ashore, before the new regulations as to prompt payment of seamen's
wages came into force. At that time you had only to take a morning walk
across Tower Hill, where the bluff lay figure at the outfitter's door
stands for Jack in full feather, and thence to America Square, or the
neighbourhood of the Minories and Rosemary Lane, to see dozens of poor
fellows lounging listlessly about the doors of pay-agents, waiting day
after day at the street-corners, with an occasional visit to the
public-house, and the perpetual consumption of "hard" tobacco. It was
easy afterwards to follow Jack to Ratcliffe, Rotherhithe, Shadwell, and
the neighbourhood, where his "friends" lay in wait for him to spend the
evening; in the tap-rooms of waterside taverns, where he sat hopelessly
drinking and smoking during a hot summer's afternoon; to frowsy,
low-browed shops of cheap clothiers, to hot, stifling dancing-rooms, to
skittle-alleys behind gin-shop bars, where a sudden brawl would call out
knives, and the use of a "slung-shot" as a weapon would make a case of
manslaughter for the coroner; to very minor theatres, where he could see
absurd caricatures of himself in the stage sailors, dancing hornpipes
unknown at sea; to the dreadful dens of Bluegate Fields and Tiger
Bay--to any or all of these places you might have followed Jack; and may
even yet follow his fellows who have not yet been redeemed from the evil
ways of those bad times, when there were no homes for sailors amidst the
bewildering vice and misery of maritime London, and other seaport towns
of this great mercantile island.
It so happened that I made my first intimate acquaintance with the one
real, publicly representative "Sailors' Home" in Well Street, near the
London Docks, after having seen Jack under several of the terrible
conditions just referred to, so that, with this painful knowledge of him
and his ways, it was with a kind of delighted surprise that I suddenly
walked into the great entrance-hall of the institution, where he and his
fellows were sitting on the benches by the wall with the serious,
contemplative, almost solemn air which is (in my experience) the common
expression of sailors ashore, and during ordinary leisure hours. There
they were, a good ship's crew of them altogether, sitting, as I have
already said, in true sailor fashion--stooping forward, wrists on knees,
lolling on sea-chests and clothes-bags, taking short fore-and-aft walks
of six steps and a turn in company with some old messmate, smoking,
growling, chatting, and generally enjoying their liberty; not without an
eye, now and then, to the smart officer who had come in to see whether
he could pick up a brisk hand or two for the mail service.
This was some five or six years ago, and it is a happy result of the
plan on which the Home was first established (which was intended
ultimately to make the institution self-supporting, if the cost of
building were defrayed) that the whole scheme has been so enlarged since
that time, that anybody who would see what our mercantile seamen are
like, may now go and see them, in a largely increasing community, in
this great institution. So many come and go and reappear at intervals
represented by the length of their voyages, that 10,120 officers and men
had partaken of its inestimable benefits during the year from the first
of May, 1872, to the end of April, 1873.
But the institution itself was founded in earnest faith, and built with
the labour that is consecrated by prayer. Both to the Home and to its
companion institution, the Refuge for Destitute Seamen--we will pay a
visit on our next meeting.
_WITH THEM WHO WERE READY TO PERISH._
On the 28th of February, 1828, a very terrible calamity happened in the
place known as Wellclose Square, Whitechapel. A new theatre called the
Brunswick, had been erected there on the site of a former building,
known as the Old Royalty. It had been completed in seven months, and
three days afterwards, during a rehearsal, the whole structure gave way
and fell with a crash, burying ten persons amidst the ruins, and
fearfully injuring several others. Such a catastrophe was very awful,
and the people of the neighbourhood looked with an almost solemn
curiosity at the wreck of an edifice in which they themselves might have
met with death suddenly.
Very soon, however, they began to regard the heap of ruins with
surprise, for early one morning there appeared two officers of the Royal
Navy, surrounded by a gang of labourers with picks and shovels, and
before these men (some of whom were Irish Roman Catholic) began to work
they listened attentively while one of the officers offered up an
earnest prayer to God for a blessing on the results of the labour they
were about to undertake. Morning after morning their labour was thus
sanctified, and evening after evening it was celebrated by the voice of
thanksgiving, till at length the ground was cleared, and on the 10th of
June, 1830, the first stone of a new building was laid. The building was
to be a Home for Sailors, and as a necessary adjunct to the Home, it was
intended to establish a Destitute Sailors' Asylum.
The two naval officers were Captain (now Admiral) George C. Gambier, and
Captain Robert James Elliot, now gone to his rest, who with Lieutenant
Robert Justice afterwards Captain, and now with his old comrade, in the
heavenly haven, had been seeking how to ameliorate the condition of
seamen, numbers of whom were to be seen homeless, miserable, and
frequently half naked and destitute, in that foul and wretched
neighbourhood about the Docks and beyond Tower Hill.
The task was a difficult one, and might have daunted less brave and
hopeful men, for it was intended to demolish the piratical haunts where
the enemies of the sailor lay in wait for his destruction; where crimps
and thieves and the keepers of infamous dens held their besotted victims
in bondage, while they battened on the wages that had been earned during
months of privation and arduous toil.
It was necessary, therefore, first to provide a decent and comfortable
lodging-house for the reception of sailors coming into port,--a place
where they might safely deposit their clothes and their wages, and where
they could "look out for another ship" without the evil intervention of
crimps or pretended agents. It was a part of the intended plan also to
establish a savings bank, for securing any portion of their wages which
they chose to lay by, or for safely transmitting such sums as they might
wish to send to their relations. In short, the design was to provide a
home for the homeless, and hold out helping hands to those who were
ready to perish.
Those ruins of the theatre stood on the very spot for such an
establishment, and the two captains, Gambier and Elliott, began by
buying the ground and the wreck that stood upon it, not by asking for
public subscriptions, but mostly with their own money, to which was
added a few contributions from any of their friends who desired to join
in the good work.
It is impossible to use more earnest or touching words than those in
which the late Rear-Admiral Sir W. E. Parry spoke of the labours of his
friend and fellow-supporter of the Sailors' Home, in an address to
British seamen at Southampton, in 1853. "And now," he said, "let me just
add that, from the first moment in which Captain Elliot stood among the
ruins of the Brunswick Theatre, till it pleased God to deprive him of
bodily and mental energy, did that self-denying Christian man devote all
his powers, his talents, his influence, and his money, to this his
darling object of protecting and providing for the comfort of sailors.
Connected with a noble family, and entitled by birth, education, and
station, to all the advantages which the most exalted society could give
hm, he willingly relinquished all, took up his abode in a humble
lodging, surrounded by gin-shops, near the 'Home:' denied himself most
of the comforts, it may almost be said some of the necessaries of life,
in order the more effectually to carry out his benevolent design; and
for eighteen years of self-denial and devotion, made it the business of
his life to superintend this institution."
For the noble officer lived to see the building for which he had wrought
and prayed, complete and successful. In 1835 300 sailors could be
received and welcomed there. The piratical lairs began to empty of some
of those who had been shown a way of escape, and the good work went on.
In the adjoining Seamen's Church the congregation was largely augmented
by the boarders from the Sailors' Home, while the Honorary Chaplain and
the Missionary attached officially to the institution, became not only
parson and preacher, but friendly adviser and instructor, ready to
speak, to hear, and to forbear. The addition of a book depository, where
various useful publications may be purchased, and Bibles are sold at the
lowest possible prices, and in various languages, was a valuable
auxiliary to moral and religious instruction, and at once increased the
home-like influences of the place.
The institution having gone on thus prosperously, under the direction of
a goodly number of officers and gentlemen, added to its possessions by
acquiring other plots of freehold ground, extending backward to Dock
Street; and in 1863 Lord Palmerston laid the stone of an entirely new
block of building, which was inaugurated by the Prince of Wales in 1865,
since which time 502 boarders can be received, each being provided with
his separate cabin.
Since the opening of the institution in 1835 it has received 246,855
seamen of various countries and from all parts of the world. Of these
72,234 have been old or returned boarders, and most of them have
conducted their money transactions through the "Home," and have made
good use of the savings-bank.
There are 270 inmates under that protecting roof as I step into the
large entrance hall in Well Street to-day; and the two hundred and
seventy-first has just gone to look after his kit and sea-chests, which
have been carefully conveyed from the Docks by one of the carmen
belonging to the institution, who has "The Sailors' Home, Well Street,"
worked in red worsted on his shirt, and painted on the side of the van
from which he has just alighted.
It is evident that our friend No. 271 has been here before, for he knows
exactly where to present himself in order to deposit some of his more
portable property with the cashier or the superintendent. He scarcely
looks like a man who will want an advance of money, for he is a smart,
alert, bright-eyed fellow, with a quiet air of self-respect about him
which seems to indicate an account in the savings-bank; but should he be
"hard-up," he can ask for and receive a loan not exceeding twenty
shillings directly his chest is deposited in his cabin. Just now the
chest itself, together with its superincumbent bundle, stands against
the wall along with some other incoming or outgoing boxes, more than one
of which are associated with brand new cages for parrots, and some
odd-shaped cases evidently containing sextants or other nautical
instruments. There is a whole ship's crew, and a smart one too, in the
hall to-day; while a small contingent occupies the clothing department,
where one or two shrewd North-countrymen are being fitted each with a
"new rig," knowing well enough that they will be better served there
than at any of the cheap outfitters (or the dear ones either) in the
neighbourhood. Fine blue broadcloth, pilots, tweeds, rough weather, and
petershams are here to choose from "to measure," as well as a wonderful
collection of hats, caps, underclothing, hosiery, neckties, boots, and
shoes so unlike the clumsy specimens that swing along with the tin pots
and oilskins in some of the little low-browed shops about the district,
that I at once discover the reason for the smartness and general
neatly-fitted look of most of the men and lads now pacing up and down,
talking and smoking. It is quiet talk for the most part, even when half
a dozen of the inmates adjourn to the refreshment-room, where they can
obtain a glass of good sound beer (though there is a much more general
appreciation of coffee) and sit down comfortably at a table like that at
which two serious mates are already discussing some knotty point, which
will probably last till tea-time.
Tea-time? There is the half-past five o'clock signal gong going now, and
light swift steps are to be heard running up the stairs into the large
dining-hall, where the two hundred and seventy-one, or as many of them
as are at home, sit down like fellows who know their business and mean
to do it. It is a pleasant business enough, and one soon despatched; for
there are so many big teapots, that each table is amply provided by the
alert attendants, who dispense bread-and-butter, watercresses, salads,
and savoury bloaters and slices of ham and tongue, the latter having
been already served by a carver who is equal to the occasion. It is
astonishing how quickly the meal is over when its substantial quality is
taken into account; but there is no lack of waiters, the number of
attendants in the building being sixty-five, some of whom, of course,
belong to the dormitories and to other departments.
The meals here are, of course, served with the utmost regularity, and
without limit to quantity. Breakfast, with cold meat, fish, bacon, and
general "relishes," at eight in the morning; dinner at one: consisting
of soup, roast and boiled meats, ample supplies of vegetables,
occasional fish, stupendous fruit-pies and puddings, and a good
allowance of beer. After tea comes a substantial snack for supper, at
nine o'clock, and the doors of the institution are kept open to
half-past eleven at night; those who wish to remain out later being
required to obtain a pass from the superintendent.
Of course it is requested that the boarders come in to meals as
punctually as possible; but those who cannot conveniently be present at
the regular time, can have any meal supplied to them on application.
Indeed, two or three belated ones are arriving now, as we go to the end
of the long and lofty refectory to look at the crest of the late Admiral
Sir William Bowles, K.C.B., which, supported by flags, is painted upon
the wall, as a memorial of a gallant officer and a good friend to this
institution and to all sailors.
Leaving the dining-hall, we notice a smaller room, set apart for masters
and mates who may desire to have their meals served here; and on the
same extensive storey is a large and comfortable reading-room well
supplied with periodicals, and containing a capital library consisting
of entertaining and instructive books.
The board-room is close by, and is of the size and shape to make an
excellent mission-room, where week-night services and meetings of a
religious character are held, and well attended by men who, having seen
the wonders of the Lord upon the great deep, join in His reasonable
service when they are at home and at rest. This vast floor also contains
two dormitories: but most of the sleeping cabins are in the second and
third floors.
There are few sights in London more remarkable than these berths, which
are, in fact, separate cabins, each closed by its own door, and
containing bed, wash-stand, chair, looking-glass, towels, and ample
space for the seachest and personal belongings of the occupant. The
cabins extend round a large area rising to a great height, and
surrounded above by a light gallery reached by an outer staircase, round
which are another series of berths exactly resembling the lower ones; so
that there are, in fact, double, and in one or two dormitories treble
tiers of cabins, and the upper ones may be entered without disturbing
the inmates of those below. One of the three-decker areas is of vast
size, and, standing in the upper gallery and looking upward to the lofty
roof, and then downward to the clear, wide, open space between the lower
rooms, the visitor is struck by the admirable provision both for light
and ventilation; the former being secured at night by means of properly
distributed gas jets, which are of course under the care of the night
attendants, who are on watch in each dormitory, and may be summoned at
once in case of illness or accident.
Not only is there provision against fire by a length of fire-hose
attached to hydrants on each storey, but the water supply to lavatories
and for other purposes is secured by a cistern holding 4,000 gallons at
the top of the building; so that there is complete circulation
throughout the various parts of the building.
It is time that we paid a visit to the basement of this great
institution, however; for, in more senses than one, it may be said to be
at the foundation of the arrangements. Yes, even with respect to the
amusements provided for the inmates--for while chess, draughts and
backgammon are to be found in the library and reading-room, and
billiards and bagatelle hold their own on the great landings of the
first storey, we have down here a skittle-alley of a character so
remarkable, that some of us who have read Washington Irving think of the
reverberations of the giants' pastime in the mountains, while we wonder
where sailors can first have acquired a taste for this particular
amusement. It is a good and healthy one, however, and is wisely
provided, since it adds one more efficient inducement to the men to take
their pleasure among their true friends instead of seeking it amidst the
evil influences of a filthy tavern, or in the garish heat of some vile
Ratcliff Highway bowling-alley, where men are maddened with drugged
drink, and greeted with foul imprecations by the harpies who seek to rob
and cheat them.
There is much to see in this basement, and to begin with here is No. two
hundred and seventy-one sending his chest up by the great luggage-lift
to the second floor, where he will find it presently in his cabin. We
cannot stay to speak to him, however, for we are on the very verge of
the kitchen, to which we are, as it were, led by the nose; for wafted
thence comes an appetising perfume of new bread just taken from one of
the great ovens devoted to the daily baking. There are lingering odours
also of today's dinner, though the meat ovens and the great boilers and
hot plates are clean and ready for the morrow. The pantry door, too, is
open, and there are toothsome varieties of "plain-eating" therein, while
the storerooms savour of mingled comforts, to which the gales of Araby
the blest offer no parallel, and the butcher's shop has a calm and
concentrated sense of meatiness which is suggestive to a robust appetite
not already satiated with a chunk from one of a whole squadron of soft,
new currant-cakes. After a peep at the large and busy laundry with its
peculiar moist atmosphere, the coal and beer cellars, the pumping
machinery and boiler-room may be passed by, and little curiosity is
excited by this long and convenient apartment where hot and cold baths
are prepared to order at a merely nominal charge. There is a door close
by, however, where we stop instinctively, for there is a cheerful light
inside, and a sound of easy and yet interrupted conversation which can
belong to only one department of society. There can be no mistake about
it--a veritable barber's shop, and a gentleman with a preternaturally
clean chin complacently surveying himself in a looking-glass of limited
dimensions, while another waits to be operated upon by the skilled
practitioner who carries in his face the suggestion of a whole ropery of
"tough yarns," and was--or am I mistaken--tonsor to the _Victory_ or to
some ship of war equally famous when the British seaman shaved close and
often, and pigtails had hardly gone out of fashion. There is no time for
testing the great artist's skill this evening, though I could almost
sacrifice a well-grown beard to hear some rare old fo'c's'le story. But
no story could be more wonderful than the plain truth that for all the
generous provision in this excellent institution the rescued sailor
brought within its wholesome influence pays but fifteen shillings a
week. Yes, men and apprentices, fifteen shillings; and officers,
eighteen and sixpence.
The evening lowers over the outer world of Mint Street and Leman Street,
and the great blank void of the Tower ditch is full of shadow. Standing
again in the large entrance hall, which reminds one more of shipboard,
now that the lights are dotted about it, leaving it still a little dim,
I hear the trickling of a drinking-fountain, and associated with its
fresh plash hear as pleasant a story as any yarn that ever the barber
himself could have spun for my delight.
The fountain, which is of polished Aberdeen granite, was opened last
November in proper style, a platform being erected, and the chair being
taken by the Secretary to the "Metropolitan Drinking Fountains
Association," supported by several ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Lee made an
appropriate speech, and called attention to the gift, and pointed to the
inscription; and it was quite an emphatic little observance for the
inmates who had gathered in the hall on the occasion. And well it might
be, for the fountain bears this modest inscription:--"The gift of
William McNeil, Seaman, in appreciation of the great benefits he has
derived on the various occasions during which he has made the
Institution his _Home_, for upwards of 25 years."
I think very little more need be said for the Sailors' Home than is
indicated by this plain, earnest testimony to its worth. Yet it is
necessary to say one more word. This Sailors' Home is in a way
self-supporting, and at present seeks only the kindly interest of the
public in case it should ever need another response to an appeal for
extending its sphere of usefulness. Not a farthing of profit is
permitted to any individual engaged in it, and even fees to servants are
prohibited, though the crimps and touts outside endeavour to bribe them
sometimes, to induce sailors to go to the common lodging-houses, where
land-rats seek their prey. All the profits, if there are any at all, are
placed to a reserve fund for repairs, improvements, or extensions. At
any rate, no public appeals are being made just now.
But there is another institution next door--another branch of the stem
which has grown so sturdily from the seed planted by the good
captain--the Destitute Sailors' Asylum. That is a place full of
interest, though there is nothing to see there. Nothing but a clean
yard, with means for washing and cleansing, and a purifying oven for
removing possible infection from clothes, and a great bare room, just
comfortably warmed in winter, and hung with rows of hammocks, like the
'tween-decks of a ship.
That is all; but in those hammocks, sometimes, poor starved and
destitute sailors go to sleep, after they have been fed with soup and
warmed and comforted; and in the morning, when they turn out, they are
fed again with cocoa and bread, and if they are naked they are clothed.
There are not very many applicants, for, strange as it may appear, since
sailors' homes have come in fashion there are but few destitute seamen;
but there _need be no unrelieved destitute sailors at all in London_,
for anybody can send such a one to the Asylum in Well Street, London
Docks, and he will be admitted. Here then, is an institution that may
claim support.
_CASTING BREAD UPON THE WATERS._
One of the old Saxon commentators on the Holy Scriptures, in referring
to the passage, "Cast thy bread upon the waters, and it shall be found
after many days," ventures to suggest as a meaning--"Give succour to
poor and afflicted seamen." Whatever may be the conclusions of critical
Biblical expositors, there can be no doubt that the pious annotator was
right in a true--that is, in a spiritual interpretation of the text.