THE SAILMAKER.
This most useful man's position on board ship will give me less trouble
to deal with than any other that I have either handled or shall handle;
for the sufficient reason that steam knows him not--has no need of him.
It is quite true that on board ships of war the sailmaker is still in
evidence, is still most busily employed, but not in making sails. His
work is much simpler now. It consists of making deckcloths, awnings,
mast and yard covers, and all the varied canvas screens whereby alone
it is possible for so complicated a machine as the modern ship of war
to be kept in anything like cleanliness. People are apt to inquire
what can be found for so large a crew to do as a man-of-war carries.
They either forget or do not know how defiling, how all-pervading is
the grime from the funnels and the dust of the coal used. As far as
making work goes, it far more than compensates for the disappearance
of sail power. Even with all the canvas protectors that are made and
kept in repair by the sailmaker and his crew, the dirt is so persistent
that one is tempted sometimes to cry despairingly, "All the protection
we get from these covers is so inadequate that it is more than
counterbalanced by the necessity for keeping _them_ clean; we should
be better off without them."
On board the sailing ship, however, going as she does for long voyages,
sometimes extending to two or even three years before returning home
again, the sailmaker is indispensable. Not that even in ships like
these a sailmaker as such is always shipped. Sailmaking has always
exercised a certain fascination upon seamen, and it will sometimes
happen that a master or mate will be so excellent at the business that
they will dispense with a sailmaker altogether, relying upon finding
among the crew some men sufficiently expert to do the stitching as
it should be done, while they design, cut out, and fit. But where it
is any one else than the master who thus adds the sailmaker's duties
to his own, the practice is rather dangerous. For there may be many
things happen which will cause the amateur sailmaker to declare rather
suddenly that he will have no more to do with it, that he has quite
enough of his own work to do; and then the consequences may be awkward.
Owing to the tremendous stress of competition, and the resultant
cutting down of crews, a far less number of sailmakers are carried than
used to be, ships of 1000 tons now being turned into barques, and all
their complement reduced, until it seems marvellous how she is handled
at all. In vessels of this size the sailmaking must be done by the
seamen, and with the decrease in number of thorough seamen who along
with their other accomplishments are capable sail-sewers (it would
hardly be fair to call them sailmakers), the problem of how to keep the
vessel clothed aloft is not an easy one to solve.
Possibly landsmen think very little about the matter, but they may
be assured that the making of a sail is by no means what they might
suppose--say, as easy as preparing a pair of sheets for a bed. There
is considerably more art required in cutting out a jib, for instance,
than there is in cutting out a suit of clothes. In a properly equipped
sail-loft ashore the various measurements may be laid off upon the
floor in chalk, and then it is comparatively easy to cut the numerous
cloths of canvas out by simply laying them down. There need be no
calculation of angles, only allowances made for "roach," _i.e._ curves
at the edges, so that the sail shall set properly, not hang like a
wrinkled rag when it is hoisted. But to do this on board ship in the
same way is impossible, so the sailmaker must make a tiny draft of the
sail to scale. From this he must calculate the length of each cloth
required, and, what is more important still, if possible, the number
of cloths which the width of the sail will take. For a cloth of canvas
is only two feet wide, and from this must be deducted the width of
the seam, which is usually about an inch and a half, but varies a
little according to individual fancy. Then there are the angles to
be calculated, and certain allowances made, which only practice can
estimate so correctly as to insure a well-fitting sail when finished.
Even with all the care imaginable in cutting, a bad workman will spoil
the set of a sail by not keeping the right amount of stress upon each
cloth as he stitches. It would not be an easy task to cut out a sail
if the material were all in one piece; when it is made up of a number
of pieces as it is, the work needs a master of the trade in order to
produce a well-finished article. And when it is remembered that some
sails will contain forty-five cloths of canvas, each ten yards long,
canvas, too, that is stout enough for the heaviest work that ship-sails
are called upon to do, it ought to be seen that sailmaking has nothing
in it of the nature of unskilled labour at all. In fact, so much skill
is required for sailmaking, so much innate ability, that it may be
truly said of the perfect sailmaker that, like the perfect tailor's
cutter, he is born, not made. Even then the dead hand of tradition
weighs heavily upon the sailmaker. Certain fashions in sail-cutting
exist in this country which are scouted in America as being in the
last degree clumsy. And the Yankee sailmaker goes so far as to say
that a British sailmaker cannot cut a sail! This taunt does really
seem justified to an impartial observer when looking at the difference
between a British and American ship's sails set side by side. I have
often seen a new set of sails hoisted on board a British ship that
looked more like a miscellaneous collection of rags hung out to dry
than the "white wings" famous in song. And it was not till long after,
when a great deal of stretching and humouring had taken place, that the
sails came to look at all neat and unwrinkled.
I don't know whether it is justifiable in a work of this kind to say
so much about sails; but I feel that since the popular imagination
is so stimulated by a sight of that most beautiful picture, a ship
under full sail, that it would hardly be fair to pass the subject
over perfunctorily, especially when it is so deeply studied and argued
upon board ship. There is nothing in a ship's equipment that excites
so much interest among her crew as the sails. Every one on board who
has any claim to be called a sailor poses as a critic when a new sail
is set, or when another ship heaves in sight, and as many intelligent
opinions may then be heard as might be expected from a party of trained
workmen going through an exhibition of work with which they were well
acquainted.
It must not be supposed that sailmaking is merely a matter of stitching
together a certain number of pieces of canvas of a certain shape. Far
from that being the case, the strength of the sail lies in its borders.
These are first "tabled," _i.e._ a broad piece is turned over and
stitched down all round the sail. Then a tarred rope, technically "bolt
rope," of the very best make, is carefully stretched, having a number
of turns taken out of it to prevent its cockling up the sail when it is
wet. It varies in thickness, not only on each sail, but on different
parts of the same sail, according to the strain that it may be expected
to bear. When duly prepared it is stitched on to the tabling with
several parts of stout twine (roping twine) well tarred. This work
demands considerable skill, for the canvas must be gathered up in the
process, so that the strain shall come on the rope, yet not so much as
to leave wrinkles in the sail. And at intervals small loops of rope
(technically "cringles") must be worked on the rope, from which they
stand out at right angles. They have grooved iron rings fitted into
them, so they be not chafed through by wear, and they serve to secure
the sail by "sheet," "tack," or "earing" (although the earing cringles
are seldom iron-lined). Of late years the fine hemp bolt-rope has been
much discarded in favour of flexible wire rope, neatly covered with
canvas and spun-yarn to prevent rust. This is stronger and more durable
in itself, but it makes the sail far more refractory to handle, and
cannot be stitched on to the canvas as of old by pushing the big needle
in between the strands of the rope. It has to be "marled" on, a method
of securing it that always looks clumsy and insecure.
But I fear that in all this I am straying far away from the sailmaker
himself. It may very reasonably be supposed that on leaving her
home-port a ship would have a sufficient supply of sails to last her
(barring accident) for the voyage. That is really so in all well-found
ships. Two, and sometimes three, complete suits of sails are carried,
the best or newest suit for seas where the stormiest weather may be
expected, the next best suit for general use, and the fine-weather suit
for regions where light, variable airs are always found, and where it
would be a great waste of money to allow good canvas to bang itself
all to pieces against the masts as the vessel rolls idly upon the
sleepy swell. Now, the sailmaker's first duty is to keep these sails
in repair; and since they have a great deal of wear, it will usually
be found that he has not only quite sufficient to do himself, but can
find constant employment for some favoured seaman out of each watch
at sewing seams. Generally speaking, he is a man who has served his
apprenticeship to the trade, although a good discharge from his last
ship where he has been engaged in a similar capacity is all that a
skipper looks for from him upon engagement. That is hardly correct,
though: many skippers will ask in addition for a written personal
reference, regarding the official certificate of discharge as a mere
formality that signifies little concerning the quality of the man. But
this applies generally to all seamen above the rank of A.B.
It will often be found, however, that a master who is an observant man
will have noted during the voyage that one of his A.B.'s has shown
a special aptitude for sailmaking. Then, at the end of the voyage,
he will inform such a man that if he cares to come next voyage as
sailmaker he will employ him--of course at a lower wage than he would
give a regular tradesman. In this way many seamen have risen from the
forecastle to be sailmakers. Very good men they are, too; but I never
saw or heard of one of them who had attained to the competency of
cutting and fitting new sails. Not that there is any personal reason
why they should not do so, but they do not get sufficient practice.
They are smart hands with the "palm and needle" and the "fid," that
is all. Of course regularly trained sailmakers are very wroth at this
cheating them of their privileges, as they consider it, but they are
quite powerless in the matter.
Sometimes, however, they have their revenge, as in the case of a ship
carrying an amateur "sails" that meets with a dreadfully sudden squall
and "carries away" all her sails. This term does not mean that the
sails are stripped entirely from the yards, but that they are rent into
ribbons, mere outlines of sails. An enormous amount of construction
as well as repairing sailmaking is thus thrown suddenly upon the
sailmaker, and every available stitcher on board is then pressed into
his service. Then, if he be a regular tradesman, he is in his glory;
but if a promoted seaman, he will usually be just a terrified unit
of the crew, badgered by the master and flouted by the men. And the
ship herself suffers accordingly. It is false economy, saving at the
most but a few shillings a month, and should never be indulged in.
The sailmaker, poor man, useful though he may be, is never very well
paid, fifteen shillings or a pound a month more than the A.B.'s wages
being about his maximum. And, like the carpenter, although not so
indispensable, he is almost always a good, reliable man whom it is well
to have on board a ship in a position of some responsibility.
As with the bo'sun, it will be found in American and Canadian vessels
that a sailmaker as such is rarely carried. The business of sailmaking,
like carpentry, is in those vessels considered tacitly to be part
of the education of a thorough seaman, and it would be a rare thing
to find one of them without an expert amateur sailmaker among the
officers. They get some beautiful patterns to work from when leaving
home, and doubtless study them deeply, for, in spite of their habit of
not carrying professional sailmakers, it is an unknown thing to meet
one of them anywhere with badly-fitting sails. I know of no lovelier
sight than a full-rigged American ship on a bright day with a new
suit of sails set to a good beam wind. The canvas being of cotton
(ours is made of flax unbleached), is dazzlingly white. Catching the
glint of the sun, it gleams against the deep blue of the sea or the
lighter azure of the sky like the wing of a mighty angel, so pure and
clean that the eye cannot bear more than a passing glance at it. Not a
thread is slack, not a curve untrue; she has the very poetry of motion
induced by a gloriously beautiful arrangement of wings, that make her
look like nothing earthly. Alas, that this splendid canvas should, when
wet, become like a plank for stiffness, so that in the stormy Atlantic,
when searching cold, howling gale, and drenching rain combine, and
the hapless sailors are strung aloft to furl those fiercely-straining
wings, the task is too terrible for words! The naked hands, torn and
bleeding, cannot bend the stiffened canvas, and in the fight many a
broken sailor has gone to the rest that was denied him in life.