A bunch of rope yarns

by Stanton H. King

Realizing the need of such a place for seamen and having a desire to work on such lines for their benefit, I left the sea.

A work of any kind must be judged by its results. Therefore is the Sailor’s Haven saving men? Are the seamen living cleaner and purer lives because of such work? Are they shielded from the land sharks and are they befriended? To all this and more I answer, Yes.

It would take many pages to tell of the men whose lives have been changed from recklessness and wrong-doing to lives of service and helpfulness to themselves and others. Men who are trying to live Christian lives, who once delighted to dabble in sin. I refrain and finish by saying it is right to have pool and billiard tables in a seaman’s mission, and allow the men to fill that part of God’s House, the home, with tobacco smoke.

THE FORECASTLE

The Forecastle

WHEN a new schoolhouse or any public building is planned, every attention is given to sanitation. When a private home is being built, it is expected to be fitted with every modern convenience and every improvement conducive to good health. When a new passenger steamer is launched, the public seek for all comfort, where they may abide during their short stay on board, and if a cargo steamship is ordered every attention is devoted to space for freight and cattle. But on that very vessel, so distinctly modern in every other respect, there is seemingly hardly any thought given to improving the condition of the forecastle.

I am glad to say that there are some masters of the ocean steamers who recognize room for improvement, and who are exerting themselves in the interest of their men. Lately we have seen large passenger steamers launched which are provided with large mess-rooms for the sailors and firemen, and we have one and all rejoiced at this gradual improvement. The laws of the United States and Great Britain provide on board their ships so much breathing space for each man. The law governing United States vessels reads thus: “Every place appropriated to the crew of a sea-going vessel of the United States, except a fishing vessel, yacht, pilot boat and all other vessels under two hundred tons register, shall have a space of not less than seventy-two cubic feet, and not less than twelve square feet measured on the deck or floor of that place for each seaman or apprentice lodged therein: Provided, That any such sea-going vessels built or rebuilt after June 30th, 1898, shall have a space of not less than one hundred cubic feet and not less than sixteen square feet measured on the deck or floor of that space for each seaman or apprentice lodged therein. Such place shall be securely constructed, heated and ventilated, protected from weather and sea, and, as far as practicable, properly shut off and protected from the effluvium of cargo or bilge water.” I do not know the exact space Great Britain grants her seamen, but by observation I should say they have about the same amount of space as our American seamen—that is to say, a space hardly as large as a good-sized grave. I am not now condemning the ship owners; they give the men what they are allowed. Nor am I writing in the spirit of the fault finder, but as one whose heart’s desire is to have the men of the sea so treated and housed on board their ships that they may believe they are men, that they be treated as such, and may be appealed to live their highest and best lives. The safety of life and property at sea depends upon the competency of the crew, and if we are to have efficient men, and an adequate merchant marine, and men of intelligence and skill, we must offer some inducements to secure such men and not the riff raff of the world.

How is this legally allotted space given to the sailor? In a room in the forward end of the ship, sometimes in the middle, known as the “forecastle”—a room with a dozen or more men in it, where at the most six men could miserably exist—a room (a few exceptions) poorly lighted and inadequately ventilated. In such a room the seamen smoke, eat, sleep and have their being. It is their home on shipboard. It is too small for a mess table. The food is brought in large pans, placed on the floor, and each man coming from his work has to make an effort, climbing over the pan of soup or meat, to get some share of it for himself. There are a few forecastles in which there are mess tables on which these pans are placed for men to “dig and get at” the contents.

As we approach some modern steamship’s forecastles it seems strange the sanitation should be so different from what it is on shore. We all know that in bad weather at seamen are exposed on deck. They wear their oilskins and rubber boots; they go below after spending four hours on deck. They are compelled to hang up their wet oilskins at the head of their bunks or on the bulkhead of the forecastle, and throw their sea-boots under a bunk where they may find them when called again to go on deck. We also know that the work in the fireroom is dirty. Where can a fireman hang up his dirty fireroom clothes wet through with perspiration? There is no place except it be over the top of his own bunk.

There was a certain steamer in port. It was mid-winter. I went on board the day she docked. Such a dismal sight! Every man forward was discontented and disgruntled. The dark forecastle was somewhat lighted by the coating of ice on the sides of the ship forming the forecastle. It was raining, and, without exaggeration, the sloppy mud and dirt was at least one half inch deep, covering the whole forecastle floor. There was some heat from the steam-pipes, which was thawing the coating of ice which covered the roof and sides of the place. One of the firemen asked me to feel of his bed. I did so; my heart was sore. Every article of clothing and his bed clothes were wet through from the drippings of the thawing ice. The water falling from the roof and sides of this half-heated dismal hole made it resemble a cave where the ebbing tide had just receded. This was the condition of an old cattle and freight steamer.