The poet’s enthusiasm may be pardoned, for, although there are scores of rivers, considered only as such alone, that outvie the Thames, regarding it in its relation to the sea—aye, to the whole world—it stands pre-eminent and alone. To the sailor the Thames and the Mersey have an interest and importance which belong to the streams of no other country.
The reader has, in spirit, voyaged with poor Jack to the farthest corners of the earth; he has seen much of his life of peril and heroism; he has noted that the hardships he endures are often unrequited, and that, after a long career of usefulness and bravery, he may lie on the shore “a sheer hulk,” valueless to himself, possibly to die and rot in poverty and distress. The charge of special improvidence cannot nowadays be hurled at the sailor, as it might have been in days of old. Even Jack’s improvidence was more excusable than the same fault in any other class whatever. The fact is—as such valuable institutions as the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society have proved—that there was a great desire on the part of seamen to help themselves. The fortieth annual report of the Society (1879) states that [pg 273]48,000 mariners subscribe to the benefit fund organised under its auspices.[80] The history of this excellent association, which has now an income of nearly £29,000, is interesting. “A worthy, philanthropic medical man, Mr. John Rye, of Bath, had a servant who had formerly been a sailor, and was in the habit of reading the newspapers to his master. One morning their attention was arrested by an account of some fearful wrecks of fishing boats, with loss of life, on the north coast of Devon. The servant asked his master if there was any fund out of which help could be obtained to relieve the families of those men. The master replied that he supposed there was, but he would make inquiries from Admiral Sir Jahleen Brenton, then Governor of Greenwich Hospital; and from him he found that there was none. They then together drew up a prospectus, and presented it to the late Admiral of the Fleet, Sir George Cockburn, who most heartily took the matter up, and after circulating the appeal widely, called a public meeting in February, 1839, at which Sir George was appointed President, and a number of noblemen and gentlemen formed themselves into a committee, of which the worthy Chairman, Captain the Hon. Francis Maude, R.N., is now the sole survivor. The following month Her Majesty the Queen graciously consented to be the Patron of the Society; and so prosperous was the infant [pg 274]institution, that at the second anniversary, at which the late Sir Robert Peel consented to preside, the sum of £1,100 was collected. The Committee next set about to obtain the services of gentlemen to act as honorary agents, of whom there are now upwards of 1,000; and whose duties are to board, lodge, clothe, and forward to their homes all shipwrecked persons. The Committee meet every Friday in London to relieve the widows and orphans of the lost, not only at the time of their death, but by small annual payments. There were thus 9,601 persons relieved in 1879.”[81]
THE HOME FOR AGED MERCHANT SEAMEN, BELVEDERE, KENT.
Sooth to say, and in strict justice, we must not forget how much has been done for the seaman on the banks of old Father Thames, both by Government and private liberality. An excellent home, the “Royal Alfred Aged Merchant Seamen’s Institution” exists at Belvedere, in Kent, started under the auspices of the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society. This institution was inaugurated, with room for the reception of 400 persons of all grades of the mercantile marine, although nothing like that number has been as yet accommodated at any one time. The Society also grants out-pensions to those who have homes or friends.
The most singular and characteristic and yet appropriate features of the building are a number of little cabins comfortably fitted, and so much like the real thing, that it requires only a very slight stretch of the imagination for Jack ashore to indulge in the fond delusion that he is at sea again. The large rooms are divided into wards, one for masters and mates, containing ten cabins, each six feet by seven feet, and perfect ventilation is secured by the partitions being open at the top. Each man, by this excellent arrangement, has his little cabin to himself, and all the sweetness of retirement should he be that way inclined. What a contrast is this to the ungainly, unhomely, and barren shelters of our Unions!
It speaks well for the profession that most of the inmates have seen over forty or fifty years of service, which, judging from what we know of service in the maritime navy, might decidedly be called active. On being interrogated by a visitor, some of these veterans proved having most successfully braved the dangers of the deep.
“How often have you been wrecked?” inquired the interviewer of our “ancient mariner.”
“Why, let me see, sir”—then, counting half audibly—“one, two, three, four, five times, I think, sir.”
The second, on being questioned, answered, simply, “Once in 1825, sir—going to Hamburg that was; and once in 1828, on the coast of Norway; and again on the coast of Java in ’42.” This man had also done some memorable deeds on shore, which fully made up for his being short by “two” wrecks of the other.