Battling with waves and lawyers

by Unknown

It is a common saying that, owing to the great improvements made in connection with modern shipping, the mortality amongst seamen is considerably less now than it was in former years, but the stern logic of facts shows that instead of this being the case, the loss of life is increasing at a fearful rate. On looking back a bit I find, from a perusal of the “British Wreck Register,” that during the thirty years preceding Mr. Wilson’s table (namely 1853 to 1883) there were 21,651 seamen lost by shipwreck, or an average of 721 annually. In other words, the annual loss during the past ten years—1883 to 1893—has been three times as great as the annual loss during the previous thirty years. Surely this is a startling piece of information, and one well calculated to make a person ask, Is this state of matters due to modern improvements, or is it in spite of them? Speaking as one who has had many years’ experience as a seaman, I have no hesitation in saying that six out of every ten disasters which overtake ships are caused by the foolish practice of hurrying vessels out of port in an unfit condition. Many a time have I seen, and been in, ships sent away from Melbourne and elsewhere with hundreds of tons of cargo on deck. In some instances this cargo was intended to remain on deck, and in others it had to be put below after the ship got to sea. Indeed, in one notable case a royal mail steamer actually took with her, from Melbourne, a number of stevedores men, or lumpers, for the express purpose of stowing the cargo whilst the vessel was on her way to Adelaide. Every now and then the community is startled with the account of some appalling shipping disaster, and, as a rule, the credit of such is given to the Creator by announcing them as “acts of Providence.” In sober truth they are mostly “acts of improvidence,” the blame resting solely with foolish, short-sighted man. A large steamer will come into port to-day, discharge and load cargo all night, and sail next morning on a fresh voyage. “Despatch in port” this is called, but too often it means “danger at sea,” and the sooner ships are compelled to be worked reasonably in port, and out of it, the better it will be for all concerned. While dealing with the “despatch in port” business, I may as well mention another reprehensible practice in connection with it. All, or nearly all, of the steamers trading on the Australian coast are so timed that they sail from the various ports on Fridays and Saturdays, consequently the ships are ploughing the seas on Sundays and earning money for the various shipowners, while they (the owners) good, Christian men no doubt, are quietly sitting, or kneeling, in their pews at church! This system entirely deprives Jack of his day of rest, for it is well-known “there is no Sunday in seven fathoms water.” I admit it would seem hard to make a law preventing coasting steamers from sailing unless there was reasonable prospect of reaching their destination before Sunday, but it surely is quite as hard on seamen to carry out the practice which prevails at present. I can call it nothing but one of the worst forms of “sweating,” for it “sweats” the ship, the machinery, and the men, and though it seems a money-making plan it tells its own tale, on all three, in the end.

Here in Melbourne we are accustomed to receive homilies from pulpit and press concerning the wickedness of causing railway, tram, and other employès to work on Sunday, but whoever heard of anyone speaking, or writing, on behalf of the seamen engaged in the coasting steamers? As Burns said, “Evil is wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart,” and shore folk, if they think about the subject at all, imagine, when they stroll down among the wharves on Sunday, that because they see no work going on, therefore no Sunday labour is being done! I don’t, for even a moment, say that Melbourne shipowners are any worse than those of any other port, for I have reason to know that almost everywhere Sunday work is winked at. I got what I may term an “eye-opener” when a boy on my first voyage to sea. During the Crimean war, the ship I was in took coals out from Scotland to Constantinople for the Turkish Government. We discharged cargo at the government dockyard, in the Bosphorus, by means of gangs of convicts—who, by the way, were chained in pairs, each two being connected by a ten foot chain which was shackled round one’s right ankle, and the other’s left—working every day, except Friday, which is the Turkish sabbath. On that day our own ship’s crew carried on the discharging, and consequently our cargo was being put out every day in the week without cessation. This system, doubtless, suited our owner’s pocket, and yet allowed those belonging to each religion, Christian and Mahometan, to have their Sunday off!

Mr. Purves, the learned Q. C., in his address on behalf of the defendants, stated that “Ponting was not the only man who saw the Alert founder. There was another eye-witness whom he (Mr. Purves) would produce to tell the court that he saw the ship overwhelmed with three tremendous seas.” It is almost needless to say that Mr. Purves did not produce this other “eye-witness.” If there was, or is, really another man besides Ponting who saw the Alert go down, why in the name of humanity did he not report the occurrence at the time? Had he done so a number of valuable lives might have been saved, or at least steps might have been taken in the direction of making efforts to save them. The very first intimation, or knowledge, of the wreck of the Alert was received from the lips of Ponting, the sole survivor, as he lay on Sorrento Beach, the day after the ship had gone down, and if any human being on the shore witnessed the accident without drawing public attention to it at the time, I think he, or she, richly deserves to be indicted for manslaughter! True it is that Pilot Mitchell, in his evidence, stated that he “remembered the day the Alert foundered, December 28, 1893, and that the occurrence was reported to him on that date;” but nevertheless I would rather believe that the shorthand writer made a mistake—or the witness himself made a slip of the tongue—than that he (Pilot Mitchell) really meant what he is credited with saying.

A good deal of stress was laid by Mr. Purves on the fact that the Alert was insured, this in itself being, as he said, “a proof of sea-worthiness.” I, however,—who ought to know at least quite as much about ships as Mr. Purves—contend that the fact of a vessel being insured is no more proof of sea-worthiness than the fact of one being uninsured would be proof of her unsea-worthiness. Indeed, many of the finest ships afloat are not insured at all, while some of the worst “coffin” ships that ever left a port are insured “up to the mast-head,” so to speak! This position of affairs need not cause the slightest wonder, for insuring a ship is not like insuring a man. The latter must die, and it is only a question of time when the insurance company must pay over the money. On the other hand, there is no “must” concerning the fate of a ship. The chances are great that she will be lost, but they are quite as great that she will never be lost. Thousands of ships on which insurance premiums have been paid for years live to be old hulks, and finally get broken up without any responsibility on the part of insurance companies, and thousands of ships go to the bottom, some of them sent there by force of circumstances, and others by man’s cupidity, or stupidity!

Mr. Purves had firmer ground to stand on when he stated that “the Act said nothing about the shape of a ship.” This is true, but I think the day is not far distant when those in authority will pass an act interfering with both the shape and the rig of ships. The terribly increasing loss of life and property at sea is forcing both of these important points into prominence. No further back than February 19, 1895, Mr. Tankerville Chamberlayne, M.P.,—from his place in the House of Commons—asked the President of the Board of Trade “to consider the advisability of recommending, or compelling, shipbuilders to construct steamers with overhanging or raking stems as formerly, inasmuch as in the event of a collision the damage sustained from a vessel so constructed is almost always confined to those parts above the water-line, whereas, with the present ram shaped bows, a ship run into is almost certain to sink.”

While on the subject of collisions I may as well mention that I was lately present at a practical exhibition of an invention which if adopted by shipowners would, I am convinced, reduce the loss of life and property, through collision or leakage, to a minimum. The apparatus is the simplest and most effective I have ever seen. It consists of a double sheet of canvas—the length and width of which to be regulated by the size of the ship carrying it—interlined with strong wooden battens. In the event of a collision, this “apron” (as it is called) has only to be carried by one or two men, from its place on deck, the upper end made fast to the bulwark above the fracture, and the rest pitched overboard. This done in less than ten seconds the apron will unroll right down,—as far as the keel if necessary—completely cover the hole, make it watertight, and allow permanent repairs to be made from within while the ship proceeds on her voyage to a port! The rapidity and certainty with which the apron flies to the aperture is like magic, and must be seen to be believed by those who do not understand that it simply follows a natural law in being drawn by the suction of the inrushing water. The inventor and patentee, Mr. James Holmes, the Auckland shipbuilder, is now resident in Melbourne, where (as also in Sydney and New Zealand) he has given a number of practical tests in the presence, and with the entire approval, of the highest engineering and nautical authorities. The apron is inexpensive, and should be added by all our Marine Boards to the life saving apparatus which all ships are compelled to carry.

Another source of danger which tends to make ships unsea-worthy is the system of building vessels now-a-days with “well decks.” The proper name for these in my estimation is “ill decks.” “Well decks” are not only weak points in a ship from a structural point of view, but in addition are positively dangerous, inasmuch as they are open to take in, and retain, water. As nobody likes these decks, neither designer, builder, commander, or seaman, it may be asked why ships are built with them? The explanation is simply this: Every ship on entering or clearing out of a port has to pay pilotage, towage, harbour, wharf, and other dues. These dues are, as a rule, calculated on the registered tonnage of the vessel at so much per ton,—in some cases even the number of hands on board is dependent on the tonnage—and where a “well deck” occurs in a ship, being open space, it is not calculated as carrying space in reckoning the ship’s tonnage. Hence two ships might really be of the same size, but if one of them had a “well deck”—or two or three as some ships have—her registered tonnage would be considerably less than the other vessel whose upper deck was flush fore and aft. At first sight this might seem a very slight difference, not worth mentioning, but when it comes to be remembered that every time a ship goes into a port the allowance, or shortage, for her “well decks” is saved by the owner, and as ships are in and out of port a good many times in the course of their career, the saving soon runs up to a considerable sum of money.

Some of the witnesses examined at the trial stated that there was “no hard and fast rule with regard to the length, breadth, and depth of ships.” While agreeing as to the truth of this statement, I may add that, in my opinion, it is a great pity there is not such a rule to go by so that shipowners could not get a sea-going ship built just whatever shape they pleased. Difference of opinion there may be—and perhaps must be—concerning the exact proportions of a sea-worthy ship; but there can be no difference of opinion regarding certain natural laws; for instance, a pyramid won’t stand upon its apex, and hence ships built on what I may call the “rule of thumb” principle are more apt to be wrong than right. Independently of loading and rig, the longer a ship is, the less her ability to keep out of the trough of the sea; her depth is the measure of her strength to resist a vertical strain, and her breadth of beam is the measure of her strength to stand a side blow. When iron steamers were first built they were constructed about five times as long as they were broad, and about seven times as long as their depth. These were considered safe proportions, but a genius arose who discovered—after studying the twelfth proposition of Euclid’s first book no doubt—that without any other alteration than adding two and a-half breadths to a steamship’s length, she could carry just double the quantity of cargo, while the working expense of the ship was not much increased. This, therefore, is the real reason why steamships are frequently built with their length ten times their width and sixteen times their depth. A few are even worse than this, their depth being only an eighteenth part of their length! The latter are not worthy of being called ships, they are mere logs from a sea-going point of view! This much may, however, be said, that, in spite of the bad shape of a ship, a great deal, by means of loading and rig, can be done to help a “lame” vessel to behave herself. At the same time the reverse is also true that the best shaped ship ever built can be “crippled” by loading and rig. Any seaman reading this will thoroughly understand what I mean; but as this book is written for both “sea and shore” readers, perhaps, for the benefit of the latter class, I had better explain the apparent paradox, thus: Take a ship, the best and most sea-worthy ever built, load her with a dead cargo, say pig-iron, as much as she can safely carry, stow it fore and aft in the hold as low down as possible, that is, on the ship’s floor or “skin.” Send her to sea, and when she gets into heavy weather she will be so “stiff” that she will strain herself, and shake the masts out of her. On the other hand take a similar ship, put the iron cargo in the tween-decks, that is, the upper hold, and she will be so tender, or “crank,” that in a moderately heavy sea she will roll over and founder. The reasons are simply these: In the instance of the first ship the centre of gravity of the cargo would be too far below the centre of the ship’s displacement, and hence when a wave struck the vessel’s side she would, after heeling over, recover her perpendicular so suddenly that a severe jerk would be the result. The other ship, having the centre of gravity of the cargo too high, would roll too easily and would be so slow in starting to recover herself that her decks would be flooded from the lee side, and if there were places where the water could go below, no human aid or skill could keep her afloat, unless she could at once be brought up head to wind and sea. The latter movement would, of course, be an impossibility in the case of a sailing ship—or a steamer with weakened power—so rigged that she could not set after canvas. Anything beyond smooth water and a light breeze will put a “lame” ship in peril at sea, and little or nothing can be done by the people on board to help her; but a good, sea-worthy ship, even in very bad weather, may give time for skill and courage to do much. As an instance in point I have much pleasure in relating the following incident:—

In 1890 the ship Enterkin, commanded by Captain James Logan, who, by the way, was a schoolboy with me, and in after years we were both together “before the mast,” was on her passage from England to Melbourne with 2,500 tons of steel rails for the Victorian Government. The ship had got nearly as far along as Cape Leuwin when she experienced a heavy gale which, through bad stowage in port, shifted the cargo and threw the vessel on her beam ends. After some trouble the Enterkin was put round on the other tack, but this did no good for the cargo shifted again, and the ship lay down just as bad on her other side. She was then put away before the wind, and whilst running along in her crippled state Captain Logan, with great presence of mind, caused all the wooden upper spars to be sent down from aloft. These spars, top-gallant and royal masts with their respective yards, were, together with all the spare ones on deck, sawn into short chunks. Watching chances between the rolls these chunks were thrown down the hatchways amongst the rails, and thus the cargo was wedged up enough to enable the ship to run back to Mauritius, where the rails were re-stowed and the Enterkin made all “atanto” again. Afterwards she brought her cargo safely to Melbourne, and loaded up for England. When she reached there the insurance agents were so well pleased at the captain’s conduct that they forwarded a cheque for £300 as a slight token of appreciation. This sum, I may add, Captain Logan divided amongst all hands, from the smallest boy upward, as he considered all were entitled to share as well as himself.

Since writing the former portion, or first edition, of this book, fresh proof has been supplied of the danger incurred by allowing steamships to go to sea, without being sufficiently provided with spars and sails. In February last two of our own coasters, the Gabo and the Bothwell Castle, broke down at sea, and for days were drifting about unable to make a port. Fortunately it was fine weather, and they both succeeded in getting assistance to tow them in. The steamer Gascogne, which left Havre for New York on January 26 last, had a much more trying time of it. On the third day after leaving port her machinery broke down. It was patched and she went on her way for two days more when a second and more serious break took place. This was also patched up, but in less than twelve hours a third stoppage took place. The engineers worked night and day for ninety-six hours, meanwhile the great ship was wallowing in the heavy sea, and drifting hundreds of miles out of her course. The passengers were battened down below, and all hope was abandoned, as the Gascogne had got far from the track of ships. Finally the engines were started again, and the vessel steamed slowly on, arriving at New York after a fearful passage, which took seventeen days from port to port. The Daily Chronicle, an English newspaper, in commenting on the case, stated: “In steamship circles here the speculations concerning the whereabouts of the Gascogne during the period of anxiety are looked upon as the beginning of a new departure. This feeling applies especially to a scheme for the immediate organisation of ocean-search parties, and the reserve of Government, or other ships at hand to perform this duty. The ports of the world will thus be able to mobilise a flying squadron in the interests of humanity.” This is what I call a mad scheme, very much like sending the blind to look for the blind. The better plan is to either compel steamers to be fitted with twin screws or carry enough sail to give them at least steerage way. Prevention is better than cure in this as in every other matter. The annual marine commerce of the British empire is estimated by competent authorities to amount to £970,000,000. Of this one-seventh (or £138,571,428) belongs to the self-governing colonies. Surely the interests involved in these immense sums demand that all possible means should be used to avoid casualties of every description.