I sometimes wonder who it was first coined that well-known phrase,
“little Japanese sailors.” As phrases go it is very “catchy,” but in
the matter of accuracy it is very general only. Save for Russians and
Italians, some of the biggest sailors going are Japanese. Beside their
own officers they look giants, while actually they average nearly an
inch higher than British bluejackets, and in breadth fully equal them.
One and all, they are fine men physically, able to hold their own
in size with almost any other nation’s bluejackets, except Russians
and Italians. They are almost invariably stout and well set up, and
they are always smiling; they take to their profession much as their
officers do.
As previously stated, they are recruited chiefly from the northern
islands, and chiefly from the lowest classes. These make the bravest
sailors, and they have been educated from early youth upward into a
disregard for death. Till quite recently, most Japanese villages had
feuds with neighbouring hamlets, and these resulted in a good many
broken heads and a fair amount of blood-letting, all of which the
Government, if it did not actually encourage, at least viewed with
a very lenient eye on account of its practical utility in rearing
fighters.
Japanese officers have, on the whole, a preference for sailors
of little education. Their view is that such are less hampered
by appreciating danger. Apparently some of the better class
sailors—artificers and others drawn from a rather better class
socially, acquire with their education an inconvenient ability to
realise some of the frightful dangers of modern naval warfare. Either
from experience or instinct, these more educated men are not looked on
with favour. “The less a man knows the better sailor he will make,” is
the saying.
A rabid anti-Japanese of my acquaintance, who has spent his life
in the Far East, allows the Japanese only one virtue—general and
complete bravery. “No Japanese,” said he, “is ever afraid.” It is
not easy to reconcile this statement with the Japanese estimate of
educated sailors given above; but I am not in a position to deliver
a verdict of any value on the question. The officers’ contempt of
danger, alluded to some pages back, has little bearing on the point.
The fact that “cowardice” exists as an offence in the Japanese naval
code of punishments may, perhaps, throw a little light upon the
matter; but, even so, we need an exact definition of what the word
“cowardice” means to a Japanese. It does not mean cowardice as we
should understand it. I incline to fancy that it means the absence of
an utter disregard for life; and that what the Japanese call a coward
we describe as a waverer—which is by no means the same thing. It is
not impossible that their more liberal definition of cowardice would
include a man who got unduly excited in action. After Yalu, several men
were punished for that.
The general intelligence of Japanese bluejackets is high, they
have the national aptitude for “picking things up” with marvellous
rapidity—wherein they form a marked contrast to the Russian sailors,
who learn very slowly. They—some of them—also forget rapidly; a
national defect in Japan.
In many ways they are replicas of their officers. Like their officers,
their ideas of dissipation centre round learning something. Parties
of fifty or so “do” London and our chief industrial centres when they
are in England. On these occasions, and, indeed, always in foreign
ports, their behaviour leaves nothing to be desired. At Portsmouth,
where public houses are thick as can be, and where leave is given
very freely, a hundred or so will roam the town all day in groups,
fraternising and being made much of by the populace, but any disorder
or trouble with the police in consequence is almost unknown.
On shipboard drinking is said to be on the increase; but it is rarely a
cause of trouble, though a drunken Japanese is a nasty customer. Most
are temperate.
Stealing is practically unknown. Natural causes operate here. If by
any chance a Japanese sailor steals, he is a marked man. His shipmates
refuse to have any dealings with him whatever, he is an absolute
outcast; and his crime is passed on against him by his comrades
should he be sent to another ship. This perpetual ostracism is a most
effectual safeguard.
Till recently Japanese sailors were not over and above obedient. A
marked change has since sprung up, and they are now, as a rule, very
amenable and willing, as well as able. They still, however, need some
tact in management; and attempts to knife officers are not unknown.
Cleanliness is a national characteristic. Japanese sailors, like all
of the lower class in Japan, bathe more frequently even than the upper
classes—twice each day every Japanese sailor has a bath. If from war,
or any other cause, they are prevented from bathing for a couple of
weeks or so, the lower class Japanese suffer a great deal from skin
diseases. Hence they are ill-adapted for lengthy torpedo boat service.
In general neatness their average is high; on whatever work they are
engaged—except, of course, coaling ship—they are usually spick and span.
Despite his good qualities, however, the average Japanese bluejacket
is not on a par with his officers in value. He lacks stolidity; and,
take him all and all, he is inferior to a Chinese sailor. The Chinaman
is braver, or, rather, what the Japanese call braver. According to the
Japanese, Ah Sin is the finest material for bluejackets in the world,
and they are not alone in this opinion.
To return to the Japanese bluejacket. Like his officers, he has little,
if any, religion—though, nominally, a certain proportion may be
Buddhists or Shinto. They have, however, a species of semi-religious
code over some minor matters—for instance, no Japanese sailor will
accept a tip for small services, such as showing visitors round a ship,
or because he is coxswain of a boat in which you have taken passage.
According to their ethics, it is a _crime_ to accept special payment
for anything done in the way of duty, and if a man by any chance did
accept anything, his shipmates would render his life unbearable by
their contemptuous ridicule of him. So, though they will as readily and
gladly take any amount of trouble for a stranger, to try and give them
a tip annoys them. I once kept a Japanese boat’s crew, which had been
sent for me, waiting a long time, on a bitterly cold day, through some
misunderstanding as to time. It was a long row to the ship, against
a strong tide, in which they were soon wet through. Arrived at the
ship, my first attempt to tip the coxswain was greeted by a shake of
the head. Thinking he had misunderstood my intention, I repeated the
attempt. He at once called out, “No. Go away!” in a most indignant
tone, and his whole expression was that of a man on whom I had put a
deadly insult.
Japanese sailors are very quick in everything. In the Far East brawls
between them and Russian sailors, before the war, were very frequent,
and though the Russians are physically much the superior, yet, from
their quickness, the Japanese were more frequently the victors.
When Japanese sailors are in England, some of our missionary societies
keep an eye on them—taking them about, and generally trying to help
them. One old lady is particularly kindly remembered by the crews of
those destroyers that fitted out at the West India Docks. She gave the
crew of one of them a good many texts of the usual ornamental sort
when they left. They hung all these up, giving the post of honour to
one that said, “The wicked shall be destroyed.” They regarded this
as a very kindly compliment and good wish to their destroyer! I do
not think that the texts stand any chance of fulfilling a missionary
_rôle_—however, there they hung, in the fok’s’le, and over the
officers’ bunks in the wardroom also, in the hopes that “the old lady,
who had been so good to the men,” would derive some _quid pro quo_ in
the way of satisfaction at the sight.