with urgent stores for the squadron off that station. Her orders
were--“All possible dispatch,” yet, when the look-out one afternoon
reported a heavily-rigged four-master standing to the eastward in
latitude twenty-three degrees south, her commander felt justified
in altering her course sufficiently to bring him in touch with this
phenomenon. The stranger was making grand headway under all canvas
to a heavy south-east Trade, but the speed of the cruiser was fully
two knots to her one. In about an hour, therefore, from sighting her,
the _Scourge_ ranged sufficiently near to inquire by signal for the
usual information. But the merchantman was so slow with his answers
that before two sets had been hoisted the vessels were within hail
of each other. “Where are you bound to?” roared the commander of the
cruiser. A dramatic pause succeeded, in which all eyes on board both
ships were centred upon the skipper of the _St. George_. At last the
reluctant answer came, “Walvisch Bay.” “The devil you are,” said
the naval captain; “I must have a closer look at you.” A couple of
abrupt orders, and a well-manned cutter, with the first-lieutenant in
charge, was bounding across the few fathoms of sea towards the _St.
George_, with instructions to ascertain the bottom facts of this
mystery. Arriving alongside, the officer sprang on board, and, quickly
mounting the poop, confronted Captain Schwartz, whose face was a
study of conflicting emotions. Already the lieutenant had noticed the
Teutonic appearance of everybody on deck, and the captain’s working
face deepened the suspicions aroused. “I wish to examine your papers,
sir,” said he quietly to the scowling skipper. “Vat for, sir?” was the
almost expected reply. For all answer the lieutenant strode to the
side and blew a small whistle, which brought six of his boat’s crew
bounding on board in an instant. “Now, sir,” he said, turning again to
the skipper, “my time is precious, and my orders precise. Kindly lead
the way into your cabin, and produce your documents, or I must search
for them without you.” The baffled Teuton still hesitating, the naval
officer, with a slight gesture of impatience, beckoned his men aft.
They came on the jump, but one of them stepping forward in advance of
his fellows, saluted, and said, “Beg pardon, sir, but we just heard
some voices forrard a-cryin’ ‘Help!’ and it sounded’s if they wus
cooped up somewheres.” A dark frown settled upon the officer’s face as
he replied, sternly, “Three of you go forrard and search; the others
come below here with me.” But before he stepped into the companion-way
he blew two sharp notes on his whistle, a signal which was immediately
answered by the cruiser sending another cutter alongside with a
fully-armed crew.
In the meantime the search aft had revealed the ship’s papers, which
showed of course that the _St. George_ had cleared from London for
Melbourne. The skipper’s private journal in German was also impounded.
With the documents under his arm the lieutenant returned on deck, just
as the search party forward emerged from the fore-peak bringing their
hapless countrymen to light. Orders were immediately issued to place
all the foreigners under arrest, but the skipper was nowhere to be
seen. A search for him was ordered at once, but the words had hardly
been spoken when, with an awful roar, the whole beautiful fabric was
rent into a myriad fragments; an immense volume of dense smoke rose
sullenly into the clear air, and the sparkling sea was bestrewn with
the mangled remains of friend and foe alike.
The desperate skipper had chosen, rather than give up his ill-gotten
prize, to fire the great store of powder under the main-hatch,
involving himself and his captors in one awful fate. A great wave
raised by the gigantic explosion made even the stately cruiser roll and
stagger as if in a heavy gale, but all her boats were in the water in a
trice making search for any trace of life among the wreckage.
Not one was saved, and with a company of heavy-hearted men she resumed
her passage bearing the terrible news of the loss of the _St. George_.
XXIII
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MERCHANT SERVICE
At intervals, ever since the issue of the last report of the
Registrar-General of Shipping and Seamen, there have been appearing
in the press items of comment upon the significant tables set forth
in that most interesting document. But one feature has been painfully
evident in all of them--the inability to appreciate, from a merchant
seaman’s point of view, the underlying lessons that report contained.
This, though much to be regretted, can scarcely be wondered at when we
remember the limitations, the inarticulateness, of the class referred
to. Here it may be as well to state that in what follows the terms
“ship,” “officer,” and “seaman,” are to be understood as referring
solely to the Mercantile Marine, unless otherwise stated--a necessary
warning, since eight out of every ten landsmen always confound the two
services, mercantile and naval.
First in importance, as well as in interest, to seamen is the question
of personnel. It is much to the credit of the Navy League that it
is wide awake to the dangers besetting this country through the
increasing numbers of foreign seamen manning our ships. But it does not
appear as if even the Navy League fully realises to what extent our
cargo-carriers have been handed over to the foreigner. A very extended
acquaintance with the various trades is absolutely necessary in order
to understand the reason why the percentages shown in the Board of
Trade return do not reveal the true state of affairs. As they stand,
the percentage of foreign able-seamen to British (excluding Lascars)
in foreign-going sailing ships is shown to be as high as 48.6. Taking
steam and sailing ships together, the percentage falls to 35.5, for
reasons which will presently appear. Now, one would naturally expect
(what proves indeed to be the case) that our coasters and fishermen
would be almost entirely British. And we may go a step further, and
declare that these hardy fellows are the fine flower of our seamen,
as stalwart and capable as ever British seamen were. With them may
be classed the fishermen, hovellers, and beachmen generally of our
coasts, who, though not classed as seamen, may fearlessly challenge
comparison with any seafarers in the wide world. Among all these the
foreigner finds little or no room wherein to thrust himself, nor is
there apparently much danger that he ever will. Next to these in order
of immunity from foreign interference come the great steamship lines,
other than those trading to the Far East, whose crews are almost
exclusively composed of Lascars and Chinese, with British officers.
To the former belong such great undertakings as the “Cunard,” the
“Union,” the “Castle,” and the “Pacific” Companies. In these splendid
vessels the Britisher tenaciously holds his own, in whatever part of
the ship you seek him. The food is good, pay is fair, accommodation
is comfortable, and a high state of discipline is maintained.
Consequently, these ships are eagerly sought after by the better class
of seamen, who will be found making voyage after voyage in the same
vessel, or at least in the same line.
But having thus briefly dismissed the almost exclusively British-manned
branches of the Mercantile Marine, we are met by a vastly different
state of affairs at once.
OCEAN TRAMPS
Go to one of the shipping offices when a sailing ship is “signing on,”
and watch the skipper’s contemptuous look as he scrutinises a steamboat
man’s discharge just handed to him. “I want sailors, not navvies,” he
shouts, as he scornfully flings it back. Therefore a “sailor man,”
gives them a wide berth if he can. And then the conditions of life on
board these tanks effectually bar decent Britons out of them. The few
that are found in them generally belong to that unhappy class of men
who get drunk at every opportunity, and must go when their money is
done in whatever presents itself. They would sail in a sieve with the
devil for a skipper. The rule is, however, for these vessels to be
manned by a motley crowd of what Jack calls “dagoes,”--Latins of all
kinds, the scum of the Levant, with a sprinkling of Scandinavians,
but not many. It speaks volumes for the skill and pluck of the
officers unfortunate enough to be responsible for such ships, that so
few casualties occur in comparison with their number; for it is no
uncommon thing for a tramp of a thousand tons or so to be wallowing
along through a pitch-black night, the whole watch on deck consisting
of the officer in charge and three men, no one of whom is able to
understand the other. One is at the wheel, one is on the look-out, and
the other “stands by to never mind.” The kennel below is filthy,--a
parti-coloured halo round the reeking grease-pot that serves for a lamp
eloquently testifying to the condition of the atmosphere. The food is
in keeping with the rest, where provided by the ship; but in a large
number of cases these are “weekly boats,”; that is, the men are paid
by the week and “find” themselves,--an arrangement that lends itself
to some extraordinary developments of mixed messes and semi-starvation
among such a strange medley of races. I knew a weekly boat once that
signed in London for a Mediterranean voyage, but was chartered in
Smyrna to take pilgrims to Jeddah. The fellows cut their purchases very
fine, as it was for the trip, but owing to their stores being stolen
by the starving pilgrims, they were in such a plight when they left
Suez that it was a miracle they did not share the fate of fifty-five
of their passengers, who resigned their pilgrimage on the passage, and
found rest among the sharks. Other things happened, too, more true than
tellable, which would almost serve as an appendix to the _Inferno_.
These vessels are mostly owned by single-ship companies, a dozen or
so of which will be managed by some enterprising broker, who makes a
fortune, although the shareholders rarely see dividends. Under such
conditions of ownership there is no room for wonder that these tramps
are what they are.
MUCH CANVAS AND FEW MEN
Many intelligent people are possessed by the idea that steam is rapidly
driving the sailing-ship from the sea. If they would only take a stroll
round the docks they would alter their views. For certain trades and
some kinds of cargo the steamer, let her be built, found, and manned
as cheaply as the ’cutest single-ship manager can contrive, cannot
possibly compete with the sailing-ship. And of late years it has been
found possible to add enormously to the size of sailing-ships without
increasing the cost of their working to any extent. Four-masted ships
have become plentiful, carrying an area of canvas which would have
seemed incredible to the seamen of fifty years ago, accustomed as
they were to the flying clippers of Britain and America. These vessels
are as handsome as the tramp steamer is hideous, their graceful lines,
taut spars, and spidery rigging all lending themselves to beauty. But
in these, as in the tramps, the foreigner is paramount. The ghastly
farce (to a sailor) of labour-saving appliances has enabled the owners
to reduce the crew lists to such an extent that in the majority of
these ships all hands are barely enough for an efficient watch. The
only change which has been found workable in the management of the
larger sails above the courses is an American invention. It consists
of splitting a sail in half horizontally, and was long applied to the
topsails only, their unwieldy depth having always made them exceedingly
difficult to handle. With the growth in size of ships and sails the
top-gallant-sails have been also halved, and this alteration is now
very general. But the comparative ease with which these sails can be
handled, as compared with what used to be the case, has naturally
tempted officers anxious to make a passage to “hang on,” longer than
they used to, depending upon their ability to get sail in quickly
at the last moment. That was all very well when a crew was carried
sufficient in numbers to do what was required of them. But when eight
such struggling monsters as a 3000-ton ship’s to’gallant-s’ls are have
to be furled at once in a gale of wind by eighteen men (supposing all
hands are called), it is quite another matter. Few experiences are
more awful than those gained by being on a yard with a handful of men
trying to master two or three thousand yards of No. 1 canvas in what
sailors call a “breeze of wind,”--off the Horn, for instance, in a
blinding snowstorm, with the canvas like a plank for stiffness, and
rising far above your head in a solid round of white, into which you
vainly try to force your half-frozen fingers.
THE DUTCHMAN
There is a great temptation to enlarge upon this theme, but it must be
sternly suppressed, my object being solely to show how a scanty crew
list adds to the miseries of the sailor. Not only so, but the food is
so uniformly, unpardonably bad that British seamen will not put up
with it a day longer than they can help. They get out of it the first
opportunity that presents itself, and the Dutchman, as Jack impartially
designates Germans and Scandinavians alike, comes in. In such vessels
as I have been describing he is found in a proportion of at least 85
per cent. And not only as common seamen, but as officers, masters,
mates, and tradesmen. In these ships are to be found the 180 captains,
512 mates, 637 boatswains, 1304 carpenters, 277 sailmakers, and 2321
cooks and stewards of foreign birth admittedly sailing in British
vessels, according to the Registrar-General. A very potent reason
for this is to be found in the peculiar conditions of discipline, or
rather want of discipline, obtaining on board these ships. Bad food,
short-handedness, and miserable quarters make British Jack, never too
amenable to discipline, kick over the traces. When he does, which is
not infrequently, what remedy has his superior officer? Practically
none. Handcuffs are carried, but with an all too scanty crew already
that coercive measure is barred. American methods of “booting” and
“belaying-pin soup” are also out of the question, for Jack knows enough
of the Merchant Shipping Act to make him a dangerous customer to
assault. Personal violence towards a seaman on the high seas renders
an officer liable to lose his certificate, even if he gets a present
advantage in the sudden civility of the person assaulted. Again, the
scanty number of officers carried in proportion to the crew is a
powerful argument against the use of physical force. So dangerous a
weapon ought never to be used at sea unless it is sure to be effectual.
And yet, failing personal violence, there are no means by which an
officer can enforce obedience to his orders. Refusal to obey orders,
often accompanied by the foulest abuse, is one of the commonest of
experiences at sea in British sailing ships, for which gross outrage
the master’s only legal remedy is to note the offence in the official
log, and on the ship’s arrival in port get a magistrate to sanction
fining the offender a portion of his pay varying from two days’ to a
month’s wages.
Between British seamen anxious to leave the sea and captains eager
to ship Dutchmen, the miserable remnant of our countrymen manning
“deep-water” ships steadily dwindles. Those that remain are mostly like
Sterne’s starling, or else they are hopeful youngsters who, having
served their time in some singly-owned hooker, and passed for second
mate, sail before the mast in hope of picking up a berth abroad. They
cannot live at home in idleness wearing away the dock roads looking
for berths which are all filled up by those possessing influence of
some kind with the owners, so they put in their time as A.B.s and live
in hope. This, however, is not all. Not content with supplying our
forecastles, the Dutchmen kindly furnish us with officers as well.
I have been before the mast in a ship, the _Orpheus_ of Greenock,
where the chief mate was a Liverpool man, who, with a Welsh A.B. and
myself, represented the entire British element on board. Her crew
numbered twenty-four all told. Doubtless I shall hear that this was
a marvellously exceptional case, but I beg to differ--it is all too
common.
THE “BOY”
Another curious feature of the manning of our ships is especially
noticed by the Registrar-General--the way in which young British seamen
leave the sea-life at the earliest opportunity. His unemotional remark,
that “as ‘sailors’ do not ordinarily enter the sea-service after they
are twenty-five years of age, this falling off in the number of its
young British sailors affects the source of supply of our future petty
officers and able seamen,” is full of the gravest warning, which has,
however, apparently passed unheeded. Out of the various training
ships[3] there pass every year a very large number of lads into the
mercantile marine, who have received at least an insight into the
conditions of a sailor’s life as it should be. They are taught habits
of obedience, cleanliness, and regularity, and in some cases have
actual acquaintance with the working of small vessels under way. When
they are considered to be fairly competent to do all that is likely
to be required of them, they are taken in hand by an official whose
duty it is to find ships for them. In due time they sign as “boys,”
generally in sailing ships, and away they go to sea. To their utter
amazement they find the life has scarcely anything in common with
that which they have been used to. In the first place, they miss most
painfully the abundance of good plain food. Then they have been used to
cleanliness of the strictest kind, both in body and clothes. Now they
are fortunate if they can obtain the eighth share of a bucket of fresh
water once a week, unless rain falls. Their duties have been regular,
their periods of rest unbroken; now they have as many masters as there
are hands on board, and they never know what to do next. They have
been under a regular system of tuition; now, if they learn anything,
it is because they are determined to do so in spite of difficulties
which are only to be overcome by such indomitable perseverance as one
can hardly expect from a boy. And lastly, they are thrown into the
intimate society of a group of men who, generally speaking, have but
one topic of conversation, one mode of speech--the worst possible. They
are continually being told that nobody but a fool goes to sea, that it
is the life of a convict, with worse food and lodging, and that they
had better sweep a crossing ashore. Consequently they are ever on the
look-out for a way of escape, and the great majority succeed in finding
one before very long.
[3] This does not apply to cadet ships, such as the _Worcester_
and _Conway_.
THE NAVAL RESERVE
This brings me to a most important part of the subject, the question of
merchant seamen as a reserve for the Navy. There can be no doubt that
the institution of the Royal Naval Reserve was a grand idea, but there
are grave doubts as to the way in which it is being carried out. As
far as its officers are concerned, its success can hardly be disputed,
though there may be more truth than is palatable in the assertion
that Naval officers look down with much contempt upon the gallant
merchantmen who become R.N.R. lieutenants. Whether that be so or not, I
am sure that Naval officers would be the first to recognise the value
of R.N.R lieutenants if ever their services were needed, and any
lingering feeling of superiority would soon give place to admiration.
But the men, the rank and file, who are each paid a substantial
retaining fee yearly, besides a guinea a week for six weeks’ annual
drill? I speak under correction as trenching upon a matter with which I
have had small acquaintance, but I believe that drill is usually put in
on board of an ancient hulk, with obsolete weapons, and that very few
of the men have any acquaintance whatever with the actual conditions
of service on board a sea-going vessel of war. If I am right in this
contention, then this most valuable body of men are running to waste,
and would be no more fit to take their places on board a man-o’-war
than they would be to start cabinet-making. And if this be so in the
case of Royal Naval Reserve men, what can be said of those outside
that experimental force? Except that he would be hardly likely to get
seasick, the merchant seaman suddenly transferred to (let us say) a
first-class battleship would feel as much out of his element as any
landsman, more so than an engine-fitter or a man accustomed to some of
our big machine-shops. To use the same words, but in a very different
sense, that I used about the tramp-steamer crews, a man-of-warsman
(blue-jacket) is not a sailor at all now. He is a marine artilleryman
with a fine knowledge of boat handling, but a spanner is fitter for
his fist than a marlinspike. He lives in the heart of a bewildering
complication of engineering contrivances, to which the mazy web of
a sailing-ship’s top hamper is as simple as a child’s box of bricks.
He is accustomed to the manipulation of masses of metal so huge as to
excite the awe-stricken wonder of the ordinary citizen who is not an
engineer. And familiarity with packages of death-dealing explosives
renders him as contemptuously indifferent to their potentialities
of destruction as if they were sand or sawdust. And, most important
of all, long and rigid training has made him one of the smartest
men in the world, able to act at the word of command like a pinion
in a machine, at the right moment, in the right way, yet with that
intelligence no machine can ever possess.
THE INTELLIGENT FOREIGNER
Talk about the average merchant seamen filling up gaps in the ranks of
men like these is almost too much for one’s patience on the part of
those whose business it is to know; it is criminal stupidity. Now in
France every merchant seaman must perforce spend a large proportion
of his time in the Navy, so that their reserve is always available.
And that is one reason why France strives so eagerly to foster her
Mercantile Marine even at such crushing cost to her long-suffering
taxpayers. In the event of war with us, however, she would be in a
far different position, because she could exist without a merchant
ship at sea, and all their crews would be ready for service in the
Navy. What should we do? Even supposing that all our merchant seamen
were capable of taking their places on board of men-of-war if called
upon, who would man the fleets of food-carriers? Accepting as rigidly
correct the proportions shown by the official document already quoted,
the percentage of foreign seamen in all foreign-going vessels was two
years ago 35.5, and admittedly increasing rapidly. Would it be wise to
withdraw from the merchant ships the stiffening of British subjects
they now carry and replace them by aliens? I firmly believe that the
danger limit has long been passed in the exclusively cargo-carrying
trades, which, after all, are our very backbone. What this great army
of aliens will do in the event of our going to war with one or two
European Powers is a problem of undeniable gravity. But given a fine
ship with a valuable cargo, with officers and crew nearly all German,
what might they reasonably be expected to do? Failing an answer, I
submit that the temptation to transfer the ship to their own flag
would be very great. And it is a needless risk. Let it be granted
that the alien officer or skipper is a good man, better educated most
likely, a good seaman, and that he is cheap. All these qualities except
the educational one (which is, after all, not so important to our
officers as it is to the foreigner) our officers possess in just as
great measure, while as for the price--well, I have seen half-a-dozen
chief mates tumbling over one another for the chance of shipping in a
1200-ton Baltic tramp steamer at £5 : 10s. a month. They could not be
much cheaper than that, unless they got the same wages as the crew. And
I know of English skippers of sea-going steamers out of London who are
getting £10 a month. Poor men, they are cheap enough!