and with cheerful voices sing;
   Oh, gaily goes the ship when the wind blows fair."

How many youngsters, lured by the mysterious air of adventure pervading
all things connected with the sea, have run from comfortable homes,
and, after hardships innumerable, have compassed the goal of their
desire--have found a shipmaster willing to take them to sea with him
as boy! And then--well, happily, the young seafarer soon develops a
wonderful capacity for patient endurance of evils not to be avoided,
and, if of the true grit, in time looks back upon his probationary
period of suffering as a training which he was glad to have endured.
And the older he grows the more complacently does he recall the
days when he learned to expect the blow first and the explanation
afterwards, learned to eat what he could get with an appetite like an
ostrich, could sleep in drenched clothing with a bare plank beneath
him, and find all his consolation in the fact that soon he would be
able to look down upon a newcomer with the lofty superiority of the
full-blown mariner.

At the risk of being thought tedious, I must repeat that for the ship
boy, as for boys everywhere else in our favoured land, a brighter day
has dawned. Within the memory of middle-aged men a boy on board a ship
was the butt, the vicarious sacrifice to all the accumulated ill-temper
of the ship. To-day tales are told of the treatment of boys in
"Geordie" colliers that are enough to make the flesh creep to hear. In
those days it was the privilege of every man on board to ill-treat the
boy; and if, as very often happened, the poor little wretch died under
it--well, what of it?--it was only a boy. And the peculiar part of it
all was that the brutes who did these evil deeds prided themselves that
their actions were right and proper. There was only one way of training
a boy--with a rope's-end if it were handy; if not, a fist or a boot
would do, but he must be beaten. One man, whom I shall always remember,
as smart a seaman as ever trod a ship's deck, beat me until there was
not a square inch of my small body unbruised. Scarcely a watch passed
that I did not receive some token of his interest in my welfare, and
on two occasions he kicked me with such violence that, with all the
will in the world to obey his orders, I was perfectly helpless. My only
wonder is that he did not kill me.

Yet when I left the ship he bade me quite an affectionate farewell,
bidding me remember how hard he had laboured for my benefit, that every
blow he had given me was solely aimed at making me more useful, and
fitting me for my duties. At the time I felt that he was lying, and
that his treatment of me was dictated by that savage lust of cruelty to
an unresisting victim that grows alarmingly with the yielding thereto,
and that had I only possessed the strength and courage to retaliate,
he would speedily have altered his mind. But now I do not know. I
feel that perhaps he _may_ have been sincere. Men were self-deceivers
ever; and there are few self-deceptions more common among mankind
than this--that cruelty is a splendid aid to education. But here let
me say that cruelty to boys was far more common among the officers
than the men. If a boy was willing and respectful and clean, it was
very seldom that he got beaten in the fo'c'sle. There was almost
always a certain amount of public spirit which made for justice where
half a dozen of even the roughest men were gathered together. I have
known one exception to this good rule--have experienced it in my own
person--where out of a whole crew of eight there was not one man enough
to protest against the daily practice of cruelty to me. More than that,
they encouraged a big boy, who was getting the same pay as myself, but
whose qualifications, except strength, were far inferior to mine, to
pummel me too. Such a gang I have never met with before or since, and
I am sure that the combination is uncommon.

The majority of the boys going to sea to-day unapprenticed are drawn
from the training ships, those good schools for the boy who is said to
be unmanageable ashore. Coming from the wild and precarious life of the
streets into such a ship as the _Warspite_, _Arethusa_, or _Cornwall_,
is such a revelation to a boy, that for a little while he feels as if
the bottom had fallen out of his world. For the anarchical condition,
tempered by a salutary dread of the policeman, under which he has
been living, there are substituted law and order, cleanliness and
discipline; for regular short commons and dog-like snatching of sleep
come good food regularly eaten, regular sleep at set times, regular
play, and a sound prospect of benefits, very real indeed, for the
patient worker in well-doing. Here the boy is taught all the essentials
of seafaring except the actual going to sea, and in at least one
instance that practical want is supplied, in that a small square-rigged
vessel is kept, which, with selected boys for a crew, under the charge
of experienced seamen, plies up and down the river under sail. And it
may truly be said that a boy who has passed a couple of years under
such treatment as this is as well prepared for becoming a good seaman
as it is possible for a boy to be.

But, strangely enough, the training is of very little real service to
the lads when they go to sea to earn their living. For at once they
find themselves under such conditions as they never before dreamed of.
In place of the perfect discipline and stringent rules to which they
have been accustomed, they find the greatest laxity prevailing. Rules
are almost non-existent. In the training ship each of them had his work
allotted to him. When the signal was given he knew just what to do, and
how to do it; and when it was done, he was done too. In the merchant
ship the rigging is different, the method is different, and instead
of his having any set duties, he is at everybody's beck and call,
given tasks to accomplish single-handed that he has been taught to do
man-of-war fashion--that is, with so many hands that the work was done
like magic, and in a few seconds a sail was furled or set, or a mast
was sent up or down.

They cannot now keep themselves clean and smart-looking. For, in the
first place, they have little time allowed, and, in the next, there
is not much water (in sailing ships). No longer is it necessary that
they should present themselves at stated hours for inspection; no
longer is every movement of theirs regulated as if by clock-work. They
may be as slovenly, as dirty as they list, there is no one to enforce
upon them the keeping of the good rules they have so long been under;
and that principally because those who bear rule over them know that
such enforcement is impossible. So that the carefully instilled habits
of order, regularity, and cleanliness are broken down at once, and
in place of the smartly-clad, well-set-up youth who joined the ship,
there is presently seen a slouchy, shifty-eyed gamin, who is a profound
student of the art of "dodging Pompey," who gets the well-deserved
character from his shipmates of being "a young sailor, but a d---- old
soldier." There is a greater evil, if possible, than this impending. It
is that all the careful training of the lad shall presently be of no
avail whatever; because, mixing freely with the crew, he is sedulously
taught that the sea as a profession or calling is played out. "Why,
just look at it a minnit," says his mentor. "You've never got no time
to call yer own" (which is a lie, in an English ship, at any rate),
"yer everybody's dorg, yer fed wuss'n a pig, and what y' got t' look
forrward ter? T' die in the wukkus. 'Sides, 'n Englishman don't like
ter be mucked up all the time with a lot er foreigners in one of his
country ships. Why, they looks down on us now 'sif we wus a---- lot
of interlopers wot got no right to sail under owr own flag. 'N, after
all, wot are yer? Never nothin' but a dirty sailor all yer days. Nobody
'shore knows nothin' about yer; 'n don' care neither. Y' ain't got no
vote, y' ain't got no home, y'r jest a bit of wreckage. Quit it, me
son, 'n git a job ashore, where, if you're a bloomin' scavenger, you've
got yer pull on the vestrymin, because you've got a vote, an' if they
don't look after your interests, w'y, out they goes; see!"

This is the kind of pernicious stuff (all the more dangerous because
of its half-truth) that the boy is regaled with, along with a great
deal more that cannot be reproduced, for reasons that need not be
given; and again I say, without fear of being hauled over the coals
for repetition, it is quite sufficient to account for the falling off
in the numbers of young British seamen. But I feel certain that some
such scheme as I have sketched out in the Apprentice chapters would
be efficacious in preventing this wholesale waste of good material.
From the lowest class of seamen up to the second mate (except in
the first-class liners) the evil to be battled with is the lack of
continuous employment. It does not admit of the sailor acquiring any
interest in his ship. Moreover, there is ever dangling before his eyes
the terror of being "outward bound"--those two fateful words that
convey such a mountain of meaning to every seafaring man. To be outward
bound means that he is ashore penniless, dependent upon the kindness
of a boarding-master for a little food; to prowl about the docks,
boarding ship after ship, in the remote chance of securing a berth,
and to meet with black looks everywhere; to be told continually that
he is a cumberer of the ground, a loafer, a fellow that might, if he
would, get a ship, but prefers instead to hang around maritime liquor
shops, keeping a keen look-out for homeward bounders who will treat
him, instead of being, as he really is in nearly every case, feverishly
anxious to get back to sea again: these are some of the greatest
drawbacks to a deep-water sailor's career.

And they tell with tremendous force against the boy. Friendless and
homeless in many cases, or with parents so poor that they can do
nothing to help him, earning such small wages that he can hardly
purchase necessary clothing, much less pay for board and lodging, and
with all a boy's natural carelessness, he is sorely tempted to take
the first job that comes in his way, and quit the sea altogether as a
means of livelihood. If he does so, even though the new employment may
only last for a few months, he will hardly go to sea again. And no one
knowing the peculiar difficulties of his lot will be able to blame him.

I have often wished that it were possible to make lads who at school
chatter so glibly about "running away to sea," understand how
impossible it is to do any such thing nowadays, except, indeed, in
such vessels as are the last resort of the unfortunate. Even after
I had been at sea for a couple of years I found it difficult to get
a ship, on account of the competition of the training-ship lads,
who, with their well-replenished outfits and sturdy appearance--to
say nothing of the persistence of the agent charged with the duty
of getting them shipped--were readily accepted by skippers, to the
exclusion of outsiders. The "unfortunate" vessels of which I speak are
those small sailing craft which still drag out a precarious existence
in competition with steam. They may be seen in all our smaller ports,
often lying disconsolately upon mud-banks at ebb-tide, or, looking
woefully out of place, at some wharf belonging to a seaside place like
Margate or Ramsgate. Oh, so dirty, so miserable they look! They only
carry such rough cargoes as it does not pay to put in steam, and, in
consequence, their freight-earning capacity is very low. That, again,
reacts upon the equipment. Worn-out gear, wretched food, and not enough
men or boys to do the heavy work, they provide a hard school for the
young seaman. In them may still be found lingering some of the bad
traditions of half a century ago.

Yet among even these poor relations of the sea may be found varieties
of grade. The great majority of them are coasters--that is to say,
they do not leave the vicinity of our shores except for ports just
across the Channel. In these, though the conditions of life are hard
for a boy, who usually does the cooking (?) at an open stove on deck,
the food, if coarse, is much better than it is on vessels of the same
kind going "deep water." There no relief can be found for months, while
in the home trade it is but a few days from port to port, so that the
ill-used or aggrieved youngster has but to step ashore and be off. And
under the peculiar slipshod method of engagement and discharge in these
vessels there is little danger to the deserter.

In my day there used to be regular houses of call for men and boys
shipping in such vessels in London. One public-house of the kind I knew
well, having, when very young, spent many a weary hour in its dingy
tap-room waiting for a chance of shipment. To it used to come burly
skippers clad in pilot-cloth, with blue jerseys in lieu of vests, and
fur caps. They sought first a stout, well-spoken man, who was always
hanging about there from ten till six, and told him their requirements.
He knew what men and boys were available, and where to find them--in
the tap-room or just at the door. He introduced master to man, and
the first preliminary was always to feel the applicants' hands. If
they were horny enough to satisfy the skipper that their possessor
had not been too long out of work, a few questions ensued relative to
wages, destination, etc. There was seldom any difficulty raised by
the sailors. Poor fellows, by the time they had got to waiting at the
King's Head or Arms, they were in no mood for haggling, and in this
way wages were often cut down very low for men, while I have seen boys
going for five shillings a month. When the bargain was made, a handsel
of a shilling was given to the sailor. Whether he gave the agent
anything I never knew, for although I waited there a long time--some
three months off and on--I never got a ship or a barge there. Of course
the skipper paid something to the agent, who looked fat and prosperous;
but beyond the shillings I never saw any money change hands. And that
money was always spent forthwith in the same manner--it was like
performing a mystic rite. Two pots of four ale and two half-ounces of
shag were purchased at the bar, and all the waiting hands, without
being invited, stepped up and partook. It looked so strange to me, I
remember, for many of the poor fellows looked as if a meal would have
done them so much more good.

There were never lacking participants, either. No matter if the
tap-room was quite deserted by candidates when the bargain was
concluded, the appearance of the beer and tobacco always found them
present--drawn thither, I suppose, by some mysterious influence.
Another peculiar thing about that place was that men with money did
not frequent it--sailor men, that is to say. It had its own customers
among the workers of Thames Street, but they never intruded upon the
apartment sacred to the shipping interest.

It was all very sordid and pitiful, a side path of seafaring that must
have lent itself to many abuses, through which many a poor misguided
lad got away to sea, and found no place for repentance until too late.
I have only mentioned it here, because in speaking of the boy I am
painfully reminded of the great number of miserable little sea-drudges
who are still to be found in these vessels, leading the hardest of
lives, and uncared for by any one. They are worthy of all sympathy,
being so helpless, so unable to raise themselves. Their environment is
as bad as it can well be, for, whether ashore or afloat, the company
they are in is usually of a very bad kind. Now and then, of course,
such a vessel will have a good, steady seaman, who has an interest in
her, for a skipper. A man like that will often carry his wife, and will
endeavour to keep a respectable crew with him voyage after voyage. And
as likely as not he will take an interest in the boy, and try to make
something of him.

Here, as far as the sailor _personnel_ of merchant ships is concerned,
my task ends. Several times during its performance I have felt that
perhaps I should have done better to begin with the boy and end with
the skipper, as being the more natural way. But I hope that what I have
done, as well as the way in which it has been done, will be acceptable
to shore-folks, for whom it is written. Sailors do not require any
information of the kind.

And now for a few words on behalf of the men of iron who toil below.




CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE ENGINEER.


These concluding chapters should be written by an engineer; for no
sailor, whatever his position may have been, is fully competent to
judge of the work performed by the handlers of marine engines. Much
less is he able to appreciate the position of those toiling helots of
civilization, the firemen and trimmers. The benefits of steam are vast
and undeniable; but it is not good to forget that the service of steam
to-day means a truly awful burden of labour and risk laid upon a large
army of civilized men. I believe I shall carry with me the assent of
every one who knows anything about the facts when I say that of all
modern occupations there is not one so terribly exhausting, so full of
peril, as that of the servants of the marine engine at work. The marvel
of marvels to me is that men can be found to undertake the task so
readily. And if this be true of the Merchant Service, as I hold it is,
plain unvarnished truth, it is doubly true of the same work, or what
answers to the same description of work, in the Royal Navy. For there
the manifold complications of ship-propelling machinery are immensely
more intricate, the conditions under which the men labour are far more
arduous, and, in addition, there is always the fighting risk superadded.

But I must not stray into the fighting line of engineering--I have
said, perhaps, more than enough on that subject recently. Nevertheless,
I honestly believe that I have only been able to put in the tamest
and most colourless way what I feel about these men. When I say that
such a chapter as this should be written by an engineer, I mean that
only an expert in the wonderful profession can fully appreciate the
difficulties and dangers thereof. Outsiders may, as I do, admire and
wonder, but we cannot fully enter into these things as an engineer can.
The country badly needs a writer on engineering matters who knows his
business thoroughly, and at the same time is able to tell the people
who don't know, what marine engineering means. No amount of sympathy
and admiration can make up for lack of expert knowledge, yet, as far
as it is possible, I feel constrained to draw the attention of my
countrymen to the work of the men who, far below the water-line, amid
the clanging chorus of their gigantic slaves, bend watchful brows to
their mighty task; who for the four hours of their watch on deck (see
how the sailor crops up), no, their watch below at work, know not
one moment's respite. Vigilance unremitting is theirs; the price of
effective manipulation must be paid, for no eastern Afrit was ever more
jealous of the power over him held by the enunciator of the master-word
than is the high-pressure marine engine of the governance of the
engineer.

The casual observer, glancing down into the engine-room of a sea-going
steamer, is apt to imagine that the men who wait upon the engines have
an easy time of it. He is inclined to think that once the engines are
started--"full speed ahead" sounded--watch after watch need only sit
and look at them doing their work. Nothing could well be more false,
while nothing is more natural. For engineers, like the best workmen
everywhere and of every sort, make no fuss about their work. Quietly,
without ostentation, they tend their engines, their trained ears noting
the faintest change of tone in the uproar which sounds so chaotic
to the ear of the outsider. Every single part of those engines, the
amount of strain that it is bearing, the need for nursing, lubricating,
watching that it has, is in the mind of that quiet, nonchalant man
who steps cat-like into the thick of the flying steel cranks, and
accommodating his movements to the swing of the thrusting shafts, feels
their temperature, the amount of lubricant they are carrying, and
regains his perforated platform with an air of indifference as if he
had merely looked over the side on deck, instead of having been on the
most intimate terms with an unspeakable form of death.

Perhaps the most noticeable feature about the marine engineer in the
Merchant Service is the high respect in which he is held by every
one. The merchant seaman instinctively recognizes in him a man whose
attainments are not merely theoretical, but eminently practical.
Every merchant seaman realizes that with the engineer has arrived a
new stamp of seafarer, whose stern stress of duty cuts him off from
those enjoyments common to all seamen. For him there is no meditative
contemplation of the glories of the tropical night, when in the midst
of the mighty solitudes of the untainted ocean man draws near to the
great heart of Nature, feels himself akin to the stars and the wind and
the waves; no heart-uplifting view of the apocalyptic splendours of the
dawn, when the grey shadow of night melts away before the palpitating
glow of the approaching sun; no speechless delight in the indescribable
panorama sweeping past when the swift ship skirts closely the wonders
of many shores.

At such times the engineer and his crew, deep in the bowels of the
ship, are shut in from all sights and sounds and perfumes save those
of the engine-room and stokehold, which are akin to those of Tartarus.
And when through the swart night the vessel plunges madly athwart
the raging seas, remorselessly driven against the combined forces of
wind and wave and current, the engineer works on, all depending upon
him. Then do his anxieties enormously increase, as at one moment the
whirling blades of the propeller are buried deep beneath the surface
and their thrust vibrates through every fibre and rivet of the ship,
and the next by a downward plunge of the vessel's head they are lifted
into the air, spinning madly with a frightful acceleration of speed on
their release from the element in which they have been toiling. Then,
see the engineer erect upon his iron platform, facing his Titanic
charges, throttle-valve in hand, and steady eye fixed upon index
glasses; every sense on the alert, muscles tense to shut off the supply
of force sooner than the "governor" can act, so that the engines shall
not be torn from their foundations by the fearful strain imposed upon
them by the sudden taking away of their work while the driving steam is
still bursting in through the main feed and slide-valves.

No other engineering in the world can for one moment compare in vital
importance with this. The conditions are so onerous, the complications
are so many, the need for watchfulness is so great, that a new race
of men has been bred to compete with them. The engineer ashore may,
and does, have all his repairs done by other people; the engineer at
sea must, in the very nature of things, be not only the prince of
engine-drivers, whose care of his charge, under the most severe tests,
not applied occasionally but continuously, is beyond all praise,
but he must be ready at any moment by day or night to undertake the
most radical repairs. With improvised adjuncts he must undertake on
the instant to do such things with masses of steel that if they were
described would sound impossible except to the large room and full
equipment of a first-class factory ashore. Not only so, but the work
must be done under conditions of heat, imperfect lighting, and cramped
space that render the duty enormously more difficult.

Yes, it _must_ be done, because if not----? Well, they have taken away
the steamship's masts, so that the sailor, even with the best ability
and good-will in the world, can hardly get steerage way on the vessel
by means of sails, and then there is a great ship, perhaps with an
immense perishable cargo and a large number of passengers, lying like
a log upon the ocean, at the mercy of currents that are most likely
to be drifting her away out of the track of ships, away into the ocean
solitudes that are to-day, owing to the method of following beaten
tracks which is so universally pursued, more solitary than they have
been for centuries.

The performance of duties like these calls for the highest qualities
of mind and muscle ever possessed by men. The forces dealt with are
so terrific, the dangers so great, that a weak man could not so much
as face them, much less perform the wonderful pieces of work that are
necessary in opposition to them. Occasionally a curt paragraph appears
in the shipping papers, conveying to underwriters and owners the
information that the steamship _So-and-so_, long overdue, has arrived,
her broken-down machinery having been repaired by the engineer. Beneath
that brief intimation lies a volume of tragic story--the dauntless
conflict of man with fire, steam, and steel, and his final triumph over
them. But these stories are never told as they ought to be. Some day,
perhaps, an engineer-writer will step forth and unfold to an admiring
world the Iliad of the engine-room. May I live to read it.

For the evolution of a marine engineer, it is first of all necessary
that he serve his apprenticeship in a "shop" where marine engines are
made. This is essential, and a moment's consideration will convince any
one that it must be so. Then, having mastered all the details of engine
construction, if the aspirant has a desire for the sea, he will, in
some way, of which I do not pretend to understand the details, obtain
a subordinate position in an engine-room of some sea-going steamship.
Here will he become conversant with the duties expected of him as an
engineer-in-charge, and will, moreover, devote all his spare time to
scientific study, in order that he may be fit to pass his examination
in theoretical engineering. And if he shows himself worthy of the
position, there will be little doubt that, having passed the required
examination before the Board of Trade officials appointed for that
purpose, and received his second engineer's certificate, he will find
little difficulty in getting a berth as junior engineer. His foot once
upon the ladder, the ascent is easy. There is only one more examination
to pass compulsorily, that of chief engineer, although there is, as in
the seafaring branch, a voluntary examination which all self-respecting
engineers will take, "Chief Engineer Extra." Now he may rise to be
chief engineer of the _Oceanic_ or the _Lucania_, with twenty or thirty
engineers under him, and a whole host of firemen and trimmers.

It would ill become a mere sailor like myself to say anything about
the polity of the engine-room, even if I had ever been in a position
to study it. No doubt there are occasional hitches, instances of petty
tyranny, of jealousies, of hindrances to getting on, since, with all
their virtues, engineers are but human. But I do not know. I know
that, except in the way of official routine, such as the control of
the engines from the bridge, the officer of the watch has nothing to
do with the engineer at all. The chief engineer is responsible to the
master, and to him alone. Only the master can punish, and all cases of
insubordination, etc., among the "black gang" must be reported to him.
The master is in supreme command, and knows quite well what is due to
the engineer. More, he seldom fails to grant him his full due. But I
should be sorry to sail in any steamships where the officers took upon
themselves to meddle with engineering matters. There would be much
unpleasantness, from which the officers would suffer most. In brief,
the engineer's importance is recognized.

They live, too, in a little world of their own. They have their
mess-room, with a steward to wait upon them, and the best food the ship
can supply. Their accommodation, too, is good, and their pay--well, it
varies much with the class of ship, but, taken all round, it is much
better than the officers'. _And they are British to a man._ I would
not give much for the peace of a foreign engineer who by any chance
found himself in a British ship's engine-room. The engineers in this
respect enjoy peculiar advantages. Some people begrudge them their
unique position in the seafaring world, and profess to see danger ahead
because of it. I do not. I confess that my feeling with regard to the
engineer is that, remembering the awful stress of his duties, the way
in which he is not only cut off from home delights, like the sailor,
but is also debarred from participation in the real joys of the sea, he
deserves every advantage in pay, position, and prospects that he can
obtain.

The unique position he holds among seafarers of which I speak is,
that he is in close touch with powerful Trade Unions ashore. Since
every engineer must learn his business ashore before going to sea, he
becomes a member of the hierarchy of mechanical workers. Let him go
to sea for never so many years, he must remember the workshop where
he received his training; he has numbers of associates and relatives
who are still working ashore, and who, in safeguarding their own
interests in parliamentary ways, are all unlikely to forget him. They
are his proxies, can speak for him, can use their votes on his behalf.
Presently we shall find this great organization having something to
say about the prototype of the Mercantile Marine engineer in the Navy,
the engine-room artificer. The Admiralty, in their wisdom, have chosen
to train up the naval engineer officer themselves, so that he shall be
free from the influence of the workshop, shall become a class apart
from and above the mechanical engineer. But in the doing of this they
have been compelled to build up another corps to do the work. They are
known in the Navy as E.R.A.'s (Engine Room Artificers), and it may
be said, without any fear of contradiction, that they are, as far as
ability and experience go, always the equals, and often the superiors,
of the merchant engineer. Indeed, their period of service and the
knowledge required of them before they can become Chief E.R.A.'s in the
Navy is much greater than the Board of Trade require for the granting
of engineers' certificates for the Mercantile Marine.

Then comes the great anomaly--the immense gulf that divides the two
classes of men. As I have said, the merchant-ship engineer knows no
superior on board the ship except the master. He deserves the best
treatment, the best pay, and the greatest respect; and he gets them.
His work cannot be made lighter, it must always be full of danger and
toil, but all that can be done by way of mitigation of these onerous
conditions is done. On the other hand, the E.R.A. in the Navy is a
nobody. His pay is trivial compared with his congener in a merchant
ship, he gets no respect from anybody, the youngest officer in the
ship is his despot, whom to answer back means degradation and loss
of pension, and he is berthed and fed much as a fireman is on board
a merchant steamer; so that he continually smarts under a sense of
injustice, and looks with longing and envious eyes upon his chums who,
wiser than he, have gone into the Merchant Service. More than that, he
knows full well that there are no reserves of E.R.A.'s, there are not
nearly enough of them to man properly the ships that are now afloat; in
case of an outbreak of war with a European Power, huge bribes would be
offered to merchant-ship engineers to come and help in the Navy; knows,
too, that not one of them would come without being rated as an officer,
and receiving all the deference due to an officer in her Majesty's
service. And so he may find himself, after years of the most arduous
experience, ruled by a nephew who was a babe in arms when he served his
time, who has all his life been engaged in one steady occupation on the
same kind of engines, never hurried, never bullied, and probably with a
sea experience of one-third of his uncle's, the E.R.A.

Therefore, because of these reflections and this knowledge, the E.R.A.
is continually warning youngsters from the home shops not to enter the
Navy by any means. The Merchant Service is the place for them if they
want to be treated properly; the Navy is a place where they will never
be anything else but a "dirty Tiffy," looked down upon by the youngest
blue-jacket, and liable to be docked of many years' hard-earned pension
for pointing out a mistake to an officer who, instead of accepting
expert information gratefully, reports them for insolence.

I trust that these remarks about the E.R.A.'s may not be considered
malapropos, remembering the great importance of the subject;
remembering, too, that in the engineer of to-day we have not a mere
mechanic, a man with no thought beyond his day's work and the receipt
of his wages. I am afraid that the importance of the engineer,
especially at sea, is insufficiently recognized by non-engineers. Every
class of the community is benefited by the work of the engineer, and in
modern sea-traffic he is, as Kipling has finely said, the kingpin of
the ship. He cheerfully takes upon himself a burden of toil and danger
such as the ancient world never knew--takes it, too, with the full
consciousness of what he is doing; holds himself ready at any time to
sacrifice his body for the safety of those whom he is serving,--and the
least we who are thus served can do, is to recognize his value to the
full.

For my part, I look upon the modern marine engineer as the true
nineteenth-century hero. Some day I hope that a roll of honour will be
drawn up, giving a list of heroic deeds performed by engineers out of
sight, unostentatiously, just as a part of their duty. It would be
an inspiring record; and from no source would more details be drawn
than from the engine-rooms in the Navy, where, as has been abundantly
proved, the engineer is thought but little of; so little, indeed, that
all his efforts to obtain some meed of official recognition are at
present in vain. Good for us that this does not obtain in the Merchant
Service. There the engineer is estimated by his shipmates at his proper
worth.




CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE FIREMAN AND TRIMMER.


It is a standing mystery to me however men can be found who are
willing to become the firemen of marine boilers. Use dulls the edge of
apprehension, of course, and in time the mind refuses to be impressed
by the sense of imminent danger. Whether on the battle-field or in
the stokehold this is so; but apart altogether from that, the nature
of the work is such that I always wonder what the state of a man's
mind can be who is willing to undertake it, or who, having undertaken
it, remains in such a business. The engine-room of a large steamship
is a terrible place, with its infinite suggestions of incalculable
forces exerting themselves in orderly ways under the steady control
and guidance of man; but there is a sense of exultation, of high
satisfaction, in the realization of their own powers that goes a long
way towards compensating the engineers for the dangers they confront,
the discomforts they undergo; and where, as in the Mercantile Marine,
their high abilities and undaunted courage are fully recognized, their
treatment in pay and provisioning and accommodation as good as can
be got, they have also something which atones for a great deal of
physical suffering. Yes; I can understand a man choosing to become
a marine engineer. But a fireman! The very thought of such a life is
terrifying. The sailor in his watch on deck at night is seldom called
upon to do anything but stand quietly at the helm or on the look-out.
If he be a man of any observation, he may hold sweet communion with
Nature, may meditate in the sweetest solitude in the world, gazing out
upon the ever-beautiful face of the deep. In any case he may smoke, or
doze undisturbed by any call to duty, except some shift of wind calling
for trimming or setting sail. It is a pleasant mellow time for the
sailor, the night watch at sea.

The fireman is called with the sailor at eight bells. Hastily putting
on his shirt, trousers, and boots, he descends by many iron ladders
past grim walls of iron that glow with fervent heat, and give out a
vibrant hum, telling of the pent-up power within. Down, down he goes,
until at last he stands upon an iron floor slightly raised above the
very bottom of the vessel. Over his head there is a circular opening,
down which comes a steady draught of cool air--that is, if the ship be
in regions where the temperature will allow of the air being cool. At
any rate, this air is fresh. It is conducted below by the intervention
of those huge bell-mouthed ventilators, which are so prominent a
feature of every steamship's deck equipment. In front of him towers the
face of the boiler, that now claims him as its slave for four hours.
It is ornamented by divers strange-looking taps and gauges and tubes,
with the use of which he must be familiar. And it has a voice, an
utterance that, while not loud, is so penetrating that soon it seems to
a novice as if it were reverberating within his skull. It is the speech
of imprisoned steam that finds no outlet by any channel except the one
provided for it, the complaint of the awful giant who is rending at
every square inch of his prison walls in the one supreme, never-ceasing
effort to escape. It is utterly disregarded by the fireman: doubtful,
indeed, whether he even hears it, or is in any way conscious of it, for
it is more to be felt by the whole of the nerve centres than merely
through the ears. His concern is with the three vast throats that
occupy the lower third of the boiler. And there is no time to be lost.
Seizing a shovel, he lifts with it the latch of one of the doors, and
flings it wide open with a clang. The ship may be rolling furiously,
tumbling to and fro with that peculiarly disconcerting motion that
seems to a landsman the subversion of all principles of uprightness,
but he must balance himself somehow. With legs spread wide apart, he
stands upon that slippery iron floor, stoops, and peers within at the
roaring cavern of almost white-hot coals. His trained eye can see just
how they are burning; where clinkers are forming, whether perfect
combustion is going on, or certain expert manipulation is necessary in
order to make it do so. If all is satisfactory he shifts his position
slightly sideways, so that he can swing his shovel on one side to the
bunker door, at the sill of which a heap of coal is lying, fill it,
and then, with a peculiar stroke, send its contents broadcast over
the lambent surface of the furnace bed. The mere shovelling of coals
into a fire has no relation to the careful, intelligent stoking
of a steamship's furnaces, as engineers are never weary of saying.
There is as much difference between a good fireman and an incompetent
one--although the latter may work far harder than the former--as there
is between a good and bad carpenter, or any other skilled worker.

When I was lamp-trimmer in the A.S.N. Company's employ on the
Australian coast I was shipmate with an old Scotch fireman whose
invariable practice it was to get most methodically drunk every time
we left port. So drunk did he always become, that he could not stand,
much less walk. But, crawling to the fidley, sometimes on hands and
knees, he would somehow get down into the stokehold when his turn came,
and there, balancing himself in some mysterious fashion, he would feed
his fires. No sooner had he slammed to the furnace door than he would
collapse, his legs bending every which way, as if they had been made of
india-rubber. Yet the chief engineer used to declare that Andra could
keep steam better drunk than any other fireman in the ship could sober.
I have known him after a watch of firing to be still so drunk that
he could not climb on deck, but lay huddled up in one corner of the
stokehold like a heap of rags, utterly oblivious of the work going on
around him.

It must, however, be remembered that pitching coal into the furnace,
though it is the principal work of a fireman, does not by any means
complete his work. After he has been "firing" for a certain length of
time he perceives the necessity for "cleaning fires." He has been
carefully raking and poking his fires at intervals so that no clogging
of the bars shall hinder the free upward draught, and this operation,
performed with long tools called a slice, a rake, and a devil, is
very severe. The operator must stand very close to the furnace mouth
and peer within at the fervent glow, while he searches the vitals of
his fire as quickly and deftly as may be, lest the tell-tale gauge
shall reveal to the watchful engineer that the pressure of steam is
lessening, bringing him into the stokehold on the run to know what the
all-sorts-of-unprintable-words that particular fireman is doing. But
this is only the merest child'splay to cleaning fires. When that time
comes the other furnace or furnaces (each fireman has two or three
under his charge) must be at the top of their blast, doing their very
utmost. Then the fireman flings wide the door of the furnace to be
cleaned, plunges his tools into the heart of the fire, and thrusts,
rakes, and slices, until he presently, half roasted, drags out on to
the stokehold floor a mass of clinker. This sends out such a fierce
upward heat that it must needs be damped down, the process being
accompanied by clouds of suffocating steam-smoke. But there is no time
to be lost. Again and again he dives into the heart of the furnace,
each time purging it of some of the deadening clinker, until, at
last, with smarting eyeballs, half choked, half roasted, and wholly
exhausted for the time, he flings a shovelful or so of coal upon the
now comparatively feeble fire, and retires to call up his reserve of
strength.

And this work, of course, must go on continuously, no matter how
the vessel is behaving, even if, as often happens, there descends
occasionally from on high a flood of sea-water as waves break right
over the labouring ship. The fireman must, to be efficient, nurse
his fires, keep them clean, and hand them over to his successor in
first-class going order, with the steam up to its ordered pressure; and
failure to do this is provocative of bad language and much ill-feeling.
Surely it hardly needs pressing upon the reader that such an occupation
involves a truly awful strain upon the human animal, especially in
tropical climates. The amount of strain has been officially recognized
in the arrangement of firemen's watches. Instead of getting four hours
on and four hours off, as do the sailors, they have four hours on
and eight hours off, so that the exhausted frame may be able in some
measure to recuperate. And in addition, wherever it is possible to do
so, they get somewhat better food. I do not know certainly whether the
institution is general, but I have been in several steamers where, at
supper time, the firemen received a mess from the galley called the
"black pot." It consisted of the remains of the saloon passengers'
fare, sometimes made into a savoury stew, sometimes simply of itself,
according to its component parts. But it was looked upon as the
firemen's right, and no sailor ever participated in its contents.

It has probably occurred to the reader before this to ask the question,
"How, if the fireman is so hard-worked in the stokehold and the space
there be so limited, does he manage to get at the truly enormous
quantity of coal that must be required to feed those devouring
furnaces?" The explanation of this brings us to the lowest deep of all
on board-ship life to-day. The providing of the coal for the use of
the firemen is the duty of the "trimmer," the nature of whose work is
so terrible that he should receive the sympathy of every kindly man
and woman whom he serves. The coal is kept in vast magazines called
bunkers, giving on to the stokeholds by means of watertight doors. In
merchant ships these bunkers are placed so as to be most convenient
for the transmission of coal to the stokeholds, and are as little
subdivided as possible. What their capacity is may be imagined from the
fact that some ships require three thousand tons of coal for a single
passage, it being consumed at the rate of between twenty and thirty
tons per hour! At the commencement of the passage the trimmer's work
is comparatively easy. The coal lies near the outlet, and by a little
skilful manipulation it is made to run out upon the stokehold floor
handy for the fireman's shovelling. But as the consumption goes on, and
the "face" of the coal recedes from the bulkhead, the trimmer's work
grows rapidly more heavy. His labour knows no respite as he struggles
to keep the fireman's needs supplied. And there is no ventilator
pouring down fresh air into the bunker. In darkness, only punctuated
by the dim light of a safety-lamp, in an atmosphere composed of the
exhalations from the coal and a modicum of dust-laden air, liable at
any moment to be overwhelmed by the down-rushing masses of coal as the
ship's motion displaces it, the grimy, sweat-soaked man works on. By
comparison with him the coal-hewer in the mine has a gentleman's life.
Darkness and danger and want of breath are his inevitable environment.
What wonder is it that he becomes a hard citizen? The fact is that
no man with longings for decent life would or could remain in such
employment. Only those who by carelessness and disregard of all that
for the majority of us makes life worth living stay in it, and enable
the ocean traffic of to-day to go on.

It is absolutely impossible to exaggerate the miseries of such a mode
of life, made necessary by the imperious demand for swift travel. Yet,
severe as is the lot of the coal-trimmer in an ocean liner, it again
is comparatively easy when compared with the lot of the second-class
stoker in her Majesty's Navy. For him another set of conditions comes
into play. The necessity for using the coal as a means of protection
from shot and shell leads to the bunkers being subdivided into a
host of "pockets" holding but a few tons and communicating with each
other deviously. The work of getting the coal passed from one to the
other of these is far worse than anything of the kind in the Merchant
Service, as much worse as is the firing under forced draught for a
Belleville boiler than the steady supply of fuel to a well-equipped,
natural-draught stokehold of any of our great merchant steamships,
where Belleville boilers, thank God, will never be used. And, coming
deeper still, there is the firing and trimming of a "destroyer." That
occupation defies any attempt to describe it. No words could give an
adequately forceful idea of what the firemen, trimmers, and E.R.A.'s
must endure in order that a vessel no larger than an above-bridge
steamer shall be driven by engines of five thousand horse-power at the
rate of thirty miles per hour. We do not seem to have reached finality
yet in this direction; but I should think that since human endurance
has its limits, there must of necessity be a halt soon from the utter
impossibility of finding human beings able to live and work under such
awful conditions. When you find the long quivering hull of a destroyer,
only a plate of steel not much thicker than a crown piece keeping out
the sea, packed full of boilers, whizzing machinery, and coal, the tiny
air space left containing something, of which one inhalation would
make you or me, reader, feel as if we had been suddenly strangled, and
the heat greater than one would find in the hottest room of a Turkish
bath, it seems time to consider whether there can be any justification
in compelling our fellow creatures, whom the need for bread has driven
to accept such employment, to endure imprisonment like that, let alone
_work_ in it.

It is somewhat comforting to know that the exigencies of peaceful
travel, severe as they are undoubtedly, do not require such suffering
as that from their servants. Of course there are times, such as upon
the outbreak of fire or the sudden springing of a leak, when the
toilers below are literally between the devil and the deep sea. Also
in the case of a boiler explosion or a sudden breakdown of machinery
in full career, when the danger and attendant suffering are very
great. But then, we all have to face dangers at times in burning
houses, railway accidents, and so on, which come so seldom that we do
not lose any sleep in anticipating them. Therefore we do not reckon
the possibilities of calamity among the drawbacks to a fireman's or
trimmer's business. It is the steady stress of such conditions of
labour which is to be deplored.

Before the black watch below can be relieved there is always a duty
to be performed that makes no unfitting climax to the preceding tale
of toil. It is "ashes up." Some steamers have been fitted with a
contrivance for obviating this piece of hard work--the fitting of a
sort of valve in the ship's side or bottom through which the ashes
and _débris_ of the fire can be blown into the sea. These, however,
are few. The usual way is for the ashes to be filled into long iron
buckets, just as much as a strong man can lift when full, down in the
stokehold. Some of the trimmers go on deck (how sweet the sea air
is after their long sojourn below!), and sliding open a door in the
tube of one of the ventilators, discover there a winch. The chain of
this winch runs down into the stokehold, where it is hooked on to
the ash-bucket. The trimmers on deck heave away with all their might
(for when their task is ended they may go below), and when the bucket
reaches them, they snatch it and carry it to the ash-shoot, where they
dump its contents overboard. In some very well-found ships there is a
small steam-winch for doing this work, but usually it is performed as
described, and a heavy piece of business it is, involving the raising
of several tons of ashes from the bottom of the ship.

Here I must leave the fireman and trimmer. I hope that engineers
and their crews will forgive me, being a sailor, for having had the
hardihood to say anything about them at all. They know very well the
prejudice that even now exists against them in the minds of most
sailors, and they will probably look closely into what I have written
for some sign of sneering depreciation. But they will not find it. My
sympathies are most fully with them. My admiration for them is great.
And I think that as regards the firemen and trimmers, that their work
in tropical seas is so utterly unfit for white men to do that, in spite
of the hardship attendant upon loss of employment at first, it would be
a good thing if stokeholds were entirely manned by negroes, who, from
their constitutional experience of heat, must be far better fitted to
endure the conditions of the stokehold. Many southern-going ships carry
them now. I should not be sorry to see them the rule, and my countrymen
doing something better.




CHAPTER XXXV.

CONCLUSION.


And now, approaching the conclusion of the whole matter, the end of
what I feel to have been an important task, while the way in which it
has been performed is an open question, I ask myself, "What is likely
to be the effect of this book upon the minds of those for whom it
has been written? Will they think that the British Mercantile Marine
is a profession which they should exert all their influence to keep
their young friends and relatives out of, or will they feel, as I do,
that, in spite of all its obvious drawbacks, it should be by no means
neglected as an opening for enterprising adventurous youngsters, the
right stuff of which British sailors are made?"

I have been compelled, in truth, to say many hard things of the
Merchant Service, but there is such a thing as speaking the truth in
love. And as I love the Merchant Service with all my heart, and desire
most earnestly to see it flourish and prosper more and more, I am the
more anxious that nothing I have said will be taken as spoken in a
carping or pessimistic spirit. I want to see the Mercantile Marine
purged of the foreigner, not because I hate the foreigner of any
nation, but because this peculiarly and particularly maritime nation
of ours cannot afford, in the face of the undoubted hatred manifested
towards it by practically every continental people, to allow the
life of its citizens to be dependent upon the good-will of aliens.
In spite of what not only continental writers, but many of our own
scribes, may and do say about our unctuous hypocrisy, there can be no
doubt that the chief characteristic of the British nation to-day is
its careless magnanimity. Warned by innumerable writers of the risks
we wilfully expose ourselves to, we go on with a good-natured shrug
of the shoulders in the same reckless fashion. We welcome, as if we
were in a new colony with millions of acres undeveloped, with all our
resources at their spring-tide, a continuous flood of aliens to our
shores and in our ships. We not only give them all the advantages we
ourselves possess, but actually strain a point, wherever possible, in
their favour. Finding no reciprocity anywhere, no feeling of kindliness
for all our generous treatment of aliens, we are unmoved, nor is our
policy, or want of policy, altered. And this grand air of indifference,
which is not assumed, but real, is to the last degree galling to our
continental neighbours. Their attitude becomes daily more difficult
to understand. Rejoicing to see how we are, as they firmly believe,
exposing all our most vital, most vulnerable points to their attack,
both in matters of war and peace, they are yet almost frantic with rage
at what they are pleased to call our abominable insular insolence, our
refusal to be frightened of them. I do not pretend to justify our
insouciant attitude, I only note its universal presence.

In the matter of our Mercantile Marine, I feel sure that we are heaping
up for ourselves a most awful mountain of disaster in the way in which
we are allowing it to become really a foreign service. One thing we
could do, and should do at once--apply the same rule to the Merchant
Service that is in force in the Royal Navy. There no alien, unless he
has become naturalized, can hold any post whatever. It sounds a small
reform; but it would have, I am sure, the most far-reaching effects.
At present it is quite possible--indeed, it will be found actually
the case in some instances--for a British ship to be wholly manned
by foreigners, from the master to the boy--sailing ships, that is.
Foreigners in steam are mostly confined to the crew; and, as I have
said before, I know of no instance where foreign engineers are employed
in our ships at all. Because, in the first place, they, our home-bred
engineers, are the best in the world; and, secondly, because they have
behind them the support of a great Trade Union, that--although I do
not suppose many sea-going engineers are active members of it--would
speedily make its voice heard and its influence felt, if any attempt
was made to bring in foreign engineers.

For reasons which I hope I have made abundantly clear in the preceding
pages, such support cannot be found for the seaman--that is, for the
foremast hand. But the officers might do much more than they are
doing. There are several societies for the mutual help and defence
of Mercantile Marine officers, some doing excellent work, others
doing scarcely anything at all. I will not particularize, for that
would do no good. I will merely say that if all these societies
would amalgamate, would all pull together and enlist the sympathy
and active support of shipmasters and officers, retired as well,
they would be a body extremely powerful in their influence on behalf
of the best interests of their profession. Such a body, composed of
serious-thinking, well-informed, and trustworthy men in full touch
with the subject, could do more in one year for the upraising and
nationalizing of the Merchant Service than will ever be done by
isolated efforts, however earnest. For their own sakes they would not
neglect the foremast hand; in the best interests of the service they
could not. Even by the present local efforts of some of these societies
much good has been done, enough to show what might be done were they
all united.

As to the ships themselves, perhaps enough has been said already to
indicate the transition stage through which we are passing. For while
it is undoubtedly true that the sailing ship is doomed to extinction in
the near future, at the present day there is still an enormous amount
of sailing tonnage afloat. Thousands of good seaworthy sailing ships
still come and go between distant shores, doing good work, not only
in earning profits for their owners, but in rearing sailors for the
British Mercantile Marine. But we are not building any more to replace
them. We have come to the conclusion that the future of sea-traffic is
to the steamer. Doubtless many ship-owners, in the present abnormally
inflated state of the coal market, are sighing over the fact that they
are so dependent upon the black dirty stuff for the due working of
their ships, and vainly wishing for the days to return when the clean
free winds furnished all the motive power needed. But we cannot go back
again to sail. Even the Norwegian timber droghers are taking to steam,
and that is a portent indeed. It is the beginning of the end. The end
will come, for all sailing ships still making long voyages, with the
opening of the Panama Canal. Then, at one fell swoop, the 'Frisco trade
in grain, the South American trade in nitrate, will pass into the hands
or holds of the steamships. Huge cargo carriers, able to stow eight or
ten thousand tons away with ease, will go lumbering steadily down the
gulf and through the canal. They will range the western sea-board of
the Americas, sweeping into their capacious maws every ounce of cargo,
and stimulating production in an amazing way.

Presently also will come the petroleum-propelled ship, the
electrically-engined ship, as the carriage of coal becomes more and
more of a burden, while its price steadily rises. Meanwhile, the
inventive genius of America will surely find some way of re-creating
for herself a splendid Mercantile Marine. I cannot think that she
will always be content to see all her vast carrying trade over-sea
practically in the hands of Britain and foreigners. At present it seems
to be evident to all, except the average Americans, that such efforts
as have recently been made with that object in view are foredoomed
to failure. Only one thing is required for the rehabilitation of the
American Mercantile Marine, and that is, that owing to the rapid
filling up of all uninhabited land on the American continent, the
teeming millions along her sea-board shall turn their earnest attention
to the possibilities of money-getting that there are in ship-owning and
sailing. Then they will insist upon some reasonable laws being passed
that shall help, not hinder, the expansion of American sea-traffic, and
the thing will be as good as done.

That, however, will require some considerable time yet. Meanwhile, the
sailing ships, wooden ships too, will probably linger longest in our
North American colonies. But they too must disappear. Already they are
feeling the pinch very sorely, with economically run tramp-steamers
cutting them out everywhere. This is obvious now when the thrifty
Norwegians are running tramp-steamers in lieu of the ramshackle
old craft with which they have so long monopolized the lumber and
ice trade. To a seaman the spectacle of steamers in the home ports
discharging ice comes as something of a shock, for he remembers what
class of vessels have always been used for this, perhaps the roughest
of all the carrying trades known.

But the great work to be done is the dissemination of popular
information with regard to maritime matters. To burn into the minds
of our people at home what the merchant ship means to them; to make
the villager understand that the cheap and abundant food, which may be
purchased even in remotest inland hamlets, has been brought thus to
his door from the other side of the world by the unceasing strenuous
labours of seamen and the sleepless enterprise of ship-owners. I
look earnestly for the day when every newspaper in the kingdom will
be considered incomplete without its column of readable shipping
matter--true tales of latter-day daring, of courage as high as any
manifested in the attempt to destroy life in battle; when the British
seaman shall no longer feel that he is as completely isolated from the
thoughts and sympathies of his countrymen as if he were an inhabitant
of another planet; when the British man-o'-war's man, whether he be
blue-jacket or stoker, shall know of a truth that his friends at home
realize what he is doing during his long absence from home: how he, for
their sakes, in order that the steady stream of food-bearing ships from
prolific lands far away shall never cease by day or by night through
the years, keeps sleepless watch all round the world.

Let no one think that this is a small matter. The acquisition of
knowledge like this is not only of the highest importance in itself,
but it will bring with it a vast amount of cognate information that
now is much neglected. Geography will become what it should be, a
popular science, because the immense value of it will be recognized.
Economical science will also assume an interest which it has long
lacked for all but the minutest percentage of fairly well-educated
people. Politically, such an education of the people will be of the
highest value, preventing them from being led away by clap-trap and
jargon, and enabling them to understand why our country has risen to
its present enviable height of prosperity, and how essential it is to
the well-being of every man, woman, and child in the community that
the peaceful flow of over-sea traffic shall never be interrupted.

Beyond and above all this there is the liquidation of the debt due to
the sailor; the recognition of the fact in practical ways that without
him we should not merely be without at least half of what he has taught
us to look upon as the necessities of life, necessities which less than
a century ago were looked upon as the highest luxuries, but that we
should be a feeble population of slaves groaning under the iron rule of
some military continental despot, who would rob us of our very blood
and marrow, and give us in return leave to live that we might toil for
him and his satraps until, early worn out, we were flung aside to die
and obtain that liberty in death that we were denied in life. We want
to atone as far as we may for our long neglect, through ignorance,
and by our united intelligent efforts to show that at last we have
awakened to the fact that in our Mercantile Marine we possess the most
magnificent heritage ever built up for a free people by the courage and
endurance of its sons.


THE END.


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Including Views of places described in the Works, reproduced from
Photographs specially taken for the purpose by Mr. W.R. BLAND, of
Duffield, Derby, in conjunction with Mr. C. BARROW KEENE, of Derby.

Introductions to the Works are supplied by Mrs. HUMPHRY WARD,

AND

An Introduction and Notes to Mrs. Gaskell's 'Life of Charlotte Brontë'
by Mr. CLEMENT K. SHORTER, the eminent Brontë authority.


CONTENTS OF THE VOLUMES:

  1. JANE EYRE. By CHARLOTTE BRONTË. With a Photogravure Portrait of
  Charlotte Brontë, from a Drawing by G. RICHMOND, a Photogravure of
  Rochester and Jane Eyre, from a Water-colour Drawing by FREDERICK
  WALKER, A.R.A.; a Facsimile of the Title-page of the first edition,
  and 8 Full-page Illustrations.

  2. SHIRLEY. By CHARLOTTE BRONTË. With a Facsimile of the Title-page
  of the first edition, and 10 Full-page Illustrations.

  3. VILLETTE. By CHARLOTTE BRONTË. With a Photogravure Portrait of M.
  Heger, Facsimiles of the Title-page of the original edition and of a
  page of the original MS., and 8 Full-page Illustrations.

  4. THE PROFESSOR, by CHARLOTTE BRONTË, and POEMS, by CHARLOTTE,
  EMILY, and ANNE BRONTË, and the Rev. PATRICK BRONTË, &c. With
  Facsimiles of the Title-pages of the first editions, and 8 Full-page
  Illustrations.

  5. WUTHERING HEIGHTS. By EMILY BRONTË. AGNES GREY. By ANNE BRONTË.
  With a Preface and Biographical Notice of both Authors by CHARLOTTE
  BRONTË. With a Portrait of Emily Brontë, Facsimiles of the
  Title-pages of the first edition, and 8 full-page Illustrations.

  6. THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. By ANNE BRONTË. With a Portrait of
  Anne Brontë, a Facsimile of the Title-page of the first edition, and
  6 Full-page Illustrations.

  7. THE LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTË. By Mrs. GASKELL. With an
  Introduction and Notes by CLEMENT K. SHORTER. With Photogravure
  Portraits of Mrs. Gaskell and of the Rev. A.B. Nicholls, a Portrait
  of the Rev. Patrick Brontë, 11 New Illustrations, Facsimiles of a
  letter by Charlotte Brontë, and of a page from Charlotte Brontë's MS.
  of 'The Secret,' &c., &c.

  The LIFE AND WORKS OF THE SISTERS BRONTË are also to be had in 7
  vols. large crown 8vo. handsomely bound in cloth, price 5s. each; in
  small post 8vo. limp green cloth, or, cloth boards, gilt top, price
  2s. 6d. each: and in small fcp. 8vo. bound in cloth, with gilt top,
  with Frontispiece to each volume, price 1s. 6d. each; or the Set, in
  gold-lettered cloth case, 12s. 6d.


London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15, Waterloo Place, S.W.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64896 ***