Many old-fashioned people who read of the massacres caused by steamboat
collisions, think regretfully of the time when eight hundred sail of
ships would make the trip between Tyne and Thames without so much as the
loss of a bowsprit from one of the fleet. It was slow work, perhaps, and
it might be a tedious sight (say those who praise past times), to see a
ship being hauled up the river foot by foot with a warp and a kedge; yet
we do not get cheap coals now, for all our science, and we have lost our
seamen. The old inhabitants of the eastern seaports never cease to
lament the progress of steam. They point out that all the money made in
the brig colliers goes into few hands, and is carried away to be spent
in London and Torquay, and Cannes, and Paris, by the great coalowners.
They say, too, that the new race of seamen are unsocial beings who do no
good to any town that the steamers run from. The modern "hand" comes
into the river, say, at dusk; sees his vessel put under the coal spout,
jumps ashore to buy a loaf and a few herrings, and then goes off to sea
by three in the morning. This goes on all the year round, and if the
sailor gets four-and-twenty hours to spend at home, he thinks himself
wonderfully lucky. The sailor-men of old times seldom worked in the
winter. All the colliers were laid up in the river, and the men lived on
their summer earnings, so that multitudes of small tradesmen, who are
now unable to live, fared very comfortably then.
These complaints may not be very logical or well founded, but the people
who make them speak with perfect belief. Whatever may be thought of the
social aspect of the question, the nautical aspect is not to be
mistaken; for our school of seamen is undoubtedly departed.
The old collier sailor was a man of one faculty: he could handle a ship
to perfection, but he could do nothing else, and he knew nothing else.
On shore he was a child of the most innocent description, and the world
that lay outside the regular line traversed by his old black tub, was a
place beyond his conception. It is true that he sometimes went to such
far-off regions as the Baltic, but even that extent of travel failed to
open his mind. The worthy man who said that the four quarters of the
globe were "Russia, Prussia, Memel, and Shields," was the type of the
travelled collier captain. It is hardly possible to understand the
complete ignorance of some of those fine sailors, or to conceive the
methods on which they worked their ships. A man who could neither read
nor write would take his vessel without a mistake from port to port. The
lights on the coast were his only books, and his one intellectual
exercise consisted in calculating the set of the ebb and the flood. With
all the phenomena that he was used to observe in his ordinary life, he
could deal promptly and sagaciously, but anything new tended to
disarrange his mind. When steamers were first ordered to carry red and
green side-lights with a high white light hung forward, an old captain
saw the mysterious coloured circles coming down on him. He did not
understand this new thing, and his faculties became confused. He shouted
"Hard a-starboard. We'll be into a chemist's shop." This momentary
infirmity of purpose was the source of much fun among more advanced
mariners in his town. Another master who happened to have a leisure
evening went to hear a popular astronomical lecture. He was much
troubled by what he heard, and he explained his perplexity with great
feeling to his friends. He said: "The man told the lot of us that the
world turned round and round; but I cannot see how that can be. The
Hatter's Rock's been there ever since I can mind." It sometimes happened
that a captain more than usually competent was sent over seas to strange
regions. One gentleman who could read and use a chart was despatched to
Rotterdam. After getting over the bar and well away to the east, he
produced his charts and made a learned inspection; but the charts had
been a long time in the lockers, and circumstances combined to alarm him
extremely. He went up on deck and called to his mate, "Put her about,
the rats has eaten Holland." One of the most remarkable of the old
school was a man who could actually take his ship about and find his
place on the chart without being able to read the names himself. He
always became very shortsighted on longish voyages. Towards the end of
his time the new race of apprentices who had learned to read began to go
to sea: before that period he had only been used to coasting trips, and
the learned youths were a godsend to him when his owners sent him far
afield. He would call his lad down below, and, assuming a tender air,
would give the seasoned youngster a glass of rum. He would then point to
the chart and say, "We're there. What is that place, my man? I can't see
very well." On receiving his answer, he would remark, gravely, "I
thought it was that." This innocent device gave the greatest
entertainment to his irreverent pupils. Sometimes this kind of ignorance
led to complications. One old gentleman bored away through a fog for
several days under the pleasing impression that he was going north about
from Liverpool. After a long time a vessel came past and the lost
captain inquired, "Are we going right for the Castle foot?" The stranger
made answer. "What Castle foot?" Whereupon the incensed skipper said,
"There's only one Castle foot. Tynemouth Castle." The answer was
discouraging: "If you go as you're going, you'll be at Newfoundland in a
very short time." This hero felt his way back and after many days and
much hailing of passing ships he sighted St. Abb's Head. He then said
with pride, "Ah! here's England. Aw thowt aw would fetch her." He had
really known no more of his route than a player at blind man's buff
knows of his way about a room.
Of course very many of the captains were more accomplished than the
stolid persons concerning whom so many droll legends still linger; but
the fact remains, that valuable property and valuable lives were
entrusted to men who wrought solely by rule of thumb, and that the trust
was, on the whole, very wisely bestowed. With clumsy old craft that
sailed in heavy weather as though they were dragging an anchor at the
bottom, and that missed stays on the faintest provocation, these men
carried goods to the value of millions, without incurring nearly the
loss which is borne through the failure of the smart iron steamers. They
are nearly all gone now, and the public are not much the better. Many
good judges think that in the event of a great naval war we shall feel
the need of that fine recruiting ground that lay between Spittal and
Yarmouth. The old collier sailor, illiterate as he was, and stupid as he
was in many respects, made a model man-of-war's man when he had been
drilled into shape. He was alert, obedient, and utterly careless of
danger; he had the fighting instinct developed to the point of ferocity;
he was at once strong and docile, and his very simplicity made him the
best possible instrument to be employed on dangerous enterprises. The
last specimens will soon be beyond the reach of social students. Here
and there may be found some bronzed old man who remembers when the Tyne
was little more than a ditch flooded at tide-time. He hobbles sturdily
to the pier and looks at the passing vessels with dim eyes. The steamers
pass up and down with their swaggering turmoil; the little tugs whisk
the sailing ships deftly in and out; but he will always think that the
world was better when the bar was shallow, and when the sailors worked
up stream without the aid of those unseamanlike kettles.