THE BO'SUN.
It is impossible to help regarding the boatswain as a great figure of
romance. His title rings on the ear like the voice of the sea. And
although not one person in ten thousand among our crowded populations
could give a definition of his position that would not be a caricature,
there are few, very few, who do not feel a responsive thrill when
the word is mentioned. But I am compelled to take for granted that
the average man or woman has formed some hazy idea of what a bo'sun
is like. For one thing, it is certain that to speak of a gentlemanly
bo'sun would be considered as absurd as to speak of a fair negro.
He is, of course, to the general, the _beau-ideal_ of a "Jack Tar,"
a magnificent monster with a bull's voice, burned almost black by
the tropical sun, with eagle eyes forth-looking from a thicket of
beard, and great hairy arms whose innumerable devices of Indian ink
or gunpowder are almost hidden by a hirsute covering that would shame
an ape. Brave as a man can be, he is terrible in his wrath, yet his
heart is tender as a little child's, and any tale of pity never fails
to empty his pockets. Now, it has so often been my ungrateful task to
shatter old beliefs in the untrue and impossible, that I am quite glad
that no necessity is laid upon me for doing so at this present. There
are bo'suns to whom the above fancy description would apply precisely,
only it would not be complete. Other qualities, not so picturesque,
perhaps, but far more useful, would have to be added to finish the
picture. And then you have a man whose better it would be almost
impossible to find in the wide world.
In the Navy, the bo'sun, upon rising to the full height of that
position, becomes for picturesque purposes spoiled. He wears a
frock-coat, a "boiled" shirt, and carries a sword. He is a warrant
officer at the head of his profession, as far as concerns any man who
enters the service as a seaman. No amount of ability, education, or
conspicuous courage can elevate him another step. But his mates, who
may go barefoot, who wear the characteristic and eminently suitable rig
of the blue-jacket, distinguished only by devices upon their sleeves,
and a silver whistle or pipe--these are the typical bo'suns of the
popular fancy, the fine flower of the naval seamen.
As with all the rest of the officers, there are differences, not
exactly in status, but in duties, between bo'suns of the highest class
of steamships and the sailing ships which are big enough to carry
bo'suns properly so called. But these differences are not nearly so
great as among the certificated officers, for the bo'sun, whatever his
ship may be, is essentially a foreman, a working man who, by reason of
his superior qualifications, has risen above his fellow workers, and
takes the oversight of them. It is his duty, not to originate work,
but to see it carried out. He is no theorist, but a practical seaman of
the best kind. In steamers his seamanship is seldom called upon, but
his power of carrying on work is tested to the utmost. And in case of a
sudden emergency, such as the outbreak of fire, breakdown of engines,
or falling in with a helpless sister that requires a tow, the boatswain
is of the utmost importance. A good boatswain in a big steamship is a
treasure of great price, although he does not command very high wages.
He it is that makes all the difference to the mate between a happy life
and one full of those minor worries that whiten the hair and wrinkle
the face.
It cannot need any argument to enforce this fact. When the mate can
call the boatswain to him, and give his orders, secure in the knowledge
that the work will proceed without hitch or neglect, he may attend
to his other duties with an easy mind. The boatswain looks to the
mate, and to him alone, for his orders, and would be indignant at
interference by any officer of a lower grade. That is, supposing him to
be, as usual, a man fully competent. Where, by some accident, he has
slipped into the position without ability to command or knowledge to
carry out, he will generally be glad to curry favour with anybody, not
merely junior officers, but with the men under him--which is fatal.
The boatswain's position is not affected greatly by a change from a
liner into a big cargo steamer, unless it be in cases where, from
mistaken notions of economy, he is called bo'sun and lamp-trimmer. This
degradation of an ancient and honourable position is quite unfair
to the man who in a moment of folly or being hard up accepts such a
queerly-associated employment. For how can a sailor be expected to show
due deference to a man who, after all, is only "lamps"? In all the
steamers of the Australasian colonies a lad is carried as lamp-trimmer,
and his duties are confined to that and cleaning brass-work, both tasks
that are quite unfit for a man who is a leader and commander of the
crew, as a bo'sun is. Small tramps, of course, do not carry a bo'sun.
The duties which he should perform fall upon the hapless officers, as
aforesaid.
But if you would see the bo'sun in his glory go on board a large
sailing ship. There he has room and scope for his talents, can show of
what metal he is made. Even the radical changes that have taken place
in the rigging of sailing ships during the last quarter of a century do
not affect him much, except in so far as undermanning has reduced the
number of men available to carry out his directions. I am old enough
to remember the stately ships of Messrs. Green or Wigram or Devitt and
Moore coming into Melbourne and Sydney with crews more than double what
they would now carry if afloat. The bo'sun with his two mates were most
prominent figures, while their hoarse voices and the shrill scream
of their pipes resounded over the adjacent water as the vessel came
up to her berth. Those grand old vessels are gone, and with them the
fine complement of British seamen they used to carry, men who were so
disciplined that transference to a man-o'-war would have come as the
easiest and most natural thing in the world.
Yet it must not be supposed that the type of bo'sun they carried is yet
extinct. Fortunately, no; for he would be a heavy loss indeed. He has
grafted the old on to the new, and may be found to-day aboard the great
sailing ships, that still do a fair share of ocean traffic, carrying
on the work under the changed conditions, even as his forerunners did.
One of the greatest changes made in modern sailing ships has been the
substitution of wire rope for hemp. First of all wire was used for the
standing rigging, that is, for the great stays which support the masts.
Then came the invention of mild steel, and the discovery that ropes
made of mild steel wire were sufficiently pliable to be used for a
great deal of the running gear, that is, ropes that had to run through
blocks or pulleys. Then it was found that, instead of having a cumbrous
arrangement of stout ropes called lanyards to "set up" (tighten) the
standing rigging, stout screws would answer the purpose equally well;
and instead of needing a large number of men, much complication of
tackles, and many hours to "set up" the rigging, one man with a short
iron bar to turn the screws could do all that was required in about
a couple of hours. But this innovation, although it lessened labour
in one direction, did not make any difference to the work of the ship
aloft, where, on account of increased sail area and the practice of
carrying an additional mast, the work was more onerous than ever.
So the bo'sun of to-day must, in addition to the knowledge possessed
by those of bygone days, be an expert at handling wire rope, that
is, splicing the refractory stuff. He cannot be content with simply
knowing how it should be done, but he must be prepared to educate a
crew such as he may very easily find under him--a crew whose only
previous experience has been in steamers, and who hardly know one end
of a marline-spike from the other. He must be able to keep a ship in
thorough repair, going over the mastheads himself, and prying into
every detail for little defects, which may bring disaster if not
attended to in time. And his mastery of ships' work should be such
that it will be sufficient for the mate to say to him, "Bo'sun, I want
so-and-so done to-day," and then turn away completely easy in his mind,
because he knows that the work will be done, and done well.
I have had the misfortune to be once shipmates with, I was going to
say, a bad bo'sun; but perhaps the better description of him would be
that he was not a seaman at all, much less a bo'sun. We used to call
him "the Curiosity," abbreviated to "Curio." He said that he had been
bo'sun of the ill-fated _La Plata_. That may have been so, because the
vessel was lost only two days after leaving port, although none of us
could in the least understand how he had been able to obtain such a
berth. At any rate, he managed to get shipped with us in the _Herat_ as
bo'sun, and as she was a 1300-ton sailing ship, there was a fair scope
for his abilities. We found him out on the first day, although, as
nearly all hands were suffering from the last drunk, little notice was
taken. But before we cleared the Channel he was made of less account
than one of the boys. He was actually ignorant of how to do the most
trivial job. Even as a foremast hand he would have had a bad time; as
a bo'sun, his sublime audacity took our breath away. The officers were
all good men, and were able to carry on the work easily enough, leaving
nothing to him but such matters as washing decks or repeating their
orders. Then he took to coming into the fo'c'sle, and trying to curry
favour with the men by telling them of his varied experiences ashore.
By his own confession, he had been a salesman at Mortlock's in Oxford
Street, a door-keeper at a West End restaurant, something in the ring
at a circus, and other equally curious, out-of-the-way employments. His
impudence as well as a certain _bonhomie_, which, however out of place
in a bo'sun, would have been admirable in any of the positions he had
occupied ashore, softened the crew towards him, and really he did not
have such a bad time.
Of course he was discharged as soon as we reached Calcutta, the master
informing him that he would not carry him but for ballast, giving him
a "declines-to-report" discharge, which is equivalent to useless,
but paying him on the seamen's wages scale. Three days afterwards
he visited us, an overpowering swell of _distingué_ appearance, and
grandly informed us that he was ring-master in a great travelling
circus. After distributing orders lavishly, and inviting all hands
to come ashore and drink at his expense, he left, and I saw him no
more--the most amazing bo'sun I have ever even heard of.
At the other end of the scale I place the bos'un of the _Harbinger_,
a man of rot more than thirty, a giant in stature and strength, and
completely master of his profession. Of all the seamen I have ever
known, he was the most perfect specimen as far as rigging work was
concerned, and the handling of a ship's company. So splendid was his
work that, in conversation with him one day, after watching him splice
a two-inch wire grummet round the goose-neck of the spanker-boom with
far greater ease than most men would have done the same thing in rope,
I asked him whether he had not received some special instruction in
handling wire. He then told me that he was a Blackwall rigger, _i.e._ a
man whose trade is rigging ships in harbour, and that he only went to
sea when he could find a ship that suited him. That explained a great
deal; but I must admit that he was just as smart at handling sails
aloft in bad weather as he was at rigging work proper, so that I should
say he never allowed himself to get in the least rusty.
Other bo'suns I have known intimately by being shipmates with them,
good men as one would wish to sail with, but never one that came quite
up to this paragon among sailor-men. For some were perfect in all
their ways as far as "sailorizing" was concerned, yet could not get
the work out of their men; others were good drivers, but were weak
in their technical knowledge--at least, not quite so good at certain
work as some of the seamen under them; others were lazy, and one
especially do I remember, although a splendid seaman, was so great a
coward, that he was a by-word fore and aft. He was an Alsatian from
Metz, who had somehow got to sea, and after serving several years in
British ships, had become a bo'sun, a post for which his one defect
eminently disqualified him. And he never learned to talk intelligible
English. Sailors can understand almost any jargon that is spoken at
sea under the guise of English, but this man's talk was too funny for
anything. He would come to the fo'c'sle door as the watch was turning
out, and say, "Now, poys, gum lonk. Ve shrub und shrabe mit sant unt
racks alla now;" which, being interpreted, was, "Now, boys, come along.
We'll scrub and scrape with sand and canvas to-day." Poor fellow, his
abilities and long service deserved a better fate than he met with at
last. A couple of years after I left the ship I met him in Old Gravel
Lane, hopelessly crippled by a fall from aloft on his last passage
home. He was hobbling off to the workhouse to try and get in, to be
saved from starvation, for there is no redress for the sailor who is
maimed in the execution of his duty.
As I have said in the previous chapter, bo'suns are seldom carried in
American ships, where the third mate or second mate, as the case may
be, will efficiently perform a bo'sun's usual duties. But where they
are carried, they will be found, like all the other American officers
of whom I have spoken, the best seamen that can be found anywhere, but
in general conduct undoubtedly brutal to those under them. One case
of a "brevet" bo'sun is, I believe, sufficiently quaint to be noticed
here. A friend of mine, a man of rather small build, was second mate
of a Nova Scotian barque bound from New York to Hong Kong. When the
crew came on board--eight of them--he saw with some trepidation that
they were all huge negroes, and he did not feel any too comfortable
at the prospect of keeping them in order if they should turn out to be
a rowdy lot. But, putting a bold face on the matter, he mustered them.
As they trooped aft he noticed that, big as they all were, one towered
above all the rest, a black giant. A bright idea struck him, and as
soon as they had answered to their names he turned to the monster and
said, "Now look here, bo'sun, I want you t' hurry up 'n git these
spars lashed." "Ay, ay, sah," bellowed the delighted black man, "I put
de b'ys froo, sah." And put them through he did. There was never any
trouble from that day, the black bo'sun doing his work well, just for
the sake of the title with which he had been so suddenly honoured.