CHAPTER III
The quarter-deck officers—The captain—The lieutenants—The master, second master, and master’s mates—The midshipmen—The midshipman’s berth
The captain[16] of a man-of-war, on receiving his appointment to a ship, at once repaired on board her, wherever she then lay, first obtaining from the master-attendant of the dockyard a new narrow pendant, a swallow-tailed piece of red-and-white bunting to hoist at her masthead. Having repaired on board, and hoisted his pendant, the captain read his commission, or “read himself in,” before the caretakers and old seamen aboard the ship. He then set about fitting her for the sea (if she were a new ship) with all possible dispatch; and an Admiralty Order forbade his sleeping ashore, without express permission from his superiors, until his ship was paid off. He had to examine all guns, gun-carriages, muskets, cutlasses, and small-arms when they were hoisted on board, and to reject any faulty weapon. He had to keep inventories of all stores sent aboard, and counterparts of the inventories of his warrant officers—such as those of the boatswain and gunner. He kept an account of the ship’s provisions, showing the daily expenditure of junk and spirits. He had “to use his best endeavours to get the ship manned,” by the dispersal of alluring placards all over the town near which he lay, promising “quick promotion, heaps of prize-money, free rations,” etc. etc. to all who would enter. He was also expected to open a rendezvous at a sailor’s tavern, where the master-at-arms and coxswain could blarney sailors into joining. Sometimes he was able to offer a bounty or money-reward to every seaman who entered. If neither sugary announcements nor the offer of a piece of gold could lure men to the living death of a gun-deck he had to have recourse to the press. He would send his boats ashore after dark, in command of lieutenants or master’s mates, to search the dockside brothels and sailors’ taverns. Any sailors or seafaring folk discovered in these haunts were dragged from the arms of their trulls and taken aboard. Often the press-gangs had to fight to bring off their men, for the women and bullies sometimes rallied to the rescue. Many a bold lieutenant had his cheeks scratched or his hair pulled out, and many a bold tarrybreeks got his head broken in these encounters. The gangs never took firearms on these excursions, but contented themselves with stretchers and cudgels (such as wooden belaying pins). They generally carried cutlasses, but “more for their majesty to astonish the enemy,” than for actual use.
Press-gangs made great havoc among watermen and dockside labourers. They were expected primarily to capture sailors and seafaring people, but “a man-of-war, like a gallows, refused nothing,” and any landsmen served their turn. They were, at least, “mortal men,” and did as well as any others to stop a bullet or to feed powder. Marryat mentions a ship which was manned by the men of nineteen nations, professing among them, some fifty-seven different trades. Tailors, little tradesmen, street loafers, all were fair game. They were taken to the boats and sent aboard, and cracked across the heads with a cudgel if they protested. When once on board they were shoved down below-decks, under a marine sentry who had orders to shoot them if they attempted to escape. When convenient the captain examined these wretches, as to their fitness for the sea-service. He had them examined by the surgeon, to make sure that they were not infested nor infected. Any man who appeared to be too sickly for the work was discharged. A dirty man was cleaned, and his clothes fumigated. Apprentices who could produce their indentures, or merchant-sailors who could claim exemption, were dismissed. All the others were carefully retained. Many pressed men made the best of a very hard bargain by offering to ship within a fortnight of their impressment. Those who acted thus were allowed the King’s bounty, and won for themselves (to some extent) the good opinion of the officers.
This way of impressing folk was but one of the ways by which a captain could get his fleet manned. Men condemned at the sessions were sometimes offered the hard alternative of the gallows or service afloat. Often they chose the greater of the two evils. Absconding debtors, and those pursued by the redbreasts, or Bow Street Runners, were frequently eager to ship to avoid capture. A number of men shipped because they had had their heads turned by sea-songs or similar cant, describing the beauty of life afloat, etc. Large numbers were sent from London by the Lord Mayor. These were generally young bloods or bucks, who had been found drunk in the streets or bawdy houses, and feared to see their names in the police-magistrates’ lists, and police-court reports. They were known as “my Lord Mayor’s men,” and very bad bargains they generally were. It was reckoned that one-third of each ship’s company was composed of landsmen, and that one-eighth of the entire number of men serving in His Majesty’s ships were foreigners.
Having got a crew together by these gentle means, the captain had to see to it that each man’s name was entered in the ship’s books, particularly the muster book, in which a sort of prison record was kept to enable the officers to identify deserters. The colours of a man’s hair and eyes were noted. His chest measurement was taken. His tattoo marks were described. If the man deserted, these particulars were sent to the Admiralty, with an account of the escape. The muster books were kept with great care, and submitted every month or two months to the Admiralty. They contained among other matter the records of any deductions to be made from the pay of the members of the crew.
At sea the captain was responsible for the ship, and for all on board her. He had to see that the lieutenant made out his quarter bills allotting the hands to their stations. He kept the keys of the magazines, and saw to it that sentries guarded those places, to prevent the entry of unauthorised persons. He had to be vigilant to prevent all possibility of fire, by forbidding candles in the cable tiers or at the breaking out of spirits from the spirit-room. He was to order all lights out at 8 P.M. each night. He was to forbid smoking “in any other place than the galley.” He was to see the men exercised at the great guns, and with their small-arms. He had to see that the colours were “not kept abroad in windy weather.” He had to keep a journal in duplicate, for the benefit of the Admiralty; and at the end of a cruise he had to send an account “of the qualities of his ship” to the commissioners. He had charge of the sea-stores known as slops, such as bedding and clothing, which he sold to those of the crew who needed them. He had to keep his ship clean, dry, and well ventilated, by having the decks swept and scrubbed, the ports opened, the wells and bilges pumped, and windsails (or ventilators) fitted to expel the foul air from the hold. He was to punish transgressors, discourage vice and immorality, defend his country’s honour, keep secret the private signals, and “burn, sink, and destroy” as much of the enemy as he could. These are but a few of the forty-eight duties required of him.
The captain’s share of prize-money was “three-eighth parts” of the value of the prize. His pay varied from about 6s. to 25s. a day, in accordance with the importance of his command. The captain of a 74 received 13s. 6d. a day. Until 1794, he was allowed to have four servants for every 100 men aboard his ship, a regulation which afforded him an opportunity to provide for his friends and poor relations. A captain in the old time frequently put to sea with a little band of parasites about him. They stuck to him as jackals stick to the provident lion, following him from ship to ship, living on his bounty, and thriving on his recommendations. When one reads of a distinguished naval officer having been “a captain’s servant,” it does not mean that he blacked the captain’s boots, mixed his grog, and emptied his slops, but that he entered the service under a captain’s protection. Nelson was a “captain’s servant” to Captain Maurice Suckling on the guard ship at Chatham, but he was very far from being Captain Suckling’s flunkey. The system was bad, and much abused, but it lingered until 1794, when it was abolished, and a money compensation paid to the captains. It had been attended with a curious privilege. A captain removing from one ship to another was allowed to carry with him not only his servants, but his boat’s crew, his coxswain, some of his warrant officers, his clerk and purser, and a number of able seamen. From a first-rate ship he could take, in all, 80 men; from a second-rate, 65; from a third-rate, 50; from a fourth-rate, 40; from a fifth-rate, 20; and from a sixth-rate, 10.
Those who have trembled under the command of a sea captain will not need to be told of his powers and dignities. A captain of a ship at sea is not only a commander, but a judge of the supreme court, and a kind of human parallel to Deity. “He is a Leviathan,” says the scurrilous Ward, “or rather a kind of Sea-God, whom the poor tars worship as the Indians do the Devil.” There was no appeal from a sentence pronounced by such an one. His word was absolute. He had power over his subjects almost to the life. That he could not touch, without the consent of his equals, but he had the power to flog a man senseless, and authority to break some of his officers and send them forward. He had power to loose and to bind, and perhaps no single man has ever held such authority over the fortunes of his subordinates as that held by a sea captain over his company at sea during the Napoleonic wars. He lived alone, like a little god in a heaven, shrouded from view by the cabin bulkheads, and guarded always by a red-coated sentry, armed with a drawn sword. If he came on deck the lieutenants at once shifted over to the lee side, out of respect to the great man. No man on board dared to address him, save on some question relating to the duty of the day. No sailor could speak to him with his hat upon his head. One uncovered to one’s captain as to one’s God. When he came aboard, after a visit to the shore, he was received with honour. The “side-boys,” dressed in white, rigged the green or red side-ropes to the gangway, and stood there, at attention, to await his arrival. The boatswain, in his uniform, went to the gangway to “pipe the side”—that is, to blow a solemn salute upon his whistle—as the august foot came on to the deck. The marine sentry stood to attention. A number of midshipmen and other officers and men fell in upon the quarter-deck. As the captain stepped on board, all hands uncovered. The ship became as silent as the tomb, save for the slow solemn piping of the boatswain. The captain saluted the quarter-deck, and passed aft to his cabin, generally paying not the very least attention to the assembled worshippers. The same ceremony was performed when the captain left the ship.
The captain stood no watch, and did not interfere with the ordinary working of the ship until something went wrong. He lived alone in his cabin, eating in solitude, save when he desired his lieutenants and midshipmen to dine with him. On these occasions he graciously unbent. Smollett has painted for us a brutal captain, and Marryat and Mitford have shown us a type which was, we trust, more common in the service. Some captains were, perhaps, the most cruel and tyrannical fiends ever permitted on the earth. There were never very many of this kind, but there were enough to make a number of our ships mere floating hells. They could single out and break the heart of any man whom they disliked. They could make life a misery to every man under them. They could goad a crew to mutiny, and then see them hanged at the yard-arm. It was a little thing to captains of this stamp to cut the flesh off a man’s back with the cat-o’-nine-tails, swearing placidly, as the poor fellow writhed at the gratings, that, “by God, he would show them who was captain, that he would see the man’s backbone, by God.” We know that other captains were respected and loved, and we read of ship’s companies putting their shillings together to purchase silver plates, as keepsakes for such commanders, at the conclusion of a cruise. It must, however, be borne in mind that the sailors really preferred a man who was, in their terms, “a bit of a Tartar.” They liked to sail with a smart and strict seaman who knew his duty, and made his men do theirs. They disliked slack captains as much as they disliked what they called “rogues,” or tyrants. When a mild and forgiving captain came aboard a ship, either on a visit or to command her, there was little interest displayed. But when a “rogue” or a “taut hand” came alongside there was a general rush to the ports to see the man.