THE STEWARD (SAILING SHIPS).
There are even now a few sailing ships which carry passengers, but in
these no such luxury is to be expected as in steamers, for obvious
reasons. Nevertheless, a great deal of comfort may be got out of a
voyage in one of these grand flyers--comfort of a kind that, while it
does not appeal to the passenger pressed for time, is to the invalid a
perfect godsend, one of the most sumptuous rest-cures in the world. In
such vessels the steward is a man of some importance, as well as skill,
for he must do a great deal of contriving in order that such food as
may be carried on a passage lasting, perhaps, for over a hundred days
without a break by calling at any port, may not become too monotonous
to a landsman's pampered appetite. Live stock is carried--poultry, and
sheep, and pigs; and the steward is a good deal exercised about the
care of these useful passengers, although it is a matter over which
he has little control. He attends to their feeding, but the cleaning
of them and their protection from the weather does not rest with him,
while it makes all the difference possible to their condition. A bad
feeling towards him by the crew may often mean serious trouble in
respect of his live-stock. Or for other reasons trouble may be made.
As, for instance, in one ship wherein I was an ordinary seaman there
were two fine sets of coops on the forward-house, which contained ducks
and geese. Now, geese at sea are a great nuisance, owing to their noise
and wakefulness. We had many passengers; and it was well known among
the crew that not one fragment of the meat we carried alive would ever
find its way to their mouths, although the food supplied to the crew
forward was disgraceful to the last degree. Therefore, after enduring
the brutal cackling of the geese for a few nights, some revengeful
fellow's climbed up to their quarters in the darkness, armed with
belaying pins, and as the long necks were thrust out between the bars
to give vent to strident songs, one after another received a blow which
quieted them effectually.
In the morning there was not one left alive. The steward was
inconsolable, but all efforts to find out the perpetrators of the deed
were in vain.
It is, however, rather late in the day, I fear, to talk about stewards
in passenger sailing ships. Their palmy days are over. But in the
ordinary sailing cargo-carrier they still flourish, a race apart, and
as distinct from the steamship steward as can well be. Their berth is
by no means a bad one, assuming that they know their duty and do it.
There are many instances where a steward has sailed so long in the
same ship as to be almost as much a part of her as the mizen-mast, a
faithful servant of the owners, and a privileged member of the ship's
company, who is a prime favourite with all on board. Occasionally a
master will make a favourite of the steward, allowing him privileges
which he denies to any of his officers. This is exceedingly bad,
leading to all sorts of trouble on board with both men and officers;
for it is too much to expect that any man occupying such a position,
and pampered in such a way, should retain his respect for those whose
rightful claims to authority are ignored by the head of affairs. I have
in mind two such cases. In one of them the steward was undoubtedly
a clever man, who ran his department like clock-work, and although
undoubtedly petted overmuch by the skipper, did not take the advantage
that he might have been expected to do; at least, not until we arrived
in India, where he suddenly exhibited an amazing aptitude for getting
drunk, and keeping so for intervals of about a week at a time. This
led to complications of various sorts, and disagreeable scenes in
the cabin, where the skipper, when he was exasperated beyond measure
by the filthy behaviour of his favourite, often went the length of
rope's-ending him. But he (the skipper) expected his officers to endure
all the drunken abuse and neglect that the steward was inclined to
favour them with, and make no demonstration. The whole thing ended in a
fierce fight between the master and the mate, much to the edification
of the crew, peace being restored only by the discharge of the steward.
The other was in a big ship where I was second mate. I joined her in
India, and on the first day of my service was struck by the calm way
in which the steward bandied doubtful jokes with the mate and third
mate. Me he had not yet become sufficiently acquainted with. Not,
of course, that there was anything wrong or unpleasant in that of
itself; it might, I reasoned, be merely exercising the freedom of an
old servant, who meant nothing like insolence. But I could not help
wondering very much at the way in which that steward omitted to give
the mate his title of Sir, or Mr. Evans. I had never heard a chief mate
called by his surname, all short, before, by any inferior, without
a full measure of immediate trouble ensuing. Yet this man did this
amazing thing, while the mate made no objection. The master was not at
the table. I, of course, said nothing, but meditated much, and at the
earliest opportunity broached the subject to the third mate, a very
fine young officer just out of his time in that ship, asking him what I
was to understand by it. His explanation was that the steward, a gross,
flabby man, by no means smart or remarkable for ability in any way,
was so great a favourite with the skipper that he was allowed to do
practically whatever he chose. And this was the more remarkable because
the skipper was not only part owner, but a man who was very sharp with
his subordinates as a rule.
For a month I was very comfortable. The master used to chat with me
amicably during my dog, or first watches, and even went out of his way
to compliment me on the way I did my work, until, in an evil hour, I
offended the steward. It was in this wise. He came to my room door
in my watch below, saying to the third mate as he passed his door,
"Where's that feller Bullen?" And then he flung my door open, crying,
"Here, you, I want a cask o' beef got up as soon as the devil'll let ye
after eight bells." Now, I maintain that if an officer is to have any
authority on board a ship, such language from one of his subordinates
to him cannot, must not be permitted at all. The man was not drunk;
he was deliberately insolent, because backed by a foolish skipper.
Of course I resented his words, receiving more insolence; and then,
instead of knocking him endways, as I ought to have done, I went and
reported him to his master, who jeered at me, and warned me that I had
better let _his_ steward alone. I tried to explain, but only succeeded
in drawing abuse from the skipper. And from that day forward my life
was utter torment, such misery as I have never experienced on board
ship before or since.
But such cases as these are by no means common. The average
sailing-ship steward of to-day is a quiet, inoffensive man, who does
his duty unostentatiously, lives rather a solitary life, since the only
person he can associate with is the cook, and endeavours to serve out
the provisions to the men with perfect justice. If the master carries
his wife with him, the steward may be very happy or very much the
reverse--he can never plod along in the same easy, jog-trot way as is
usual when there is no woman on board. In American and Canadian vessels
he is often a negro, and sometimes a Chinaman; but it may be taken
for granted that whatever countryman he may be, he is also a paragon,
because the American skipper will have nothing less than perfection
in cleanliness and service. That must be rendered him whether the
steward be white, black, or yellow. And he is ready to enforce it by
the rudest and readiest means to hand. Wherefore it follows that he is
served as probably no other seafarers in the world are served.
But even here the officers are not personally attended by the steward,
except when they are at meals. It is the commander who must needs have
his every wish anticipated, his linen kept spotlessly white, and the
woodwork and the adornments of his cabin as clean, yea, cleaner than
on the day they were first fitted into place. Many of the old ships
carried stewardesses instead of stewards, often the wife of the cook;
and although to some people such an experiment might seem to be one of
the extra-hazardous kind, it was not so. The American is a wonderfully
chivalrous man towards all women-folk, especially when under his
protection.
Stewardesses are carried, of course, in British steamers--must be, for
attendance upon the ladies. They are well treated by everybody on board
except their charges, but some of them can tell some queer stories of
endurance at the hands of these, who owe them so much comfort. These
quiet, deft-handed women, who balance themselves so featly, roll the
ship never so heavily, could tell many strange tales. Strange, is it
not, in these days of reminiscence-writing, how carefully they hold
their peace? Once I was shipmate with a lady passenger, one of the
most accomplished ladies that it has ever been my privilege to speak
to. She knew all that a woman should know, and many things that good,
useful men did not know. And whatsoever she learned, if it seemed good
to her, that she would put into practice. She was going out to that
far country with a little capital, to prove to a sceptical world that
a lady who could ride, shoot, swim, and run a farm as well as play the
piano, sing, paint, and talk several languages, could make her way
alone in a new world as well as any man. But fortune was unkind to her,
and she failed in those days. Then she took on a stewardess's berth in
a coasting steamer that carried some hundreds of passengers from port
to port around one of the stormiest coasts in the world. We met when
she had been at this for some months, and she had aged ten years in
appearance. She was weary of life by her look, but she made no moan.
Then in an awful gale her ship went ashore on an outlying reef. There
were ninety female passengers on board, whom she considered a sacred
charge. That charge she fulfilled, seeing them all safely boated away,
while she retired to her cabin and locked herself in to meet the death
that she had grown to look upon as a delivering friend.
I would not close this all-too-brief account of the steward without
again emphasizing the fact of his heavy claim to the consideration of
all men. His business is not a showy one, and Jack is far too fond of
hurling the opprobrious epithet, flunkey, at him; but there is a great
deal of quiet heroism in his annals, and, in any case, his work is just
as important as any other seafarer's. For men must be fed and their
food taken care of. The doing of this with regularity, cleanliness, and
cheerfulness is the part of the steward, and how well he does it let
all sailors testify.