In January of that year a writer, over the signature of “E. E. Bowen,” deprecates the early age at which boys are subjected to competitive examination (then recently introduced for the second time); and in April, “Flag Officer” writes in reply to a suggestion from some quarter that cadets should not be entered until the age of 16, and then go straight to sea. After pointing out that they could not then have sufficient time to qualify for lieutenant at 19, he goes [!-- original location of full page illustration --] [!-- blank page --] on to say that complaints are made of the inappropriateness of the subjects taught in the Britannia. These, he says, should include rigging, from the lower masts upward, stowage of holds and magazines, laying out anchors, steam, a little gunnery, and, as a matter of course, navigation, geography, and drawing. This officer is evidently a “Collegian” of the old days, under Inman, for he refers to what they learnt in 1824 and 1825. In conclusion, he says, “No, sir, let us keep the education in our own hands; we know better than any schoolmaster what we want.”
An article in the Times of August 12th, 1882, condemns the whole system pretty severely; says that the subjects taught in the Britannia are not properly learnt, and that navigation is taught entirely by “rule of thumb” without knowledge of the principles which govern it. The writer quotes Professor Laughton in support of his views, as having said, in a lecture at the Royal United Service Institution, that any lad of 16 with an adequate knowledge of mathematics would learn more navigation in a month than the “poor little fellows” in the Britannia learn in two years.
Well, there are some men who are regarded as authorities in these matters, quite in favour of “rule-of-thumb” navigation, and gunnery also; and if a boy—or a man, either, for that matter—can take and work his sights accurately, and make a straight shot from a gun, it really is not of much consequence whether or not he is well versed in spherical trigonometry or ballistics. It is a fact, however, that cadets in the Britannia, in the times of Captain Harris and Mr. Inskip, did learn, in considerably less than two years, to work a day’s work, and the ordinary sights usually required in navigation, with facility; and also got a pretty accurate idea of the theory. They could, for instance, draw a diagram illustrative of the working of a chronometer, a meridian altitude, or an amplitude, show what sort of spherical triangle was involved, and state the rule for its solution. If this could not be done in the Britannia in 1882, there would appear to have been a sad decadence.
Some light is cast upon the introduction of competition in 1881 by a naval instructor who was there at the time. He says that an idea prevailed at the Admiralty that the test examination did not supply boys who were capable of successfully negotiating the exceptionally difficult papers set for boys in the third and fourth terms. There were two examiners who were noted for their hard and crochety papers, and who, moreover, were known to have stated their intention of cutting down the first classes; in which laudable endeavour they succeeded to the extent of reducing the proportion of “firsts” from 30 to 10 per cent., and were known on board the ship by the nicknames of “Fire” and “Sword.”
This reduction of first classes aroused alarm at the Admiralty, and was, it is said, largely instrumental in procuring the change from test examinations to competition.
In the Times of August 24th, 1887, there is a letter over the signature “Veritas,” in which the writer compares the cost per head per annum in the Britannia with that of the Naval Engineer Training Schools at Portsmouth and Devonport. An engineer student, according to this gentleman, cost the Government about £54 per annum, while a cadet cost £95; and, moreover, the engineer students, he contends, were able to do useful work in the fitting shops, etc., and so saved the Government something in this way. The expense of the Britannia is, he says, incurred in teaching the cadets “knots and splices,” and the “now almost obsolete art of seamanship.” It is to be feared that the nom de plume which this writer assumes is scarcely justified by such an assertion, as the following details of the curriculum on board the Britannia at this time demonstrate pretty clearly:—
Subjects Taught.
Arithmetic.
Euclid.
Navigation and nautical astronomy.
Spherical trigonometry (theoretical).
Spherical trigonometry (practical).
Charts.
Steam.
Drawing (model and freehand).
Algebra.
Plane trigonometry (theoretical).
Plane trigonometry (practical).
English.
Use of instruments.
Natural philosophy.
French.
Drawing (mechanical).
Seamanship.
Too many subjects, perhaps; but certainly not seamanship to the exclusion of all else, as is clearly implied by “Veritas.” Moreover, the art of seamanship—i.e. of handling a ship on all occasions to the best advantage—can never become obsolete so long as there are ships afloat; it may change its nature, and the consequent requirements of a good seaman, who is still, however, par excellence, the man who can efficiently manage the ship or boat committed to his charge.
There are some who should know better than “Veritas”—as, for instance, Captain (now Admiral) Fitzgerald—who at this very time complained that seamanship was too much sacrificed in the Britannia to a multiplicity of other subjects.
However, it is time to drop this more or less academic discussion, and see how the general story goes on in the ’eighties.