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Hearts of Oak
Captain J L Vivian Millett
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Young fellows going to sea nowadays have no conception of
what we old-timers had to go through, whose sea career began forty-four or more
years since. I write this in the year 1924. The old order changeth in pretty
nearly every branch of modern life, but nowhere has it done so more completely
than in conditions of apprenticeship in the merchant service.
To-day, a young fellow going as an apprentice, or rather
as a "cadet" for the old term, like the kindred one of
"mate" is dropping out of use, in one of the crack lines of steamers
not only considers himself, but is treated as, a junior officer. He shares a
two-berth cabin, often has a steward to attend to him, eats his meals at the
second table in the saloon, and has sheets to his bed. Sheets, ye gods! He is,
moreover, paid for such services as he renders, these services being part of
his training in navigation and the handling and stowing of cargoes.
Far be it from me to deny him the possession of the
plucky spirit and the disregard of danger which have been part of the sailor's
heritage since the dawn of Britain's career as a maritime nation. But he cannot
learn to be a seaman in the old sense, because there is no longer any
seamanship to be learnt; nor can he keep himself physically fit, because there
is no going aloft. Going aloft was the finest exercise in the world. It brought
every muscle of the body into play. "hold on with yer belly!" was the
old sailorman's somewhat primitive way of describing what had literally to be
done very often, when fisting down a sail with both hands fully occupied,
leaning over the yard so that one's feet barely reached the foot-ropes.
Before I go on to describe my own experiences as an
apprentice, it may be of interest if I set down a few facts about seamen and
shipping generally in the 1880s. The decline in sailing ships had already set
in, and the old type of seaman was also beginning, though only beginning, to
disappear. The "able-bodied seamen" of the old school were mostly
quite uneducated, many of them being unable to write or even read. This fact
was brought to my notice on my first voyage, when I was in great demand to read
the men's letters to them and to write their answers. These usually opened with
the time-honoured formula,
"I hope you are well, as it leaves me at
present."
But those who either received or wrote letters were the
lucky exceptions. Sailors as a rule had no friends. They were looked upon as a
disreputable class, and indeed the poor fellows had not much chance to be
anything else. Immediately they stepped on shore with any money, they were surrounded
by landsharks, male and female, who doped them with inferior liquor, with the
result that they soon became either blind to the world or else fighting-mad.
When they came to themselves they found themselves lying in some deserted
alley or in the cells; but in either case without a penny left of their
hard-earned wages.
I myself knew of a carpenter who was paid off with three
years' wages, amounting to over £250. The Board of Trade officials begged him
to leave a part of his money in their care, but, being a sober, steady man who
imagined he could take care of himself, he refused. He was enticed into one of
the vile dens of Sailor Town, and plied with drink, and the next morning he
woke to find that he had not a penny left with which to bless himself.
Ashore sailors were the prey of the underworld. When they
were at sea they were often not in much better case, for they were at the mercy
of the bucko skipper and hard-hitting mates, who looked upon them as something
less than human beings. I remember, this was after I had left the sea myself,
an old "blue-nose" skipper who had been brought up in that school. He
was well known as a bit of a terror to his men, although when his wife was
around (she generally went to sea with him) he was as mild as a lamb. Off the
Horn he lost a man overboard, and although, as a matter of fact, he had been
anxious to make an attempt to save him and had been begged not to by the mate
and the carpenter, one or two sea lawyers among the crew worked up a case of
brutality against him, and a Board of Trade inquiry was held. The poor old
skipper was in a sad taking about it; and one day I went on board his ship and
found him pacing the poop in great tribulation. "What's up, skipper?"
I asked. "Why, all this double-blanked fuss about one blank
good-for-nothing sailor!"
The food was scanty and very bad. The day's rations
consisted of one pound and a half either of beef or pork (both, of course, the
salt variety), tinned fresh meat, if such were available, being served out
twice a week. The meat was weighed uncooked, and after it had been boiled each
man had generally less than a pound to spread over his three meals. There were
no potatoes, butter, or marmalade, while as for such luxuries as seamen get
nowadays (1920s), condensed milk, mustard, pickles, and so forth, these were
simply unheard of. The coffee and tea were of the very poorest quality. The
most you could say for them was that they were warm and wet, and they were
drunk for that reason, and because there was nothing better to be had. But in
spite of, perhaps because of, this scanty fare, combined with the constant
exercising of every muscle of the body by continual work aloft, a man, provided
he was physically fit, soon became in splendid condition, and it was very
seldom that anyone was laid up at sea unless by an accident. It was truly a
case of "survival of the fittest" and never again, perhaps, in the
history of the world will there be such a fine race of men as those who spent
their lives in sailing ships. They were little enough appreciated in their day
and generation. But they carried their lives in their hands day and night, and
never thought of the risks they ran as anything out of the common. If a
dangerous job had to be done, well, it had to be done. There was no hanging
back. It was not until everything was snugged down and the danger over, if
indeed then, that anyone thought of the perilous nature of the work.
We apprentices had to take our share of hard work and
danger with the rest, and we very quickly lost all sense of fear. I cannot say
that we were ever taught our work in the strict sense of the word. We were
encouraged to do it, and if encouragement wasn't enough we were forced.
I remember on my first voyage to sea, as soon as we got into
fine weather the carpenter, who had taken rather a liking to me, asked me
whether I had ever been aloft. "No" I replied. "Come along with
me, then" said Chips, and he helped me on to the ratlines and persuaded me
to climb in front of him until I arrived at the top. So far, so good, but I
began to feel a bit scared when I realized that I was expected to climb over
the futtock shrouds. However, Chips's language scared me even more, and by hook
or by crook I scrambled over the top
and into the
topmast rigging. But he had not finished with me yet. I had to go on in
front of him to the cross-trees, and when I got there I had to sit on one of
them and hold on for dear life to the backstay while he did his job of work,
which consisted of refastening one of the cleats. After a few months I found
myself quite at home aloft, and was very soon able to bear a hand in taking in
sail.
When we got into the Tropics we first-voyagers were
taught to take the wheel, and in a short time we were allowed to stand our regular
"trick". As regarded splicing, sailmaking, and the thousand-and-one
other jobs a sailor in those days had to know, we had to learn them by
experience and by helping other men who knew them. Never at any time in the
course of my four years' apprenticeship was I really taught anything,
and the same applied, I believe, to most apprentices. We had to find out
ourselves how to do what was required of us, and God help us if it was not done
properly! We never learnt the slightest rudiments of navigation, and had to mug
it up at a nautical school when the time came to pass for second mate. The
captain and the other officers treated us exactly the same as the fo'c'sle
hands. No difference was made in regard to the food, and the one idea was to
get as much work out of us as possible. Apprentices in my day had to do men's
work while they were still boys in age and strength, and pay a premium of
anything from £20 to £100 for the privilege of doing so.
Talking about payment reminds me that in those days
able-bodied seamen received only £2 l0s. monthly. A chief officer's pay was
from £6 a month, that of a second officer from £4 a month. A captain drew from
£12 a month upwards. What a contrast to present-day rates! There was no overtime,
and work in port commenced at 6 a.m. and finished at 6 p.m., with an interval
of half an hour for breakfast and one hour for dinner. At sea "watch and
watch" was the rule, and for the slightest fault, or if the skipper or
mate happened to be in a bad temper, we were kept at it during our afternoon
"watch below". This was the invariable practice when homeward bound
in the south-east trades, all hands being kept at work in the afternoon for a
fortnight painting the ship inside and out while she ran gently before the
trade wind.
So much for the contrast between the conditions
prevailing then and those which exist to-day. I have only touched upon a few
points that readily occur to me, but the same wide difference will be found in
practically every phase of life at sea. Some changes are for the better, some
for the worse ; but whether for better or worse, there they are, and there is
no use in grousing over them.
And now for just a few words by
way of explanation or excuse for these rough recollections before I embark
upon my narrative. Please don't think that I lay claim to having performed any
wonderful exploits during my life at sea. Nothing is farther from my thoughts.
Every fellow who went to sea in my generation went through very much the same mill
as I did. But the time I write about, although not at all remote in point of
actual years, is a vanished time, and my personal recollection of it may
therefore be of interest to those who want to know what it was like, and
perhaps to others who are reminded through my yarns of their own early days.
Then, again, I had the honour of serving part of my time in two very famous
ships. THE TWEED and CUTTY SARK; while both in sail and steam I had the good or
ill luck, whichever way you like to look at it, to be mixed up with some of the
"hardest cases" in the merchant service.
Raymond
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