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.
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.