Idylls of the Sea, and Other Marine Sketches

by Frank Thomas Bullen

At intervals, ever since the issue of the last report of the Registrar-General of Shipping and Seamen, there have been appearing in the press items of comment upon the significant tables set forth in that most interesting document. But one feature has been painfully evident in all of them—the inability to appreciate, from a merchant seaman’s point of view, the underlying lessons that report contained.

This, though much to be regretted, can scarcely be wondered at when we remember the limitations, the inarticulateness, of the class referred to. Here it may be as well to state that in what follows the terms “ship,” “officer,” and “seaman,” are to be understood as referring solely to the Mercantile Marine, unless otherwise stated—a necessary warning, since eight out of every ten landsmen always confound the two services, mercantile and naval.

First in importance, as well as in interest, to seamen is the question of personnel. It is much to the credit of the Navy League that it is wide awake to the dangers besetting this country through the increasing numbers of foreign seamen manning our ships. But it does not appear as if even the Navy League fully realises to what extent our cargo-carriers have been handed over to the foreigner. A very extended acquaintance with the various trades is absolutely necessary in order to understand the reason why the percentages shown in the Board of Trade return do not reveal the true state of affairs. As they stand, the percentage of foreign able-seamen to British (excluding Lascars) in foreign-going sailing ships is shown to be as high as 48.6. Taking steam and sailing ships together, the percentage falls to 35.5, for reasons which will presently appear. Now, one would naturally expect (what proves indeed to be the case) that our coasters and fishermen would be almost entirely British. And we may go a step further, and declare that these hardy fellows are the fine flower of our seamen, as stalwart and capable as ever British seamen were. With them may be classed the fishermen, hovellers, and beachmen generally of our coasts, who, though not classed as seamen, may fearlessly challenge comparison with any seafarers in the wide world. Among all these the foreigner finds little or no room wherein to thrust himself, nor is there apparently much danger that he ever will. Next to these in order of immunity from foreign interference come the great steamship lines, other than those trading to the Far East, whose crews are almost exclusively composed of Lascars and Chinese, with British officers. To the former belong such great undertakings as the “Cunard,” the “Union,” the “Castle,” and the “Pacific” Companies. In these splendid vessels the Britisher tenaciously holds his own, in whatever part of the ship you seek him. The food is good, pay is fair, accommodation is comfortable, and a high state of discipline is maintained. Consequently, these ships are eagerly sought after by the better class of seamen, who will be found making voyage after voyage in the same vessel, or at least in the same line.

But having thus briefly dismissed the almost exclusively British-manned branches of the Mercantile Marine, we are met by a vastly different state of affairs at once.

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.

Much Canvas and Few Men

Many intelligent people are possessed by the idea that steam is rapidly driving the sailing-ship from the sea. If they would only take a stroll round the docks they would alter their views. For certain trades and some kinds of cargo the steamer, let her be built, found, and manned as cheaply as the ’cutest single-ship manager can contrive, cannot possibly compete with the sailing-ship. And of late years it has been found possible to add enormously to the size of sailing-ships without increasing the cost of their working to any extent. Four-masted ships have become plentiful, carrying an area of canvas which would have seemed incredible to the seamen of fifty years ago, accustomed as they were to the flying clippers of Britain and America. These vessels are as handsome as the tramp steamer is hideous, their graceful lines, taut spars, and spidery rigging all lending themselves to beauty. But in these, as in the tramps, the foreigner is paramount. The ghastly farce (to a sailor) of labour-saving appliances has enabled the owners to reduce the crew lists to such an extent that in the majority of these ships all hands are barely enough for an efficient watch. The only change which has been found workable in the management of the larger sails above the courses is an American invention. It consists of splitting a sail in half horizontally, and was long applied to the topsails only, their unwieldy depth having always made them exceedingly difficult to handle. With the growth in size of ships and sails the top-gallant-sails have been also halved, and this alteration is now very general. But the comparative ease with which these sails can be handled, as compared with what used to be the case, has naturally tempted officers anxious to make a passage to “hang on,” longer than they used to, depending upon their ability to get sail in quickly at the last moment. That was all very well when a crew was carried sufficient in numbers to do what was required of them. But when eight such struggling monsters as a 3000-ton ship’s to’gallant-s’ls are have to be furled at once in a gale of wind by eighteen men (supposing all hands are called), it is quite another matter. Few experiences are more awful than those gained by being on a yard with a handful of men trying to master two or three thousand yards of No. 1 canvas in what sailors call a “breeze of wind,”—off the Horn, for instance, in a blinding snowstorm, with the canvas like a plank for stiffness, and rising far above your head in a solid round of white, into which you vainly try to force your half-frozen fingers.

The Dutchman

There is a great temptation to enlarge upon this theme, but it must be sternly suppressed, my object being solely to show how a scanty crew list adds to the miseries of the sailor. Not only so, but the food is so uniformly, unpardonably bad that British seamen will not put up with it a day longer than they can help. They get out of it the first opportunity that presents itself, and the Dutchman, as Jack impartially designates Germans and Scandinavians alike, comes in. In such vessels as I have been describing he is found in a proportion of at least 85 per cent. And not only as common seamen, but as officers, masters, mates, and tradesmen. In these ships are to be found the 180 captains, 512 mates, 637 boatswains, 1304 carpenters, 277 sailmakers, and 2321 cooks and stewards of foreign birth admittedly sailing in British vessels, according to the Registrar-General. A very potent reason for this is to be found in the peculiar conditions of discipline, or rather want of discipline, obtaining on board these ships. Bad food, short-handedness, and miserable quarters make British Jack, never too amenable to discipline, kick over the traces. When he does, which is not infrequently, what remedy has his superior officer? Practically none. Handcuffs are carried, but with an all too scanty crew already that coercive measure is barred. American methods of “booting” and “belaying-pin soup” are also out of the question, for Jack knows enough of the Merchant Shipping Act to make him a dangerous customer to assault. Personal violence towards a seaman on the high seas renders an officer liable to lose his certificate, even if he gets a present advantage in the sudden civility of the person assaulted. Again, the scanty number of officers carried in proportion to the crew is a powerful argument against the use of physical force. So dangerous a weapon ought never to be used at sea unless it is sure to be effectual. And yet, failing personal violence, there are no means by which an officer can enforce obedience to his orders. Refusal to obey orders, often accompanied by the foulest abuse, is one of the commonest of experiences at sea in British sailing ships, for which gross outrage the master’s only legal remedy is to note the offence in the official log, and on the ship’s arrival in port get a magistrate to sanction fining the offender a portion of his pay varying from two days’ to a month’s wages.