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.
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.