Ocean Tramps
Go to one of the shipping offices when a sailing ship is “signing on,” and watch the skipper’s contemptuous look as he scrutinises a steamboat man’s discharge just handed to him. “I want sailors, not navvies,” he shouts, as he scornfully flings it back. Therefore a “sailor man,” gives them a wide berth if he can. And then the conditions of life on board these tanks effectually bar decent Britons out of them. The few that are found in them generally belong to that unhappy class of men who get drunk at every opportunity, and must go when their money is done in whatever presents itself. They would sail in a sieve with the devil for a skipper. The rule is, however, for these vessels to be manned by a motley crowd of what Jack calls “dagoes,”—Latins of all kinds, the scum of the Levant, with a sprinkling of Scandinavians, but not many. It speaks volumes for the skill and pluck of the officers unfortunate enough to be responsible for such ships, that so few casualties occur in comparison with their number; for it is no uncommon thing for a tramp of a thousand tons or so to be wallowing along through a pitch-black night, the whole watch on deck consisting of the officer in charge and three men, no one of whom is able to understand the other. One is at the wheel, one is on the look-out, and the other “stands by to never mind.” The kennel below is filthy,—a parti-coloured halo round the reeking grease-pot that serves for a lamp eloquently testifying to the condition of the atmosphere. The food is in keeping with the rest, where provided by the ship; but in a large number of cases these are “weekly boats,”; that is, the men are paid by the week and “find” themselves,—an arrangement that lends itself to some extraordinary developments of mixed messes and semi-starvation among such a strange medley of races. I knew a weekly boat once that signed in London for a Mediterranean voyage, but was chartered in Smyrna to take pilgrims to Jeddah. The fellows cut their purchases very fine, as it was for the trip, but owing to their stores being stolen by the starving pilgrims, they were in such a plight when they left Suez that it was a miracle they did not share the fate of fifty-five of their passengers, who resigned their pilgrimage on the passage, and found rest among the sharks. Other things happened, too, more true than tellable, which would almost serve as an appendix to the Inferno. These vessels are mostly owned by single-ship companies, a dozen or so of which will be managed by some enterprising broker, who makes a fortune, although the shareholders rarely see dividends. Under such conditions of ownership there is no room for wonder that these tramps are what they are.