A SAILOR A JACK OF ALL TRADES
As I began to learn my sailor duties, and show activity in running
aloft, the men, I observed, treated me with a little more
consideration, though not at all relaxing in a certain air of
professional superiority. For the mere knowing of the names of the
ropes, and familiarizing yourself with their places, so that you can
lay hold of them in the darkest night; and the loosing and furling of
the canvas, and reefing topsails, and hauling braces; all this, though
of course forming an indispensable part of a seaman’s vocation, and the
business in which he is principally engaged; yet these are things which
a beginner of ordinary capacity soon masters, and which are far
inferior to many other matters familiar to an _“able seaman.”_
What did I know, for instance, about _striking a top-gallant-mast,_ and
sending it down on deck in a gale of wind? Could I have _turned in a
dead-eye,_ or in the approved nautical style have _clapt a seizing on
the main-stay?_ What did I know of _“passing a gammoning,” “reiving a
Burton,” “strapping a shoe-block,” “clearing a foul hawse,”_ and
innumerable other intricacies?
The business of a thorough-bred sailor is a special calling, as much of
a regular trade as a carpenter’s or locksmith’s. Indeed, it requires
considerably more adroitness, and far more versatility of talent.
In the English merchant service boys serve a long apprenticeship to the
sea, of seven years. Most of them first enter the Newcastle colliers,
where they see a great deal of severe coasting service. In an old copy
of the Letters of Junius, belonging to my father, I remember reading,
that coal to supply the city of London could be dug at Blackheath, and
sold for one half the price that the people of London then paid for it;
but the Government would not suffer the mines to be opened, as it would
destroy the great nursery for British seamen.
A thorough sailor must understand much of other avocations. He must be
a bit of an embroiderer, to work fanciful collars of hempen lace about
the shrouds; he must be something of a weaver, to weave mats of
rope-yarns for lashings to the boats; he must have a touch of
millinery, so as to tie graceful bows and knots, such as _Matthew
Walker’s roses,_ and _Turk’s heads;_ he must be a bit of a musician, in
order to sing out at the halyards; he must be a sort of jeweler, to set
dead-eyes in the standing rigging; he must be a carpenter, to enable
him to make a jurymast out of a yard in case of emergency; he must be a
sempstress, to darn and mend the sails; a ropemaker, to twist _marline_
and _Spanish foxes;_ a blacksmith, to make hooks and thimbles for the
blocks: in short, he must be a sort of Jack of all trades, in order to
master his own. And this, perhaps, in a greater or less degree, is
pretty much the case with all things else; for you know nothing till
you know all; which is the reason we never know anything.
A sailor, also, in working at the rigging, uses special tools peculiar
to his calling—_fids, serving-mallets, toggles, prickers,
marlingspikes, palms, heavers,_ and many more. The smaller sort he
generally carries with him from ship to ship in a sort of canvas
reticule.
The estimation in which a ship’s crew hold the knowledge of such
accomplishments as these, is expressed in the phrase they apply to one
who is a clever practitioner. To distinguish such a mariner from those
who merely _“hand, reef, and steer,”_ that is, run aloft, furl sails,
haul ropes, and stand at the wheel, they say he is _“a sailor-man”_
which means that he not only knows how to reef a topsail, but is an
artist in the rigging.
Now, alas! I had no chance given me to become initiated in this art and
mystery; no further, at least, than by looking on, and watching how
that these things might be done as well as others, the reason was, that
I had only shipped for this one voyage in the Highlander, a short
voyage too; and it was not worth while to teach _me_ any thing, the
fruit of which instructions could be only reaped by the next ship I
might belong to. All they wanted of me was the good-will of my muscles,
and the use of my backbone—comparatively small though it was at that
time—by way of a lever, for the above-mentioned artists to employ when
wanted. Accordingly, when any embroidery was going on in the rigging, I
was set to the most inglorious avocations; as in the merchant service
it is a religious maxim to keep the hands always employed at something
or other, never mind what, during their watch on deck.
Often furnished with a club-hammer, they swung me over the bows in a
bowline, to pound the rust off the anchor: a most monotonous, and to me
a most uncongenial and irksome business. There was a remarkable
fatality attending the various hammers I carried over with me. Somehow
they _would_ drop out of my hands into the sea. But the supply of
reserved hammers seemed unlimited: also the blessings and benedictions
I received from the chief mate for my clumsiness.
At other times, they set me to picking oakum, like a convict, which
hempen business disagreeably obtruded thoughts of halters and the
gallows; or whittling belaying-pins, like a Down-Easter.
However, I endeavored to bear it all like a young philosopher, and
whiled away the tedious hours by gazing through a port-hole while my
hands were plying, and repeating Lord Byron’s Address to the Ocean,
which I had often spouted on the stage at the High School at home.
Yes, I got used to all these matters, and took most things coolly, in
the spirit of Seneca and the stoics.
All but the _“turning out”_ or rising from your berth when the watch
was called at night—_that_ I never fancied. It was a sort of
acquaintance, which the more I cultivated, the more I shrunk from; a
thankless, miserable business, truly.
Consider that after walking the deck for four full hours, you go below
to sleep: and while thus innocently employed in reposing your wearied
limbs, you are started up—it seems but the next instant after closing
your lids—and hurried on deck again, into the same disagreeably dark
and, perhaps, stormy night, from which you descended into the
forecastle.
The previous interval of slumber was almost wholly lost to me; at least
the golden opportunity could not be appreciated: for though it is
usually deemed a comfortable thing to be asleep, yet at the time no one
is conscious that he is so enjoying himself. Therefore I made a little
private arrangement with the Lancashire lad, who was in the other
watch, just to step below occasionally, and shake me, and whisper in my
ear—_“Watch below, Buttons; watch below”—_which pleasantly reminded me
of the delightful fact. Then I would turn over on my side, and take
another nap; and in this manner I enjoyed several complete watches in
my bunk to the other sailor’s one. I recommend the plan to all landsmen
contemplating a voyage to sea.
But notwithstanding all these contrivances, the dreadful sequel could
not be avoided. Eight bells would at last be struck, and the men on
deck, exhilarated by the prospect of changing places with us, would
call the watch in a most provoking but mirthful and facetious style.
As thus:—
“Starboard watch, ahoy! eight bells there, below! Tumble up, my lively
hearties; steamboat alongside waiting for your trunks: bear a hand,
bear a hand with your knee-buckles, my sweet and pleasant fellows! fine
shower-bath here on deck. Hurrah, hurrah! your ice-cream is getting
cold!”
Whereupon some of the old croakers who were getting into their trowsers
would reply with—“Oh, stop your gabble, will you? don’t be in such a
hurry, now. You feel sweet, don’t you?” with other exclamations, some
of which were full of fury.
And it was not a little curious to remark, that at the expiration of
the ensuing watch, the tables would be turned; and we on deck became
the wits and jokers, and those below the grizzly bears and growlers.