A BUNCH OF ROPE
YARNS
A BUNCH OF
ROPE YARNS
BY
STANTON H. KING
_Author of “Dog Watches at Sea”_
[Illustration]
_Boston: 1903_
Richard G. Badger
_The Gorham Press_
Copyright 1902 by
Stanton H. King
_All Rights Reserved_
Printed at The Gorham Press, Boston
Contents
How I Was Educated 13
Mission Work Among Seamen 35
The Forecastle 53
Superstitions of Seamen 69
The Lucky Bag 85
The Sailor and His Dudheen 99
Pets Aboard Ship 109
How Sailors Wash Their Clothes 123
The Lead Line 141
Rhymes Foretelling Weather 155
Rules of the Road at Sea 161
Signalling at Sea 167
_To Mary Bennett Holden_
_A noble woman has passed from earth, and great was her reception when
she crossed the Harbor Bar._
_I speak of Mary Bennett Holden, a young woman of leisure, who, for two
years chose to employ her time in uplifting work among seamen, and made
upon them the impression of a sweet, earnest soul._
_She was much of her time at the Sailors’ Haven, joining with the
sailors in their games and other forms of amusement, and was regarded
by all as their personal friend. Her greatest joy was when contributing
in some way to a sailor’s welfare, whose honest, and other good
qualities she learned to admire. Her delight was to take the trimmer
from the stoke hold, dressed in his rough clothing and show him the
educational features of the City. She was constantly doing for them
things which contributed to their comfort and pleasure, and the very
day of her funeral, some of the seamen in port were given a number of
comfort bags which she had made before and during her illness._
_Many a sailor has been led from a careless life to one of high
purposes and Christian ideals, by having known her._
_In the spacious reading room of the Haven, hangs her portrait,
perpetuating her self-sacrificing labors. The sailors gather round it
and find consolation in looking on the picture of the one they loved._
_One evening the boatswain of an ocean steamer dried his eyes with his
bandana and said “I like to look at her even though it makes me cry.”
Another old “Shell Back,” who had wasted his years in reckless living
said “I never drew a sober breath in Boston till I met her.” I could
fill a volume telling the various expressions of appreciation tendered
her by the men of the sea, but forbear. Let it suffice when I say she
was their friend in the truest sense; there emanated from her heart
that genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but was immediately
realized, and made the sailors feel at ease._
_Her very presence diffused pleasure, she was the fountain of gladness,
brushing, as it were by magic, the cares and troubles from their
faces, and making everything in her vicinity freshen into smiles.
It took but a moment for her joyous disposition to breed a perfect
contagion. She made the youthful heart glad and forced old age to throw
off its apathy and live again the freshness of life._
_There was a healthful hardiness about her, that never dreaded contact
and communion with others however humble._
_Her whole demeanor was easy and natural, and without any pretension
whatever, she won the confidence and respect of the sailor men._
_They sadly miss her, and will ever do so. She has weighed her anchor
and sailed for a happier shore. We know she is waiting to welcome her
friends of the sea into her world where there are no farewells and
separations._
_To her memory I affectionately dedicate this volume._
_S. H. K._
Preface
When a boy, as a part of my training on shipboard, I unlaid the strands
of old hemp rope, and separated the yarns. Then after knotting the
ropeyarns together, the spinning jenny was secured on the top gallant
forecastle, where I tugged at the bit of rope which was the motive
power for revolving the spinning wheel. An able seaman rubbed the
twirling ropeyarns with a piece of old canvas, thereby making spunyarn
enough for the voyage. The remembrance of the oaths, cuffs and kicks
from a cruel boatswain, on finding some of the ropeyarns poorly
knotted, makes me offer in fear and trembling this literary “Bunch of
Rope Yarns.” Still I hope that my reader may find some of the yarns
knotted in seamanlike fashion.
STANTON H. KING
_Sailors’ Haven, Mission for Seamen,
Charlestown, Mass._
HOW I WAS EDUCATED
How I Was Educated
Within a week after my first attempt in the literary field had been
placed on sale, I received a letter from a woman in Vermont, asking me
to answer the four following questions:
“Was it the words of the hymn that brought about your conversion that
Sunday afternoon, when you say you decided to sever yourself from every
evil association?”
“May I ask how you obtained an education to enable you to write your
book, seeing you left your home at an early age?”
“Did you go directly to the Sailors’ Haven from the sea?”
“Do you think it just the thing to place pool and billiards in a
seaman’s mission, and allow the sailors to fill God’s house with
tobacco smoke?”
I did intend to write to this good soul and answer her questions, but
before I could find time to settle down to such a task other letters
reached me. Some asked similar questions about myself, others wanted
to know about my work, two requested me to tell them the whereabouts
of their sons--prodigals who were among the swine. And another letter
in the form of a circular desired me to ascertain if I could give some
light on the baptism of William Kinge, who embarked at Weymouth in
Dorsetshire, for America in 1635-6.
I will now take up the first three questions of my first letter. The
answer to the fourth question regarding the use of pool and billiard
tables in a seaman’s mission and allowing the men to smoke, to do
justice to it, should be an article by itself.
I will say it was not the words of the hymn which appealed to me and
convicted me of sin. One of my father’s favorite songs was “Annie
Laurie.” If on that Sunday afternoon those young temperance workers
had sung that old Scotch melody it would have stirred me as much and
perhaps more than did the gospel hymn.
Seated in front of the singers that Sabbath day it was not the words,
but the associations that hymn had with my boyhood days which made me
desirous of changing my course of living. As I heard these young women
my mind was filled with thoughts of home and loved ones; a longing
to be the man my mother would have wanted me to be took possession
of me; it entered my soul and permeated my whole being. During my
travels I had heard many hymns sung, I had met religious men, but they
made no impression on me. They may have done so in time. These young
women singing this particular hymn brought to my mind recollections
of a Christian home and fond parents. I will frankly say that on that
afternoon no thoughts of a hereafter or of God entered my mind.
Among that gathering of women there was one who was so situated that it
did not embarrass her homelife to have me visit her. When on liberty I
was made welcome in her home. My birthday was on May first. She wanted
to have me read the scriptures and so took advantage of the day to give
me a handsome morocco-bound Bible, asking me to accept it as a birthday
gift from her, remarking that she would like to have me mark with a
pencil all the verses that interested me.
During this time, I was trying my best to overcome the ridicule of my
shipmates. Some of them said in one month I would be as wild as ever;
others, more generous, gave me six months to return to my old haunts;
all were astonished and surprised to see that I had tacked ship. With
my birthday gift in my hands, I seated myself on my ditty box on the
port side of the gun deck, forward of the nine-inch gun, and opened the
book. It was impossible for me then to receive any benefit from the
reading. I had my pencil in hand to mark the verses, when some of the
recruits leaned over the gun and began to quote, or rather misquote,
scripture, asking me to find certain unheard of passages which I knew
were not in the book. One man wanted me to find the story of the
birth of Tom Bowline, declaring it was given in Holy Writ. Although
exasperated, I held my peace, but locked my Bible in my ditty box and
walked aft to the captain’s galley.
I knew in this small corner I would find help. Lewis, the captain’s
cook, was there. Although colored, his intelligence and manliness were
far ahead of many white men, and he had a kind heart. So on reaching
his galley door I told him how some of the recruits had bothered me
and how I longed to sail in and receive a thrashing or give one. “Look
here, King,” he said, “don’t mind them, boy; they are jealous of you.
They won’t do what’s right themselves and won’t let you. If you’d stand
up there at the canteen and shout beer for the crowd, they would say
you’re a fine fellow. They don’t want you to get ahead. Just don’t mind
them, but keep right on as you’re going. Come to me any time and I will
help you.”
Ah, Lewis, it was easy said, but difficult to accomplish. It was hard
to resist the many temptations and to keep from returning to my former
companions.
Sometimes when a feeling of loneliness came over me and the tempter
was near at hand, I searched out Mr. Howe, the ship’s writer, a stanch
Christian fellow, and in his company I would find help. Again one of my
shipmates, a splendid character, one who attended his church regularly,
allowed me to talk with him on religious topics.
I held the rate of a quarter gunner, which gave me the charge of
the empty shellrooms as well as care of the guns and ammunition. I
secured a handful of candles from Jack of the Dust, and with my Bible
tucked into the folds of my blue shirt, one day I wended my way to the
shellroom. The shellrooms were forward and aft. Those forward were near
the fore peak, making it almost impossible for me to go there without
being seen. The after shellroom was under the orlop deck on each side
of the tunnel of the propeller shaft.
If my reader could visit the empty starboard shellroom under the orlop
deck of the old _Wabash_, he would find, if they have not lately been
removed, drippings of the candles which gave me light to read the story
of Him Who “went about doing good.” I could not mark the verses. All
of them were interesting to me. The only ones I did mark were those
I remembered hearing my father quote. For the first time I carefully
read the story of our blessed Lord. It was during these quiet hours in
the shellroom that I sought forgiveness and desired the blessings of a
Christian life. It was there, as a man, I said my first prayer.
It was my duty to instruct the recruits in singlestick exercise, big
gun drill and marching. On a certain forenoon after I had finished
drilling the recruits, I went below to the shellroom and was so
absorbed in my studies that I forgot my dinner. The time passed on and
two bells (one o’clock) were struck. I heard a voice saying, “Yes, King
has broken adrift; he hasn’t been seen since he drilled the recruits
and he can’t be found.” I quickly blew out my candle and reached the
orlop deck. Here I met two recruits who were taking an empty trunk on
deck, the property of an officer who had been detached from the ship.
I soon learned from them the hour, and that the boatswain’s mate had
been shouting himself hoarse calling for me. The temptation to say I
had been cleaning the shellroom was present with me. I mastered it
and said to the officer of the deck, as I met him, that I had been in
the shellroom. Before I could say what kept me there he, trusting me,
said, “Open the armory and give the recruits their muskets.” I had done
no wrong, still I believed that the executive officer would rather I
wouldn’t use a naked light in the shellroom even though it was empty.
The ship’s corporal still mistrusted me. He went below to the shellroom
and searched for liquor, believing he would find some there belonging
to me.
Now I feel I have answered my first question, I will tackle the second.
My first recollection of school is, when a mere infant I was taken in
the arms of my nurse and carried to the desk of my god-mother, who
taught a primary school within a stone’s throw of my father’s house.
From her I learned my alphabet and then on till I started to sea I
attended school regularly. At twelve years old I was well versed in
English, history, geography and arithmetic. I could read readily, and
aboard ship I enjoyed reading novels. Before I was sixteen years of
age I had read nearly all of Dickens, Scott, and many other renowned
authors. During my cruise on the _Alliance_ I devoured everything in
the ship’s library, and was continually borrowing both good and bad
books from my shipmates.
The day came when I longed to be of some service to the men of the sea.
I had gained strength in my Christian life and had won the respect of
my shipmates. Those who had ridiculed me now stood by me and encouraged
me. I bought an English grammar, and with the help of the ship’s writer
and the ship’s printer, I tried to master it. It was a hard task. At
this time I formed the acquaintance of a local minister. I told him I
wanted an education. His first words were, “Why don’t you go to Moody’s
school?” I questioned him closely and learned from him much about Mount
Hermon School for young men. Next morning I sent in haste a letter to
the principal of the school, telling him who I was and that my only
desire was to enter Mount Hermon for a course of study.
In a few days I received a large envelope containing a blank form for
me to fill, and requesting me to have someone of good standing in my
community sign it, vouching for my being a desirable pupil. It also
stated that the tuition fee was $100 a year. I had saved no money.
My earnings were now given to the support of my youngest sister.
The minister signed my application, I mailed it and in a few days I
received word that I was granted admission to that grand institution
for young men.
It was November and as the school term did not begin till February, I
had time to save $50 for the half-year’s tuition. The ship’s company of
the _Wabash_ was granted liberty every other night. The starboard watch
would be on liberty one night and the port watch the next. I wanted
to enter the Charlestown evening schools and it was of no use my doing
so unless I could be on liberty every night. I obtained permission,
entered the school and was examined. Dear me! I was put in a class of
small boys who were far ahead of me in their studies. They laughed at
me, and, knowing I was a sailor they joked with me till I felt myself
an object of their ridicule. It was impossible for me to study in that
class, so I gave up the evening school.
Determined to master the contents of my grammar book, I entered the
ward room one morning and obtained the promise of Chaplain Wallace to
tutor me, which he kindly did. At that time the special service men
enlisted for one year’s service. My enlistment did not expire till May.
Therefore during the two months I was preparing for Mount Hermon I was
anxious about my discharge.
For the past six months, Captain James O’Kane had been in command of
the _Wabash_. During that time I had given no cause to be brought
before him. There were so many men on the ship that I did not think
he knew there was such a mortal as myself on his vessel. Three days
before I was to enter Moody’s school, I braced up courage enough to
reach the mainmast and make my request known to the officer of the
deck. I think I see Captain O’Kane holding his sword in his hand
walking towards me as I stood at the mast awaiting his coming.
“What is it, King?” I meekly replied I wanted my discharge and told him
my heart’s desire. “Good fellow, good fellow,” was his answer. “To be
sure, you can have it. Make out an application and I will approve it
and send it to the commandant for his approval.” I did as he told me
and my discharge was granted me. It was the best bit of parchment I had
ever received, for on it was marked “Obedience, excellent.” I have it
framed and as I write I can see it before me.
The day came for me to take my bag and hammock and leave the dear old
sea to begin a different life. Just as I was going over the gangway,
Captain O’Kane came on deck from his cabin. Seeing me he sent his
orderly to say he wanted me. The attitude of this kind man towards me
was more than I expected. He held out his hand for me to shake, and
held mine while he said, “When you come to Boston come aboard and see
me. I want to hear good things of you.”
I suppose twenty miles was the farthest I had ever travelled inland.
Now I was on the train bound to the backwoods of Massachusetts, more
than one hundred miles from salt water. That evening when the train
stopped at Mount Hermon station, I was stupefied. About fifty young
students were at the depot, shouting and screaming their school yells.
It seemed to me as though the inmates of a lunatic asylum had escaped.
There were other men on the train bound for Hermon, but I must have
seemed easy to them. I had no sooner stepped from the train when they
lifted me into a sleigh and insisted on my staying there. They then
took hold of a long rope attached to the sleigh, and, yelling and
shouting, they hauled me along a path through the woods leading to
the school buildings. This was my first sleighride, and one that I
will always remember. There was a quick turn in the road, and we were
travelling at such a speed that in turning the bend the sleigh capsized
and dashed me to my neck in the snow. The sleigh was righted, but on
no account would I get into it again. The students knew I was the
expected sailor and tried to use all kinds of nautical terms for my
benefit. I at last reached the principal’s office and was enrolled a
student of Hermon.
I had only the necessary $50 for the half-year’s tuition. I required
textbooks and civilians clothes. To obtain these I worked on the
farm sawing wood during my spare moments for eight cents an hour.
Every student was compelled to work two hours each day. Some were
in the kitchen, others were on the farm. I liked the farm life. It
was something new to me. One day the superintendent of the farm sent
me to drive the ox team. He gave me my lesson. With whip in hand I
started. It was “Whoa, haw, gee, get up.” I forgot just when to say
whoa, and haw and gee, so the oxen took full control. I had steered
many a kicking stubborn ship, and could keep the worst of them near her
course, but could not steer this yoke of oxen. We might have kept going
on and on; as it was, they hauled the wagon so that a pine tree came
between it and the wheel, which checked their progress.
Any poor student who wanted to earn a little money could always find
employment on the farm. The day came when, in need of clothing and
necessary articles, I became depressed and low spirited. It took so
much time to learn my lessons that I had but little to give to the
woodsaw. One afternoon a letter was handed to me. Shall I say that
I walked into the woods and had a good cry after reading it? I did.
I kneeled in the snow and thanked God for the message that envelope
contained. It was a sheet of paper, on which was written “For our old
shipmate, Stanton H. King, to help him through school.” Under this were
thirty-one names of my shipmates on the _Wabash_. Pinned to the bottom
of the names was a post office order for $28. This was a boom. Although
I needed the money badly, my greatest joy was in the satisfaction of
knowing my shipmates thought kindly of me, and remembered me in this
way. Never have I received a gift which gave me such real happiness as
this did.
The summer arrived and many of the students were preparing to start for
their homes as soon as the school closed. I did not know what I should
do. It was necessary for me to earn enough money to pay my way along
through the summer months, and to have a balance of $100 for the coming
year’s tuition.
The week before the term closed, a book agent visited the school,
and before he left I was on his list as an agent for him during the
summer. As soon as the examinations were over, I started to cover the
territory. I called at several houses and found a cold reception at
every door. The third morning I knocked on the door of a country house.
A woman greeted me with, “I don’t want anything” and shut the door.
I felt annoyed to be treated in this way and discouraged. I knocked
again and continued knocking till the door reopened. Believing myself a
failure as a book agent, I cast my prospectus and outfit at the woman’s
feet and walked away.
By a brook in this country place I met a man who was leaning over a
small bridge. He had a fishing-rod in his hand. I watched him haul up
a little fish, which seemed to afford him lots of fun. I ventured to
ask what pleasure he derived from such child’s play, for to me the
pleasure of fishing was to have a fish on a line whose strength would
almost tug me overboard. We soon became acquainted, and after telling
him a few of my deep-sea fishing experiences, he informed me that he
was the Congregational minister of the village. He invited me to dine
with him, and had me promise I would relate some sea experiences to
his church people that night. It was prayer-meeting night. It had been
rumored that a sailor was to tell sea stories after the meeting. That
night I was surprised to find the vestry of this country church filled
with people. When my time came to begin I warmed up to the occasion,
and made a good hit. They gave me splendid attention and I talked for
an hour and a half. At the close the minister told my audience that I
was a poor student and asked for a liberal collection for me. I was
given $17.81 and a new field to plough. This good minister enjoyed my
stories and gave me letters to other ministers. I told sea stories in
four other towns. My eyes began to trouble me and I was forced to make
sail for Boston for treatment. I called at the Boston Baptist Bethel
and offered my services for my board, so that I could visit the Eye and
Ear Infirmary. I worked in this field for three weeks.
I was indeed disheartened when, standing in the presence of Mr. Cutler,
the principal of Mount Hermon, I related my summer experiences, but was
cheered when he told me that a Christian man in Philadelphia had sent
him $100 to pay the tuition of a faithful student, and he had decided
to use it for my tuition fee.
Other avenues opened for me to earn a few dollars. The students who
could address an audience or could lead a meeting had ample opportunity
to take the services in some neighboring church where the congregation
was too poor to pay the stipend of a regular minister. In this way I
earned a little.
On one occasion I was sent to a country church. It was Saturday night
when I reached the station, which was four miles from the village
proper. Arrangements had been made with some of the church people to
meet me at the depot, and to look after my welfare till Monday morning.
A maiden lady about forty-five years old approached me as I left the
train and inquired of me if I was Mr. King. “Yes ma’am,” I replied. She
then informed me that I was to stay at her home and that the sleigh was
waiting for me. I got in and she took a seat beside me. I don’t think
we spoke a dozen words during the four miles ride. I was cold and so
was she. When we reached the house we were met by another maiden lady,
who, I should say, was fifty. She was introduced to me as a sister of
my imperturbable friend. By-and-by the aged father came in. Supper was
served.
The old man lighted his pipe and smoked till he fell asleep. About ten
o’clock the two maidens looked in and the oldest said, “Father, it’s
time for prayers.” The old man shook himself, put on his glasses and
read from the Bible and then asked me to lead in prayer, which I did.
When I announced that I was ready for bed, the youngest daughter took
a lamp and told me to follow her. The guest chamber was as cold as a
graveyard in mid-winter. Placing the lamp on a small table by the side
of the bed, she said “Good night” and departed. I quickly unrobed,
puffed the light out and jumped in, but quickly jumped out again and
shouted “Help!” For my comfort these two dear creatures had placed a
warm soapstone in my bed. Fortunately it was wrapped in woolen cloths
or I should have been disabled for life. As it was, I thought my back
was broken. The old farmer, followed by his daughters, hastened to my
room. “What is it, Mr. King? What is the matter?” I looked at the stone
on the floor and said, “Oh, nothing much. Please don’t mind me. I’m
taken this way once in a while.”
For some time I could hear them laughing at my expense. Having no use
for such things in tropical countries, and not being provided with them
at sea, I was ignorant of the existence of the soapstone for heating
purposes. I intend if ever I have to make a trip around the Horn to
take along a couple of bricks and warm them in the galley stove, to be
used in my bunk when below.
In answer to the third question, I will say that while holding a
service in the town of Guilford, Vt., I met the minister of the
Episcopal Church. He proved to be my old captain of the _Kearsarge_,
Commander Allan D. Brown. He lived in Brattleboro, after being retired
from the United States Navy. I spent many pleasant hours in his home in
Brattleboro. It was he who sent word to the Episcopal City Mission that
a sailor named King was at Mount Hermon, and would prove a profitable
acquisition to their sailor work if they were to secure his services. I
was asked by them to work in their field during my summer vacation. I
accepted the call and at the close of the summer the Superintendent of
the Sailor’s Haven in Charlestown held out every inducement for me to
remain as his assistant. I yielded to him and here I am.
MISSION WORK AMONG SEAMEN
Mission Work Among Seamen
In answer to my fourth question I would first repeat what I said in
_Dog Watches at Sea_: “Missions are not what they were twenty years
ago. Then they were tame and unattractive; places where seamen thought
men were made ‘goody goody.’ Seamen steered clear of them then. To-day
the missions have excellent concerts, full of healthy fun and frolic
to influence the sailor and to satisfy his social nature; pool and
billiard tables, games and a smoking room. All these things are as good
there as in a bar-room.”
The important aim of a sailor’s mission is the salvation of men. It
is generally admitted that the sailor is, at heart, a religious man.
During my twelve years at sea and my ten years as a missionary to
seamen, I have never met one sailor who did not believe in God. I do
not mean that every sailor I have met was a professing Christian; that
all have turned from sin and wrong-doing, and, being penitent, sought
forgiveness from God; but rather that there is no doubt in their minds
of the existence of God. “The Heavens declare the Glory of God, and
the firmament sheweth His handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech,
and night unto night sheweth knowledge.” Can we not see that as the
shepherd boy whose life was in the open saw the Heavens declaring the
glory of God, so may the same impression be made on the minds of others.
When the sailor stands his lonely watch at night, with the sea around
him calm and peaceful as the sleep of his tired shipmates, slumbering
below, the spreading canopy above him covered with countless stars,
shew to him God’s handiwork. Again he is called on deck, the barometer
has fallen, dark threatening clouds have gathered to windward and are
rolling towards his craft. His vessel now groaning under the pressure
of the gale with lee scuppers awash, the sea wild and fierce as an
untamed beast, the lightning darting through the black and frightening
sky, all speak to him of a higher power; and as many a bad man has
a good mother, so many a sailor, who, although living a life of
recklessness, has no doubt of the existence of God, and that He is good.
The sailor has a religious nature. He is as other men and should be
treated as such. Some seamen drink to excess, swear immoderately, and
live loosely, so do some men on shore. I think it not only unnecessary,
but wrong to approach a clean respectable seaman as he enters our
presence and pounce upon him as though he were an object of our special
religious efforts, or as though he required our charity, and thereby
make him feel that he needs reforming.
I have met seaman’s missionaries who have told me that they have not
time to entertain sailors, as their stay in port is of so short a
duration that they feel it their duty to seek the salvation of Jack’s
soul. Naturally such a missionary would have his mission strictly
religious, if I may use such an expression. I have been shipmate with
men who conversed about such places, and would never enter their doors,
knowing what to expect therein. Who is there among us that would enter
a Church, if we felt that we were numbered among the fallen and it was
known among the congregation that the service, the singing, and the
sermon were for our special benefit?
I say again that the important aim of a sailor’s mission is the
salvation of men for this world and all others, and any mission which
fails in that is no better nor worse than a respectable club, which
in itself is a grand institution. I understand the great desire there
is in the Christian heart to have the men of the sea openly confess
Christ as their Saviour, and of their aim to save them to Eternal Life
with God; but are we reaching the great mass of seamen when we make
our mission a church? A sailor’s mission is a church; but it is also
a home for him while in port. It is not intended merely for use once
or twice a week, but it is open from early morning till late at night,
every day in the year, just as every home is open to the family that
dwells therein. What sort of a home would it be with nothing in it but
religious exercises? Where only hymns are sung, nothing is read but the
Bible, no conversation but that of the joy of Heaven and the torture of
Hell, no laughter, fun or frivolity, only the quiet, sober, slow going
actions of a feeble person? Such a home to say the least would not only
be monotonous but killing, especially to young people having physical,
social and mental wants, as well as spiritual longings. Personally I
will say that such a home would sink and submerge me into ineptitude.
We have not reached Heaven yet, we are still on earth and to my liking,
if Heaven is as some describe it, I for one prefer to remain on earth,
or go to some place like it.
We have come to understand what St. Paul meant when he said our bodies
are temples of the Holy Ghost, and that we are to glorify God in our
bodies as well as in our spirit. Realizing this we have established
gymnasiums for the development of the physical, built libraries for the
growth of the mental and we support clubs for the improvement of the
social.
Now if we who live on shore provide these things which go to make up
the whole man, why should we expect the sailor to be debarred from
them? Sure enough he doesn’t need a gymnasium for exercise, he gets
enough of that aboard his ship, but he does enjoy these other things
of which I speak. Men pay large sums of money to join certain social
clubs, and some who do not believe in clubs unite themselves with the
Young Men’s Christian Association, but the sailor is expected to be
content to sit in some religious reading room, stripped of all home
appearances for the sake of sanctity, where, when the hour of the
prayer meeting comes, he must put away his magazine to attend the
meeting or go out on the street. Were I a sailor I would choose the
street at such a time, that by so doing dispel from the missionary’s
mind the idea that I was a bad child who needed his correction, and
give him the thought that I were a man, if he could so receive it.
When the sailor visits the mission, his supposed home while in port,
he does not care to sing hymns all the time, he will not constantly
read the Bible for he enjoys the literature of the day. We must provide
for him the homelife, sociability and freedom in the mission, or he
will find it in that most democratic social settlement, the saloon.
What we need is more good judgment, the knack of being a companion
and a friend, and catch the meaning of the social teaching of Christ.
“Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these.”
The majority of people believe that sailors have a religious nature
and all who are acquainted with Jack know how strong a social mortal
he is. Whatever else he may lack, he surely has a longing for fun and
frolic. It is easy for us to understand why his social instincts are so
predominant when ashore, and knowing that he desires fun and amusement
we place them in his home, thereby keeping him from seeking it in
places whose very atmosphere is contaminating.
When a ship is in port and the day’s work is over, the men are anxious
to leave the forecastle and hasten to the shore, where they may find
enjoyment. They are away from their homes and loved ones, they have
been isolated from the world perhaps for months, they have seen only
the faces of their own shipmates, they have exchanged their thoughts
till each man’s knowledge is thread worn. The work has become tiresome
for want of change, the voyage with all its changes of storm and calm
has grown monotonous. They hail with delight the pilot and with a light
heart they walk ashore. Now Jack’s social nature asserts itself, and he
seeks a place to satisfy it. It may be he is taking his bag of clothes
with him steering a course for a boarding house. Is he at home when
he enters such a door? True enough he has the money to pay for what he
eats and drinks and where he sleeps; but has this temporary abiding
place that which satisfies his social life? Far from it.
Take the sailor who is working on his ship in port, or is staying in
a boarding house. Ask him to attend Church? Will he follow you? Yes,
if he knows you and you have won his confidence and respect, and he
believes you think he is as you are, namely, that we all need the
Church, wherein all, both sailor and landsman, may be helped.
But believing that your mission is only a Church without the homelife,
established for his sole redemption because he is such a wicked
creature, he steers a course for the places which welcome him as an
equal and not as some inferior outcast, even though it is to his
detriment. There he is welcomed as the door swings open, he is greeted
with warmth, he readily becomes acquainted, takes an interest in the
fun, he stands the treat all around, joins in the dance, then becoming
noisy and reckless he ends the night in a debauch robbed of what
money he possessed. Whereas if the missions had provided those social
necessities he would have dispensed with so much alcoholic drinks and
had a larger bank account.
I have in mind as I write a young man who had enlisted on the U. S.
S. _Vermont_, in the Brooklyn navy yard. He was a machinist and had
traveled from some one of our Western Cities to enlist in Uncle Sam’s
employ. The easy life as a recruit on the cob dock became tedious. He
grew restless. When on liberty there was no home to welcome him, no
friends to receive him; he was a total abstainer, in fact he knew not
the taste of alcoholic drinks. He played pool and billiards in his
native city and accordingly for want of such amusements he frequented
the pool rooms where liquor was sold, and there spent his evenings.
Fortunately he was strong enough to resist the temptations surrounding
these pool tables, and was not led astray.
He was a clean, manly fellow, and I remember his collecting money from
the recruits and marines to purchase a pool table for the reading room,
but those who had the power to grant us a pool table refused because
certain people living ashore held religious services there on Sundays.
I have known young sailor lads who were clean in their habits to
frequent dance halls. At first, their only desire was to enjoy a dance;
but that very waltz was their downfall. It was not the dancing which
brought about their ruin, it was the evil associations they encountered
in such places.
Some of these young men had danced with the best young women of their
town, their comrades and schoolmates, but now because the term sailor
is attached to them and they have on the blue naval uniform they are
debarred from every place except that of ill-repute. If Jack does not
care to enter such a dive he must abide his time till he mingles with
his own friends again though it may be for years, or it may never be,
before he can step to a waltz, as no one of respectability dances
with a sailor. The day may come when by providing the homelife in our
missions for seamen we will have come to know them, our Christian young
women will become acquainted with them and find that many young seamen
are as clean and as moral as their own brothers, and they will dance
with them as they do with young men of their acquaintance on land.
It is not that the sailor enjoys places of ill-repute more than
something better. It is simply that is the best he finds after he
leaves his ship. He likes the company of women; two-thirds of his life
he is debarred from their society; he likes a social evening and he is
bound to have it and all the fun he can so long as he is on shore.
Knowing then that they are as other men, we try to make the Sailor’s
Haven not only a church but also a home for seamen. In our mission we
hold religious services twice a week. At such times men are invited
to attend; they have their choice. They can continue reading in the
club rooms if it is Sunday, or play their games if it is a week night.
Usually we have to lower some of the lights in the club rooms as the
seamen have vacated them of their own free will and have attended the
service.
Just the same as though I were visiting you and had enjoyed my stay,
and as the evening hour drew near you invited me to join with you in
your religious devotions, I kneel with you, so will the sailor who
has that same freedom in a sailor’s mission, readily leave all games
and everything else and accept your invitation to your devotional
exercises. Here in the service as men, we try to find out and
understand the teachings of our Blessed Lord, that we may have as our
own the real happiness and comfort that comes in living the Christian
life. At such times the seamen give strict attention and are never
tired of hearing someone tell about Jesus. They and us receive help
by the good advice given, they join in the old familiar hymns and are
taken back to their boyhood days and the old home rises up before them.
We visit the sick, comfort the sorrowful, help the needy and in His
Name brighten and cheer lives. We provide special concerts full of fun
and entertainment. Not bringing in a few hymns and short addresses of
exhortation which leave a bitter taste, because of their unfitness;
but a real sing song lively concert, just the kind we would have if we
had company in our homes and were entertaining them. At such a time
we would not be so rude as to ask our guests, if they desired our
religious help, then why treat a sailor differently when he is your
guest if love is the propelling power and good taste turns the helm?
He will appreciate your kindness if offered in the right way. Of all
men he is easily approached. He likes music. You can serve it to him
in any shape or form and he will enjoy it every time. Let it be the
piano, fiddle, banjo, jewsharp, tin whistle or a big drum and he will
shout with delight. His cares are forgotten when he hears the ladies
sing, and his sorrows are brushed away when he drinks in the music of
the male quartettes and choruses. And he himself is not selfish. Full
of sea songs, he takes his place by the piano and renders _Nancy Lee_
and _Tom Bowline_, and to manifest to you that he is at home, he turns
up the bottom edges of his trouser’s legs, and gives a step dance or a
horn pipe for your amusement.
We provide suppers and treats of coffee and buns in the same spirit we
invite any friends to sup with us, not because they are “poor hungry
sailors” in need of these things; but as friends we meet and enjoy
the very essence of sociability. All formality is blown to the winds,
good cheer and freedom prevail, we meet from all corners of the earth,
of different nationalities speaking different tongues, all petty
grievances with our own shipmates are forgiven, we meet on common
ground, and when we part we remember each other as friends.
I am safe in saying that nine out of every ten seamen smoke. Shall we
send them on the street when they desire a pull on their pipes? We
think it best to provide separate rooms for that. So aside from the
hall where religious services are held we have these club rooms; here
they can smoke, play pool and billiards and other games. They can
take magazines and newspapers and read awhile. Social and scientific
books are at their disposal, the same as the landsman reads, something
besides a tract or circular asking them where they hope to spend
Eternity. Here they can write to their friends for the material is on
the tables for their sole use, they can play a solo at the piano, sing
a song and while away the evening. When tired of one amusement they can
turn to another, as there are many diversions to satisfy their social
needs. Good women are present to talk with them, to write for those who
cannot, to sing and play for any who desire it. They are received and
treated as men without condescension or mock humility on the part of
the missionaries, and welcomed not as inferior and illiterate beings,
not as wild unregulated Ishmaelites nor as poor sailors, but as men.
We know that some games like ours are in the bar-rooms; but we have
taken these enjoyable and harmless recreations from the surroundings
that have done so much to degrade them, and are using them where they
may not only be enjoyed without danger, but are means of shielding men
from temptation. Some may ask, is it not enough to have a reading table
and writing material, and perhaps a checker board? I answer, No. Even
though you allow the seamen to smoke they, like other men, become tired
of reading, and after a few games of checkers leave to find some other
amusement.
Realizing the need of such a place for seamen and having a desire to
work on such lines for their benefit, I left the sea.
A work of any kind must be judged by its results. Therefore is the
Sailor’s Haven saving men? Are the seamen living cleaner and purer
lives because of such work? Are they shielded from the land sharks and
are they befriended? To all this and more I answer, Yes.
It would take many pages to tell of the men whose lives have been
changed from recklessness and wrong-doing to lives of service and
helpfulness to themselves and others. Men who are trying to live
Christian lives, who once delighted to dabble in sin. I refrain and
finish by saying it is right to have pool and billiard tables in a
seaman’s mission, and allow the men to fill that part of God’s House,
the home, with tobacco smoke.
THE FORECASTLE
The Forecastle
When a new schoolhouse or any public building is planned, every
attention is given to sanitation. When a private home is being built,
it is expected to be fitted with every modern convenience and every
improvement conducive to good health. When a new passenger steamer is
launched, the public seek for all comfort, where they may abide during
their short stay on board, and if a cargo steamship is ordered every
attention is devoted to space for freight and cattle. But on that very
vessel, so distinctly modern in every other respect, there is seemingly
hardly any thought given to improving the condition of the forecastle.
I am glad to say that there are some masters of the ocean steamers who
recognize room for improvement, and who are exerting themselves in the
interest of their men. Lately we have seen large passenger steamers
launched which are provided with large mess-rooms for the sailors and
firemen, and we have one and all rejoiced at this gradual improvement.
The laws of the United States and Great Britain provide on board their
ships so much breathing space for each man. The law governing United
States vessels reads thus: “Every place appropriated to the crew of a
sea-going vessel of the United States, except a fishing vessel, yacht,
pilot boat and all other vessels under two hundred tons register, shall
have a space of not less than seventy-two cubic feet, and not less than
twelve square feet measured on the deck or floor of that place for each
seaman or apprentice lodged therein: Provided, That any such sea-going
vessels built or rebuilt after June 30th, 1898, shall have a space of
not less than one hundred cubic feet and not less than sixteen square
feet measured on the deck or floor of that space for each seaman or
apprentice lodged therein. Such place shall be securely constructed,
heated and ventilated, protected from weather and sea, and, as far as
practicable, properly shut off and protected from the effluvium of
cargo or bilge water.” I do not know the exact space Great Britain
grants her seamen, but by observation I should say they have about the
same amount of space as our American seamen--that is to say, a space
hardly as large as a good-sized grave. I am not now condemning the ship
owners; they give the men what they are allowed. Nor am I writing in
the spirit of the fault finder, but as one whose heart’s desire is to
have the men of the sea so treated and housed on board their ships that
they may believe they are men, that they be treated as such, and may
be appealed to live their highest and best lives. The safety of life
and property at sea depends upon the competency of the crew, and if we
are to have efficient men, and an adequate merchant marine, and men of
intelligence and skill, we must offer some inducements to secure such
men and not the riff raff of the world.
How is this legally allotted space given to the sailor? In a room in
the forward end of the ship, sometimes in the middle, known as the
“forecastle”--a room with a dozen or more men in it, where at the most
six men could miserably exist--a room (a few exceptions) poorly lighted
and inadequately ventilated. In such a room the seamen smoke, eat,
sleep and have their being. It is their home on shipboard. It is too
small for a mess table. The food is brought in large pans, placed on
the floor, and each man coming from his work has to make an effort,
climbing over the pan of soup or meat, to get some share of it for
himself. There are a few forecastles in which there are mess tables on
which these pans are placed for men to “dig and get at” the contents.
As we approach some modern steamship’s forecastles it seems strange
the sanitation should be so different from what it is on shore. We all
know that in bad weather at seamen are exposed on deck. They wear their
oilskins and rubber boots; they go below after spending four hours on
deck. They are compelled to hang up their wet oilskins at the head
of their bunks or on the bulkhead of the forecastle, and throw their
sea-boots under a bunk where they may find them when called again to
go on deck. We also know that the work in the fireroom is dirty. Where
can a fireman hang up his dirty fireroom clothes wet through with
perspiration? There is no place except it be over the top of his own
bunk.
There was a certain steamer in port. It was mid-winter. I went on
board the day she docked. Such a dismal sight! Every man forward was
discontented and disgruntled. The dark forecastle was somewhat lighted
by the coating of ice on the sides of the ship forming the forecastle.
It was raining, and, without exaggeration, the sloppy mud and dirt was
at least one half inch deep, covering the whole forecastle floor. There
was some heat from the steam-pipes, which was thawing the coating of
ice which covered the roof and sides of the place. One of the firemen
asked me to feel of his bed. I did so; my heart was sore. Every article
of clothing and his bed clothes were wet through from the drippings
of the thawing ice. The water falling from the roof and sides of this
half-heated dismal hole made it resemble a cave where the ebbing tide
had just receded. This was the condition of an old cattle and freight
steamer.
I told one of the men about the Sailor’s Haven and gave him an
invitation to visit us. He looked at me and said, “To h--l with you
and your mission!” Just then one of the mates rebuked him, saying,
“Don’t talk that way to the gentleman; you know he’s not to blame for
our treatment.” Before I left the ship I had a long talk with him.
He apologized for his unkind language, and said he felt we worried
ourselves too much about getting them into heaven and not enough about
bettering their surroundings on earth.