THE MEN OF THE SEA.
The great Lexicographer on Sailors—The Dangers of the Sea—How Boys
become Sailors—Young Amyas Leigh—The Genuine Jack
Tar—Training-Ships _versus_ the old Guard-Ships—“Sea-goers and
Waisters”—The Training Undergone—Routine on Board—Never-ending
Work—Ship like a Lady’s Watch—Watches and “Bells”—Old Grogram and
Grog—The Sailor’s Sheet Anchor—Shadows in the Seaman’s Life—The
Naval Cat—Testimony and Opinion of a Medical Officer—An
Example—Boy Flogging in the Navy—Shakespeare and Herbert on
Sailors and the Sea.
Dr. Johnson, whose personal weight seems to have had something to do with
that carried by his opinion, considered going to sea a species of
insanity.(30) “No man,” said he, “will be a sailor who has contrivance
enough to get himself into a jail: for being in a ship is being in a jail,
with the chance of being drowned.” The great lexicographer knew Fleet
Street better than he did the fleet, and his opinion, as expressed above,
was hardly even decently patriotic or sensible. Had all men thought as he
professed to do—probably for the pleasure of saying something ponderously
brilliant for the moment—we should have had no naval or commercial
superiority to-day—in short, no England.
The dangers of the sea are serious enough, but need not be exaggerated.
One writer(31) indeed, in serio-comic vein, makes his sailors sing in a
gale—
“When you and I, Bill, on the deck
Are comfortably lying,
My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots
About their heads are flying!”
leading us to infer that the dangers of town-life are greater than those
of the sea in a moderate gale. We might remind the reader that Mark Twain
has conclusively shown, from statistics, that more people die in bed
comfortably at home than are killed by all the railroad, steamship, or
other accidents in the world, the inference being that going to bed is a
dangerous habit! But the fact is, that wherever there is danger there will
be brave men found to face it—even when it takes the desperate form just
indicated! So that there is nothing surprising in the fact that in all
times there have been men ready to go to sea.
Of those who have succeeded, the larger proportion have been carried
thither by the spirit of adventure. It would be difficult to say whether
it has been more strongly developed through actual “surroundings,” as
believed by one of England’s most intelligent and friendly critics,(32)
who says, “The ocean draws them just as a pond attracts young ducks,” or
through the influence of literature bringing the knowledge of wonderful
voyages and discoveries within the reach of all. The former are immensely
strong influences. The boy who lives by, and loves the sea, and notes
daily the ships of all nations passing to and fro, or who, maybe, dwells
in some naval or commercial port, and sees constantly great vessels
arriving and departing, and hears the tales of sailors bold, concerning
new lands and curious things, is very apt to become imbued with the spirit
of adventure. How charmingly has Charles Kingsley written on the latter
point!(33) How young Amyas Leigh, gentle born, and a mere stripling
schoolboy, edged his way under the elbows of the sailor men on Bideford
Quay to listen to Captain John Oxenham tell his stories of heaps—“seventy
foot long, ten foot broad, and twelve foot high”—of silver bars, and
Spanish treasure, and far-off lands and peoples, and easy victories over
the coward Dons! How Oxenham, on a recruiting bent, sang out, with good
broad Devon accent, “Who ’lists? who ’lists? who’ll make his fortune?
“‘Oh, who will join, jolly mariners all?
And who will join, says he, O!
To fill his pockets with the good red goold,
By sailing on the sea, O!’”
And how young Leigh, fired with enthusiasm, made answer, boldly, “I want
to go to sea; I want to see the Indies. I want to fight the Spaniards.
Though I’m a gentleman’s son, I’d a deal liever be a cabin-boy on board
your ship.” And how, although he did not go with swaggering John, he lived
to first round the world with great Sir Francis Drake, and after fight
against the “Invincible” Armada. The story had long before, and has many a
time since, been enacted in various forms among all conditions of men. To
some, however, the sea has been a last refuge, and many such have been
converted into brave and hardy men, perforce themselves; while many
others, in the good old days of press-gangs, appeared, as Marryat tells
us, “to fight as hard not to be forced into the service as they did for
the honour of the country after they were fairly embarked in it.” It may
not generally be known that the law which concerns impressing has never
been abolished, although there is no fear that it will ever again be
resorted to in these days of naval reserves, training-ships, and naval
volunteers.
The altered circumstances of the age, arising from the introduction of
steam, and the greatly increased inter-commercial relations of the whole
world, have made the Jack Tar pure and simple comparatively rare in these
days; not, we believe, so much from his disappearance off the scene as by
the numbers of differently employed men on board by whom he is surrounded,
and in a sense hidden. A few A.B.’s and ordinary seamen are required on
any steamship; but the whole tribe of mechanicians, from the important
rank of chief engineer downwards, from assistants to stokers and
coal-passers, need not know one rope from another. On the other hand, the
rapid increase of commerce has apparently outrun the natural increase of
qualified seamen, and many a good ship nowadays, we are sorry to say, goes
to sea with a very motley crew of “green” hands, landlubbers, and
foreigners of all nationalities, including Lascars, Malays, and Kanakas,
from the Sandwich Islands. A “confusion of tongues,” not very desirable on
board a vessel, reigns supreme, and renders the position of the officers
by no means enviable. To obviate these difficulties, and furnish a supply
of good material both to the Royal Navy and Mercantile Marine,
training-ships have been organised, which have been, so far, highly
successful. Let these embryo defenders of their country’s interests have
the first place.
Of course, at all periods the boys, and others who entered to serve before
the mast, received some training, and picked up the rest if they were
reasonably clever. The brochure of “an old salt,”(34) which has recently
appeared, gives a fair account of his own treatment and reception. Running
away from London, as many another boy has done, with a few coppers in his
pocket, he tramped to Sheerness, taking by the way a hearty supper of
turnips with a family of sheep in a field. Arrived at his destination, he
found a handsome flag-ship, surrounded by a number of large and small
vessels. Selecting the very smallest—as best adapted to his own size—he
went on board, and asked the first officer he met—one who wore but a
single epaulet—whether his ship was “_manned__ with boys_?” He was
answered, “No, I want men; and pray what may you want?” “I want to go to
sea, sir, please.” “You had better go home to your mother,” was the
answer. With the next officer—“a real captain, wearing grey hair, and as
straight as a line”—he fared better, and was eventually entered as a
third-class boy, and sent on board a guard-ship. Here he was rather
fortunate in being taken in charge by a petty officer, who had, as was
often the case then, his wife living on board. The lady ruled supreme in
the mess. She served out the grog, too, and, to prevent intoxication among
the men, used to keep one finger inside the measure! This enabled her to
the better take care of her husband. She is described as the best “man” in
the mess, and irresistibly reminds us of Mrs. Trotter in “Peter Simple,”
who had such a horror of rum that she could not be induced to take it
except when the water was bad. The water, however, always _was_ bad! But
the former lady took good care of the new-comer, while, as we know, Mrs.
Trotter fleeced poor Peter out of three pounds sterling and twelve pairs
of stockings before he had been an hour on board. Mr. Mindry tells the
usual stories of the practical jokes he had to endure—about being sent to
the doctor’s mate for mustard, for which he received a peppering; of the
constant thrashings he received—in one case, with a number of others,
receiving two dozen for _losing his dinner_. He was cook of the mess for
the time, and having mixed his dough, had taken it to the galley-oven,
from the door of which a sudden lurch of the ship had ejected it on the
main deck, “the contents making a very good representation of the White
Sea.” The crime for which he and his companions suffered was for
endeavouring to scrape it up again! But the gradual steps by which he was
educated upwards, till he became a gunner of the first class, prove that,
all in all, he had cheerily taken the bull by the horns, determined to
rise as far and fast as he might in an honourable profession. He was after
a year or so transferred to a vessel fitting for the West Indies, and soon
got a taste of active life. This was in 1837. Forty or fifty years before,
the guard-ships were generally little better than floating pandemoniums.
They were used partly for breaking in raw hands, and were also the
intermediate stopping-places for men waiting to join other ships. In a
guard-ship of the period described, a most heterogeneous mass of humanity
was assembled. Human invention could not scheme work for the whole, while
skulking, impracticable in other vessels of the Royal Navy, was deemed
highly meritorious there. A great body of men were thus very often
assembled together, who resolved themselves into hostile classes,
separated as any two castes of the Hindoos. A clever writer in
_Blackwood’s Magazine_, more than fifty years ago, describes them first as
“sea-goers,”—_i.e._, sailors separated from their vessels by illness, or
temporary causes, or ordered to other vessels, who looked on the
guard-ship as a floating hotel, and, having what they were pleased to call
_ships of their own_, were the aristocrats of the occasion, who would do
no more work than they were obliged. The second, and by far the most
numerous class, were termed “waisters,” and were the simple, the
unfortunate, or the utterly abandoned, a body held on board in the utmost
contempt, and most of whom, in regard to clothing, were wretched in the
extreme. The “waister” had to do everything on board that was
menial—swabbing, sweeping, and drudging generally. At night, in defiance
of his hard and unceasing labour, he too often became a bandit, prowling
about seeking what he might devour or appropriate. What a contrast to the
clean orderly training-ships of to-day! Some little information on this
subject, but imperfectly understood by the public, may perhaps be
permitted here.
[Illustration: THE “CHICHESTER” TRAINING-SHIP.]
It is not generally known that our supply of seamen for the Royal Navy is
nowadays almost entirely derived from the training-ships—first established
about fourteen years ago. In a late blue-book it was stated that during a
period of five years only 107 men had been entered from other sources, who
had not previously served. Training-ships, accommodating about 3,000, are
stationed at Devonport, Falmouth, Portsmouth, and Portland, where the lads
remain for about a year previous to being sent on sea-going ships. The age
of entry has varied at different periods; it is now fifteen to sixteen and
a half years. The recruiting statistics show whence a large proportion
come—from the men of Devon, who contribute, as they did in the days of
Drake and Hawkins, Gilbert and Raleigh, the largest quota of men willing
to make their “heritage the sea.”
Dr. Peter Comrie, R.N., a gentleman who has made this matter a study,
informs the writer that on board these ships, as regards cleanliness, few
gentlemen’s sons are better attended to, while their education is not
neglected, as they have a good schoolmaster on all ships of any size. He
says that boys brought up in the service not merely make the best seamen,
but generally like the navy, and stick to it. The order, cleanliness, and
tidy ways obligatory on board a man-of-war, make, in many cases, the
ill-regulated fo’castle of most merchant ships very distasteful to them.
Their drilling is just sufficient to keep them in healthy condition. No
one can well imagine the difference wrought in the appearance of the
street arab, or the Irish peasant boy, by a short residence on board one
of these ships. He fills out, becomes plump, loses his gaunt, haggard,
hunted look; is natty in his appearance, and assumes that jaunty, rolling
gait that a person gifted with what is called “sea-legs” is supposed to
exhibit. Still, “we,” writes the doctor, “have known Irish boys, who had
very rarely even perhaps seen animal food, when first put upon the liberal
dietary of the service, complain that they were being starved, their
stomachs having been so used to be distended with large quantities of
vegetables, that it took some time before the organ accommodated itself to
a more nutritious but less filling dietary.”
You have only got to watch the boy from the training-ship on leave to
judge that the navy has yet some popularity. Neatly dressed, clean and
natty, surrounded by his quondam playmates, he is “the observed of all
observers,” and is gazed at with admiring respect by the street arab from
a respectful distance. He has, perhaps, learned to “spin a few yarns,” and
give the approved hitch to his trousers, and, while giving a favourable
account of his life on board ship, with its forecastle jollity and “four
bitter,” is the best recruiting-officer the service can have. The great
point to be attended to, in order to make him a sailor, is that “you must
catch him young.”(35) That a good number have been so caught is proved by
the navy estimates, which now provide for over 7,000 boys, 4,000 of the
number in sea-going ships.
Governments, as governments, may be paternal, but are rarely very
benevolent, and the above excellent institutions are only organised for
the safety and strength of the navy. There is another class of
training-ships, which owe their existence to benevolence, and deserve
every encouragement—those for rescuing our street waifs from the treadmill
and prison. The larger part of these do not enter the navy, but are passed
into the Merchant Marine, their training being very similar. The
Government simply _lends_ the ship. Thus the _Chichester_, at Greenhithe,
a vessel which had been in 1868 a quarter of a century lying
useless—_never_ having seen service—was turned over to a society, a mere
shell or carcase, her masts, rigging, and other fittings having to be
provided by private subscriptions. Her case irresistibly reminds the
writer of a vessel, imaginary only in name, described by James
Hannay:(36)—“H.M.S. _Patagonian_ was built as a three-decker, at a cost of
£120,000, when it was discovered that she could not sail. She was then cut
down into a frigate, at a cost of £50,000, when it was found out that she
would not tack. She was next built up into a two-decker, at a cost of
another £50,000, and then it was discovered she could be made useful, so
the Admiralty kept her unemployed for ten years!” A good use was, however,
found at last for the _Chichester_, thanks to benevolent people, the
quality of whose mercy is twice blessed, for they both help the wretched
youngsters, and turn them into good boys for our ships. Some of these
street arabs previously have hardly been under a roof at night for years
together. Hear M. Esquiros:—“To these little ones London is a desert, and,
though lost in the drifting sands of the crowd, they never fail to find
their way. The greater part of them contract a singular taste for this
hard and almost savage kind of life. They love the open sky, and at night
all they dread is the eye of the policeman; their young minds become
fertile in resources, and glory in their independence in the ‘battle of
life;’ but if no helping hand is stretched out to arrest them in this
fatal and down-hill path, they surely gravitate to the treadmill and the
prison. How could it be otherwise?... The question is, what are these lads
good for?” That problem, M. Esquiros, as you with others predicted, has
been solved satisfactorily. The poor lads form excellent raw material for
our ever-increasing sea-service.
The training of a naval cadet—_i.e._, an embryo midshipman, or
“midshipmite” (as poor Peter Simple was irreverently called—before,
however, the days of naval cadets)—is very similar in many respects to
that of an embryo seaman, but includes many other acquirements. After
obtaining his nomination from the Admiralty, and undergoing a simple
preliminary examination at the Royal Naval College in ordinary branches of
knowledge, he is passed to a training-ship, which to-day is the
_Britannia_ at Dartmouth. Here he is taught all the ordinary acquirements
in rigging, seamanship, and gunnery; and, to fit him to be an officer, he
is instructed in taking observations for latitude and longitude, in
geometry, trigonometry, and algebra. He also goes through a course of
drawing-lessons and modern languages. He is occasionally sent off on a
brig for a short cruise, and after a year on the training-ship, during
which he undergoes a quarterly examination, he is passed to a sea-going
ship. His position on leaving depends entirely on his certificate—if he
obtains one of the First Class, he is immediately rated midshipman; while
if he only obtains a Third Class certificate, he will have to serve twelve
months more on the sea-going ship, and pass another examination before he
can claim that rank.(37)
The actual experiences of intelligent sailors, or voyagers, written by
themselves, have, of course, a greater practical value than the
sea-stories of clever novelists, while the latter, as a class, confine
themselves very much to the quarter-deck. Dana’s “Two Years Before the
Mast” is so well known that few of our readers need to be told that it is
the story of an American student, who had undermined his health by
over-application, and who took a voyage, _viâ_ Cape Horn, to California in
order to recover it. But the old brig _Pilgrim_, bound to the northern
Pacific coast for a cargo of hides, was hardly a fair example, in some
respects, of an ordinary merchant-vessel, to say nothing of a fine clipper
or modern steam-ship. Dana’s experiences were of the roughest type, and
may be read by boys, anxious to go to sea, with advantage, if taken in
conjunction with those of others; many of them are common to all grades of
sea service. A little work by a “Sailor-boy,”(38) published some years
ago, gives a very fair idea of a seaman’s lot in the Royal Navy, and the
two stories in conjunction present a fair average view of sea-life and its
duties.
Passing over the young sailor-boy’s admission to the training-ship—the
“Guardho,” as he terms it—we find his first days on board devoted to the
mysteries of knots and hitch-making, in learning to lash hammocks, and in
rowing, and in acquiring the arts of “feathering” and “tossing” an oar.
Incidentally he gives us some information on the etiquette observed in
boats passing with an officer on board. “For a lieutenant, the coxswain
only gets up and takes his cap off; for a captain, the boat’s crew lay on
their oars, and the coxswain takes his cap off; and for an admiral the
oars are tossed (_i.e._, raised perpendicularly, _not_ thrown in the
air!), and all caps go off.” Who would not be an admiral? While in this
“instruction” he received his sailor’s clothes—a pair of blue cloth
trousers, two pairs of white duck ditto, two blue serge and two white
frocks, two pairs of white “jumpers,” two caps, two pairs of stockings, a
knife, and a marking-type. As soon as he is “made a sailor” by these
means, he was ordered to the mast-head, and tells with glee how he was
able to go up outside by the futtock shrouds, and not through “lubber’s
hole.” The reader doubtless knows that the lubber’s hole is an open space
between the head of the lower mast and the edge of the top; it is so named
from the supposition that a “land-lubber” would prefer that route. The
French call it the _trou du chat_—the hole through which the cat would
climb. Next he commenced cutlass-drill, followed by rifle-drill, big-gun
practice, instruction in splicing, and all useful knots, and in using the
compass and lead-line. He was afterwards sent on a brig for a short sea
cruise. “Having,” says he, “to run aloft without shoes was a heavy trial
to me, and my feet often were so sore and blistered that I have sat down
in the ‘tops’ and cried with the pain; yet up I had to go, and furl and
loose my sails; and up I did go, blisters and all. Sometimes the pain was
so bad I could not move smartly, and then the unmerited rebuke from a
thoughtless officer was as gall and wormwood to me.”
Dana, in speaking of the incessant work on board any vessel, says, “A ship
is like a lady’s watch—always out of repair.” When, for example, in a
calm, the sails hanging loosely, the hot sun pouring down on deck, and no
way on the vessel, which lies
“As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean,”
there is always sufficient work for the men, in “setting up” the rigging,
which constantly requires lightening and repairing, in picking oakum for
caulking, in brightening up the metal-work, and in holystoning the deck.
The holystone is a large piece of porous stone,(39) which is dragged in
alternate ways by two sailors over the deck, sand being used to increase
its effect. It obtains its name from the fact that Sunday morning is a
very common time on many merchant-vessels for cleaning up generally.
[Illustration: INSTRUCTION ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR.]
The daily routine of our young sailor on the experimental cruises gave him
plenty of employment. In his own words it was as follows:—Commencing at
five a.m.—“Turn hands up; holystone or scrub upper deck; coil down ropes.
Half-past six—breakfast, half an hour; call the watch, watch below, clean
the upper deck; watch on deck, clean wood and brass-work; put the upper
decks to rights. Eight a.m.—hands to quarters; clean guns and arms;
division for inspection; prayers; make sail, reef topsails, furl
top-sails, top-gallant sails, royals; reef courses, down top-gallant and
royal yards. This continued till eight bells, twelve o’clock, dinner one
hour. ‘All hands again; cutlass, rifle, and big-gun drill till four
o’clock; clear up decks, coil up ropes;’ and then our day’s work is done.”
Then they would make little trips to sea, many of them to experience the
woes of sea-sickness for the first time.
But the boys on the clean and well-kept training-brig were better off in
all respects than poor Dana. When first ordered aloft, he tells us, “I had
not got my ‘sea-legs’ on, was dreadfully sea-sick, with hardly strength to
hold on to anything, and it was ‘pitch-dark’ * * * How I got along I
cannot now remember. I ‘laid out’ on the yards, and held on with all my
strength. I could not have been of much service; for I remember having
been sick several times before I left the top-sail yard. Soon all was snug
aloft, and we were again allowed to go below. This I did not consider much
of a favour; for the confusion of everything below, and that inexpressibly
sickening smell, caused by the shaking up of bilge-water in the hold, made
the steerage but an indifferent refuge to the cold, wet decks. I had often
read of the nautical experiences of others, but I felt as though there
could be none worse than mine; for, in addition to every other evil, I
could not but remember that this was only the first night of a two years’
voyage. When we were all on deck, we were not much better off, for we were
continually ordered about by the officer, who said that it was good for us
to be in motion. Yet anything was better than the horrible state of things
below. I remember very well going to the hatchway and putting my head
down, when I was oppressed by nausea, and felt like being relieved
immediately.” We can fully recommend the example of Dana, who, acting on
the advice of the black cook on board, munched away at a good half-pound
of salt beef and hard biscuit, which, washed down with cold water, soon,
he says, made a man of him.
Some little explanation of the mode of dividing time on board ship may be
here found useful. A “watch” is a term both for a division of the crew and
of their time: a full watch is four hours. At the expiration of each four
hours, commencing from twelve o’clock noon, the men below are called in
these or similar terms—“All the starboard (or port) watch ahoy! Eight
bells!” The watch from four p.m. to eight p.m. is divided, on a
well-regulated ship, into two “dog-watches;” the object of this is to make
an uneven number of periods—seven, instead of six, so that the men change
the order of their watches daily. Otherwise, it will be seen that a man,
who, on leaving port, stood in a particular watch—from twelve noon to four
p.m.—would stand in the same watch throughout the voyage; and he who had
two night-watches at first would always have them. The periods of the
“dog-watches” are usually devoted to smoking and recreation for those off
duty.
As the terms involved must occur frequently in this work, it is necessary
also to explain for some readers the division of time itself by “bells.”
The limit is “eight bells,” which are struck at twelve, four, and eight
o’clock a.m. or p.m. The ship’s bell is sounded each half-hour. Half-past
any of the above hours is “one bell” struck sharply by itself. At the
hour, two strokes are made sharply _following_ each other. Expressing the
strokes by signs, half-past twelve would be | (representing one stroke);
one o’clock would be || (two strokes sharply struck, one after the other);
half-past one, || |; two o’clock, || ||; half-past two, || || |; three
o’clock, || || ||; half-past three, || || || |; and four o’clock, || || ||
||, or “eight bells.” The process is then repeated in the next watch, and
the only disturbing element comes from the elements, which occasionally,
when the vessel rolls or pitches greatly, cause the bell to strike without
leave.
Seamen before the mast are divided into three classes—able, ordinary, and
boys. In the merchant service a “green hand” of forty may be rated as a
boy; a landsman must ship for boy’s wages on the first voyage. Merchant
seamen rate themselves—in other words, they cause themselves to be entered
on the ship’s books according to their qualifications and experience.
There are few instances of abuse in this matter, and for good reason.
Apart from the disgrace and reduction of wages and rating which would
follow, woe to the man who sets himself up for an A.B. when he should
enter as a boy; for the rest of the crew consider it a fraud on
themselves. The vessel would be short-handed of a man of the class
required, and their work would be proportionately increased. No mercy
would be shown to such an impostor, and his life on board would be that of
a dog, but anything rather than that of a “jolly sea-dog.”(40)
There are lights in the sailor’s chequered life. Seamen are, Shakespeare
tells us, “but men”—and, if we are to believe Dibdin, grog is a decided
element in their happier hours. “Grog” is now a generic term; but it was
not always. One Admiral Vernon—who persisted in wearing a grogram(41)
tunic so much that he was known among his subordinates as “Old
Grog”—earned immortality of a disagreeable nature by watering the
rum-ration of the navy to its present standard. At 11.30 a.m., on all
ships of the Royal Navy nowadays, half a gill of watered rum—two parts of
water to one of the stronger drink—is served out to each of the crew,
unless they have forfeited it by some act of insubordination. The
officers, including the petty officers, draw half a gill of pure rum; the
former put it into the general mess, and many never taste it. “Six-water”
grog is a mild form of punishment. “Splicing the main-brace” infers extra
grog served out for extraordinary service. Formerly, and, indeed, as late
as forty odd years ago, the daily ration was a full gill; but, as sailors
traded and bartered their drinks among themselves, it would happen once in
awhile that one would get too much “on board.” It has happened
occasionally in consequence that a seaman has tumbled overboard, or fallen
from the yards or rigging, and has met an inglorious death. Boys are not
allowed grog in the Royal Navy, and there is no absolute rule among
merchant-vessels. In the American navy there is a coin allowance in lieu
of rum, and every nation has its own peculiarities in this matter. In the
French navy, wine, very _ordinaire_, and a little brandy is issued.
There are shadows, too, in the sailor’s life—as a rule, he brings them on
himself, but by no means always. If sailors are “but men,” officers rank
in the same category, and occasionally act like brutes. So much has been
written on the subject of the naval “cat”—a punishment once dealt out for
most trifling offences, and not abolished yet, that the writer has some
diffidence in approaching the subject. A volume might be written on the
theme; let the testimony of Dr. Stables,(42) a surgeon of the Royal Navy,
suffice. It shall be told in his own words:—
“One item of duty there is, which occasionally devolves on the medical
officer, and for the most part goes greatly against the feeling of the
young surgeon; I refer to his compulsory attendance at floggings. It is
only fair to state that the majority of captains and commanders use the
cat as seldom as possible, and that, too, only sparingly. In some ships,
however, flogging is nearly as frequent as prayers of a morning. Again, it
is more common on foreign stations than at home, and boys of the first or
second class, marines, and ordinary seamen, are for the most part the
victims.... We were at anchor in Simon’s Bay. All the minutiæ of the scene
I remember as though it were but yesterday. The morning was cool and
clear, the hills clad in lilac and green, sea-birds floating high in air,
and the waters of the bay reflecting the blue of the sky, and the lofty
mountain-sides forming a picture almost dream-like in its quietude and
serenity. The men were standing about in groups, dressed in their whitest
of pantaloons, bluest of smocks, and neatest of black-silk neckerchiefs.
By-and-by the culprit was led in by a file of marines, and I went below
with him to make the preliminary examination, in order to report whether
or not he might be fit for the punishment.
“He was as good a specimen of the British mariner as one could wish to
look upon—hardy, bold, and wiry. His crime had been smuggling spirits on
board.
“‘Needn’t examine me, doctor,’ said he; ‘I aint afeared of their four
dozen; they can’t hurt me, sir—leastways my back, you know—my breast,
though; hum—m!’ and he shook his head, rather sadly I thought, as he bent
down his eyes.
“‘What,’ said I, ‘have you anything the matter with your chest?’
“‘Nay, doctor, nay; it’s my feelings they’ll hurt. I’ve a little girl at
home that loves me, and, bless you, sir, I won’t look her in the face
again nohow.’
“I felt his pulse. No lack of strength there, no nervousness; the artery
had the firm beat of health, the tendons felt like rods of iron beneath
the finger, and his biceps stood out hard and round as the mainstay of an
old seventy-four.... All hands had already assembled—the men and boys on
one side, and the officers, in cocked hats and swords, on the other. A
grating had been lashed against the bulwark, and another placed on deck
beside it. The culprit’s shoulders and back were bared, and a strong belt
fastened around the lower part of the loins for protection; he was then
firmly tied by the hands to the upper, and by the feet to the lower
grating; a little basin of cold water was placed at his feet, and all was
now prepared. The sentence was read, and orders given to proceed with the
punishment. The cat is a terrible instrument of torture; I would not use
it on a bull unless in self-defence; the shaft is about a foot and a half
long, and covered with green or red baize, according to taste; the thongs
are nine, about twenty-eight inches in length, of the thickness of a
goose-quill, and with two knots tied on each. Men describe the first blow
as like a shower of molten lead.
“Combing out the thongs with his five fingers before each blow, firmly and
determinedly was the first dozen delivered by the bo’swain’s mate, and as
unflinchingly received.
“Then, ‘One dozen, sir, please,’ he reported, saluting the commander.
“‘Continue the punishment,’ was the calm reply.
“A new man, and a new cat. Another dozen reported; again the same reply.
Three dozen. The flesh, like burning steel, had changed from red to
purple, and blue, and white; and between the third and fourth dozen, the
suffering wretch, pale enough now, and in all probability sick, begged a
comrade to give him a mouthful of water.
“There was a tear in the eye of the hardy sailor who obeyed him,
whispering as he did so, ‘Keep up, Bill; it’ll soon be over now.’
“‘Five, six,’ the corporal slowly counted; ‘seven, eight.’ It is the last
dozen, and how acute must be the torture! ‘Nine, ten.’ The blood comes now
fast enough, and—yes, gentle reader, I _will_ spare your feelings. The man
was cast loose at last, and put on the sick-list; he had borne his
punishment without a groan, and without moving a muscle. A large pet
monkey sat crunching nuts in the rigging, and grinning all the time; I
have no doubt _he_ enjoyed the spectacle immensely, _for he was only an
ape_.”
Dr. Stables gives his opinion on the use of the cat in honest and
outspoken terms. He considers “corporal punishment, as applied to men,
_cowardly_, _cruel_, and debasing to _human nature_; and as applied to
boys, _brutal_, and sometimes even _fiendish_.”
The writer has statistics before him which prove that 456 cases of
flogging boys took place in 1875, and that only seven men were punished
during that year. There is every probability that the use of the naval cat
will ere long be abolished, and important as is good discipline on board
ship, there are many leading authorities who believe that it can be
maintained without it. The captain of a vessel is its king, reigning in a
little world of his own, and separated for weeks or months from the
possibility of reprimand. If he is a tyrannical man, he can make his ship
a floating hell for all on board. A system of fines for small offences has
been proposed, and the idea has this advantage, that in case they prove on
investigation to have been unjustly imposed, the money can be returned.
The disgrace of a flogging sticks to a boy or man, and, besides, as a
punishment is infinitely too severe for most of the offences for which it
is inflicted. It would be a cruel punishment were the judge infallible,
but with an erring human being for an irresponsible judge, the matter is
far worse. And that good seamen are deterred from entering the Royal Navy,
knowing that the commission of a peccadillo or two may bring down the cat
on their unlucky shoulders, is a matter of fact.
We shall meet the sailor on the sea many a time and again during the
progress of this work, and see how hardly he earns his scanty reward in
the midst of the awful dangers peculiar to the elements he dares.
Shakespeare says that he is—
“A man whom both the waters and the wind,
In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball
For them to play on”—
that the men of all others who have made England what she is, have not
altogether a bed of roses even on a well-conducted vessel, whilst they may
lose their lives at any moment by shipwreck and sudden death. George
Herbert says—
“Praise the sea, but keep on land.”
And while the present writer would be sorry to prevent any healthy,
capable, adventurous boy from entering a noble profession, he recommends
him to first study the literature of the sea to the best and fullest of
his ability. Our succeeding chapter will exhibit some of the special
perils which surround the sailor’s life, whilst it will exemplify to some
extent the qualities specially required and expected from him.