THE CARPENTER.
How shall I do fitting justice to the dignified, invaluable petty
officer (warrant officer in the Navy) whose title stands at the head
of this chapter? The honest journeyman ashore hearing the same title
has always had a peculiar fascination for me, whether joiner or
cabinetmaker. But he is no more to be compared with the carpenter of a
ship than a hod-carrier is with an architect. It is not every port that
can produce ships'-carpenters. Any shipyard where work is specialized,
as it is in many that I could name, is fatal to the breeding of such
men as ships'-carpenters must be. Like all the rest of the officers
I have written of, there is, of course, considerable difference in
the duties of a carpenter in steam and sail, the former being much
the easier billet for him. In a fine passenger steamship his duties
are mainly confined to seeing that certain gear is in working order,
attending to the shipping and unshipping of gangways, etc., but of
actual constructive work he seldom does any at all. That, owing to
the shortness of the voyages, is done when the vessel reaches home;
but it is essential that any needed repairs or alterations should be
noted during the voyage; and for this particular oversight a carpenter
is invaluable. And any remarks such as have been made hitherto about
incompetent men may be safely left out when considering the carpenter.
I do not go so far as to say that there is no such thing as an
incompetent ship's-carpenter. But I do declare that I never yet met or
heard of one. He is the man who may be relied upon to give less trouble
than any other man on board a ship.
As to his position, it is unique. He is a tradesman, of the mysteries
of whose craft the sailor does not pretend to knowledge. But he is
usually an old salt of keen observation, able to criticize sailor
work in all its branches, and with the proud conviction that he is
indispensable to the safety of the ship, a conviction that is based
upon expert knowledge of the constructional needs of the ship. The
real glory of a ship's-carpenter, however, does not shine out in any
steamer. It is in the sailing ship that he finds his opportunity for
the display of those abilities in which he is not to be approached by
any other man on board. I have often spoken in the highest terms of
admiration of the wonderful versatility of Canadians, Down Easters, and
Finns, who seem to be born with the power to use either marline-spike,
adze, plough, or sextant with equal facility. But their carpentry,
though sufficient for sea needs, is rough. It is, as they would be
the first to admit, only to be used where poverty or pressure of
circumstances forbids the employment of a man who has been through the
curriculum of the "yards" and has emerged ready to do all that a ship
in her utmost need can require at the hands of a man.
Perhaps the best ships'-carpenters known come from Scotland. In all
my experience I have only met with one who did not, and he was one of
the fine old school that used to be bred forty years ago in Thames
shipbuilding yards. But on the Clyde and in Aberdeen they breed a race
of men as ship-carpenters who are silent, thoughtful, and strong, men
who study the requirements of their ship as a great surgeon studies
his patients, and who never need telling what should be done. And this
is so recognized by masters that it is popularly supposed on board
ship that if the chronometer went wrong the carpenter would be called
upon to put it right. For he is no mere specialist. A ship's-carpenter
who was _only_ a carpenter would be of very little use on board a
modern sailing ship. He must be also a blacksmith, a block and spar
maker, a joiner, a sartor, and a boat-builder. Of course he must be a
caulker. I should not mention the latter were it not that in the minute
subdivision of labour, that for economical purposes obtains almost
everywhere to-day, caulking, roughly the stuffing of seams between
planking with oakum to keep out the water, has become a trade by itself.
The pumps are under the carpenter's charge. He knows not only how
to fit their boxes and renew the packing--many sailors have that
knowledge--but he can invent in time of need substitutes for leather,
and by all sorts of devices make it possible to keep the hold clear
of water. Also he is responsible for the due working and up-keep of
the iron-work aloft. The great trusses and goose-necks upon which the
massive yards are balanced, so that they swing from one side to the
other, are his care; he visits them at regular weekly intervals with
oil feeder and scraper, and with minute scrutiny assures himself that
there are no flaws in them which may in a moment of stress extend into
breaks, and let half the ship's company go howling to leeward, and be
swallowed up in the hissing vortex of white foam that surges hungrily
upward. He attends to the due working of iron block and sheaves, and
examines with a critical eye both masts and yards for flaws. To do
this, it is necessary that he be able to climb in any weather, since
the gear is permanently fixed aloft, and thither he must go to examine
it. But it is seldom that he is called upon to work aloft unless he be
an ardent seaman as well as a carpenter. Some members of the honoured
family of "Chips" I have known who scorned to be left on deck when a
rising gale demanded the services of all hands to shorten sail. They
were as keen and eager to wrestle with the mighty wings thundering at
their confining gear as any purely seafaring man that ever hung on to
a jackstay by his eyebrows, or scorned to secure himself on a yard by
thrusting his arm through a becket. There was never any need to call
them specially when it was all hands; they were always on deck with a
leap, as if they had been waiting ready rigged for the word, although
had one gone into their berths for anything an instant before the
cry was given he would have found them sleeping with the care-free
soundness of the sailor.
The bo'sun, carpenter, sailmaker, and cook generally live together in
a compartment of the forward house on deck. Formerly their berth was
known as the "half-deck," a survival of ancient days, when they were
really berthed in a horrible dungeon that rightfully bore the name.
But now the title is often carried by the berth set apart for the
apprentices, and the petty officers' quarters are as often divided in
two, one for the bo'sun and carpenter, and the other for the sailmaker
and cook. They are attended in simplest fashion by a boy, not at all
as a servant, but just to carry in their simple fare, wash their
mess-traps, and scrub out the berth. They may feed a little better than
the men, but not much, and the manner of their table is practically
the same, the "table," indeed, being often non-existent, as they eat
their meals in the good (?) old way, that is, with their plates upon
their knees or on a chest at their sides. But the carpenter has, in
addition to this home, which he shares with one or two others, a place
of retreat, sacred to him alone, wherein no man has any right to enter,
save the master and mate, and I am doubtful about the mate. It is his
"shop." Here is his bench; here he does such small work as comes under
the head of carpentering proper, or, on a long passage, makes cabinets,
writing-desks, or bookshelves for the skipper. It is a temple of peace,
fragrant with the scent of new wood, with a sub-tone of pungent tobacco
smoke, for here the presiding genius may, and does, smoke, with no one
to say him nay.
Unlike any other officer in the ship below the rank of mate, Chips
finds his own work; unless, indeed, the master may have some special
piece of work that he wishes done. And even then it would probably
not be undertaken if Chips did not think it was feasible. Under
ordinary circumstances the carpenter goes on his own even way, no
man interfering with him, and few knowing what he is employed upon.
Once, when on the homeward-bound passage of a long voyage, I asked our
carpenter whether he was not sometimes puzzled to know what to find to
do. It was a piece of daring on my part, for he was a dour Aberdonian
of middle age, so taciturn that his voice was seldom heard, and with a
grim expression on his face that discouraged familiarity. But he had
thawed out a bit on this occasion, and told me several yarns, so I
ventured to put the question, which had often occurred to me. "Mahn,"
he growled, with lowering brow, "Ah cud fin' wurrk fur seven year, 'f
we wur oot sae lang. Fat du Ah fine tae dae? ye say. Did ye ever see ma
idle in wurrkin' oors?" I shook my head vigorously, feeling that I was
on exceedingly delicate ground. "Nah," he muttered, "there's nae lack
o' wurrk, but ther's plenty wantin' wull tae dae it. But Ah niver hahd
ta worry aboot siccan a thing in a' ma life." And I said no more, being
no wiser than I was before, but feeling that what he said was true.
On the other hand, it may very well be that a ship's-carpenter
sometimes comes in for an overwhelming pressure of work which taxes all
his energies to cope with. On one occasion, in my own experience, the
skipper of a big ship, as we then considered her, bound from Liverpool
to Bombay brought with him to sea a number of huge rough spars, bought
cheaply, I suppose. These he purposed to replace the yards that were
already doing duty aloft, and as soon as opportunity offered the work
was begun. It was a tremendous task for one man to undertake; but our
Chips, although it was only his second voyage to sea, was fully equal
to the demand made upon his skill and strength. More than that, he was
able to train sundry members of the crew in the handling of broad axe
and rip-saw, so that they could take off him the most laborious part of
the work. During a calm that persisted for eight weeks, we practically
shifted every yard in the ship, working all day long, and--shall I say
it?--sleeping all night. I will not go so far as to say that the man
at the wheel went to sleep, but I dare not say that he did not, for no
demand was made upon his steering skill by the ship--she lay as nearly
motionless as a ship can lie upon the ocean. It was then that I learned
how wonderful a tool in the hand of an expert is the adze. Our Chips
seemed to prefer it to all his other tools, and the way he made it
serve him was marvellous. I heard him tell a story of how some braggart
was boasting in the yard of his skill with the adze, when an old
carpenter challenged him to take off a shaving under his foot, staking
his week's wages that he, the challenger, would take off the thinnest.
The boaster tried, and succeeded in slitting the sole of his new boot,
at which there was much laughter. Then the veteran, taking off his
shoe and stocking, placed his naked foot upon the plank, and swinging
his adze over his head, brought it down with a whir. On removing his
foot, a shaving no thicker than note-paper lay upon the broad blade
of the adze. And the old man slyly said, "Ah dinna keer fur reskin' a
guid peyr o' butes in a ploy laik this yin. But it'll mebbe teach ye
no' to give way tae ungodly boastin' agin." I have no difficulty in
believing the story, having seen the truly marvellous way in which this
awkward-looking (to a novice) but ancient tool is handled by an expert
shipwright.
That same carpenter mended the skipper's wife's sewing-machine,
"sorrted," as he would say, the same lady's bracelet. In fact, he was
always being called upon to do some job as far removed from carpenters'
work as one could well imagine, and always-succeeded.
Carpenters in American ships are, of course, super-excellent, but they
are not so good at iron-work as a Scotchman. For a Scotch carpenter
seems equally at home in handling wood or iron, as a result, I suppose,
of the thorough training he receives while an apprentice. But in
woodwork, in extensive repairs to a ship, the Yankee cannot be beaten.
Indeed, he must needs be good, for otherwise he "would almost certainly
find some of the officers who "would offer to teach him his trade.
And in British North American ships a carpenter is not often carried,
since nearly every Blue-nose sailor is a born worker in wood, and would
consider the carrying of a carpenter a superfluous expense, quite
unwarranted by any ship needs whatever.
Although not strictly within the purview of the present work, I may
be pardoned for paying a belated tribute to the excellence of the
American carpenters carried in the whaleships. Their strong point
was in boat-building; and to see what they could and did do with a
batch of broken boats, some of them indeed with hardly any vestige of
a boat remaining! Without any help, without rest for a couple of days
and nights, except for necessary food, they would toil until they had
again made it possible for the pursuit of the whale to be undertaken;
and they had to work in such cramped quarters, not free from the
all-pervading greasiness of trying out, that how they managed to do
anything at all in workmanlike fashion was a mystery. One of them that
I knew was also an artist in ivory and bone. He had a lathe of his
own construction, and by its aid he turned out such exquisite pieces
of ornamental work that they would not have been put to shame in any
exhibition in the world.
These ships also carried another artisan--the cooper--whose province it
was to make casks, barrels, tubs, buckets, piggins; anything that could
be made with hoops and staves. Consequently utensils that in other
ships would have been of iron were in the whalers of wood, and I once
heard our old cooper declare that he'd undertake to make a lady a pair
of stays if he was favoured with the order. And I have no doubt that he
would have done so, a pair that would have lasted a lifetime. No one on
board would have had the slightest difficulty in believing that, given
a sufficient number of trees and a little iron, these two worthies
would have speedily constructed a ship, in case of our vessel's loss,
in which we might have sailed round the world.
One more old carpenter I must mention who, with a broken leg and
covered from head to foot with suppurating mosquito bites, crawled from
his bunk when our vessel was found to be on shore in the middle of the
night. In this pitiable condition of body he immediately began to caulk
the only serviceable boat we had, which, lying bottom upward upon the
skids, had got so impoverished by the sun that her seams were gaping
wide, rendering her absolutely useless. And from thenceforward, without
one word of complaint, for over twenty hours that heroic man laboured
on until all that he could do was done. He did not seem to think that
his doing so was in any way extraordinary.
Perhaps the carpenters who read this may smile at the presumption of a
mere sailor in praising their work, but I hope they will believe that I
do but express toward them the ordinary sentiments of their shipmates
of all grades.