The qualifications that such a master need have are, although nominally the same as in any other branch of his trade, immensely varied. And it may be taken for granted that a successful tramp skipper is always a good all-round man—something of a diplomat, of a lawyer, of an accountant, of a merchant: all these qualities superadded to his ability to handle his vessel at sea in all weathers, contend with crews of the smallest and of the lowest kind of men, who are as far removed from the popular idea of what a sailor is as day is from night. But such men are of inestimable value to the commerce of the country. They seldom forget that their first duty is to their employers, nor allow the thought of their hard, laborious position to tempt them into neglect of it. Poor fellows! the penalty for want of success is not easy to bear, even though they may be in no way to blame.
These, of course, are the lowest kinds of tramps. But there is an aristocracy among tramp steamers, owned by wealthy firms of high reputation, both for well and carefully built cargo-carriers and generous treatment of their faithful servants. Although these ships do also go wherever cargo is to be found on which a payable freight will be paid, yet the conditions under which the officers serve are very much better. They are not harassed, either, by the fear of making a loss upon the voyage, since such firms will have their correspondents in most ports, who make freight arrangements for the skippers. Between owners and masters in this class of vessel often subsist the most firm friendships, men growing grey in one employ, and feeling always that their faithful service is fully appreciated. Of course the pay is not high, but the tenure is good, and there is always the chance of picking up a tow, a fellow-tramp with broken shaft, or something of a like disabling nature. And this may mean a small fortune, often does so, since the skipper never fails to take a most substantial share of the total award. Besides, there is a prospect, too, that a well-known skipper may, before he is worn out with sea-service, get a comfortable berth as harbour-master, or dock-master, or ship's-husband, or any of the congenial employments for which experienced shipmasters are so eminently fitted. Pilotage, too, may come their way, although this can hardly be looked upon as comfortable retirement after a hard life at sea. But whatever they get as a sort of retiring berth, they may truly be said to have earned it. Unfortunately, many of them must leave the sea with advancing years, having nothing to support them but such scanty savings as they have been able to put by. And as the days when skippers were able to amass fortunes have long passed away, these hard-working seamen are often hardly bestead in their old age—far more hardly than any one knowing their long period of command, but ignorant of their pay, could possibly imagine.
In leaving the steamer-skipper for him of the wind-jammer, as sailing vessels are contemptuously termed by steamer-sailors, a few words may suffice for the ungracious task of dealing with the black sheep. As in all other professions, of course among steamship-masters there are drunken blackguards, who in some mysterious way manage to get and keep command. But the proportion is very small. There is hardly any room for them. The conditions of service are too onerous, the necessity for constant care and forethought is too great, to admit of many worthless men being in command. Especially is this the case in the north-east ports, where every man's goings-on are known and discussed, as villagers dissect one another's business in remote inland hamlets. No; taking them by and large, to use a time-honoured sea phrase, the tramp skippers need not fear comparison with any class of public servants in this country, while for the importance of the duties they fulfil they are certainly second to none.
THE MASTER (SAILING SHIPS).
So great is the difference in duties to be performed by masters of sailing ships from those of masters of steamers, that they are almost like members of another profession. The range, too, in status is exceedingly extensive. Between the man in command of, say, a small brigantine going foreign, and the commander of a four-masted steel clipper carrying 5000 tons of cargo to and from the Colonies, there is not only a great gulf of status, but a large number of gradations. Yet it will readily be admitted by all shipmasters that the position of master of even a fifth-rate steamship marks a step upward from the same position on board of the finest sailing ship afloat. And almost any shipmaster is glad to step down from the exalted pinnacle he may have occupied for years as master of a splendid "wind-jammer" and take a very subordinate position, say, as second, third, or even fourth officer in a liner, as a means of rising to the coveted post of commander of such a ship.
But perhaps we have had enough of steamers for a little while. For my part, I shall only be too glad to quit that part of my subject for the far more congenial one of the "wind-jammer," as she is contemptuously called by steamer-men. It is essential, in order to success as a master here, that a man should be a sailor. That is, in the original sense of handling ships, a fine art, demanding high skill and courage as well as constant practice. A good master nurses his ship under sail with never-ceasing care. If he be ably seconded by his officers, his labour is of course greatly lightened; but even then, if a smart passage is to be made, the master must never relax his vigilance. Never, that is, in the sense of allowing his officers to feel that the game is in their hands entirely. To explain this for the benefit of my shore readers, let me give a commonplace instance. I was an able seaman on board a fine ship homeward bound from Manila to London. We were commanded by an elderly, taciturn gentleman, whose appearance was as unlike that of the typical sailor as could well be imagined. Yet every man on board knew him to be a consummate ship-handler, and cool withal, so that when, on the outward passage, we were tacking under a heavy press of sail to get through the Sunda Straits, and in weathering a point of Thwart-the-way-Island actually touched it with our bilge, the seamed old face never blenched, never lost its sphinx-like mask of serene watchfulness.