The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism (Vol. 1-4). Frederick Whymper

above excellent institutions are only organised for the safety and strength of the navy. There is another class of training-ships, which owe their existence to benevolence, and deserve every encouragement—those for rescuing our street waifs from the treadmill and prison. The larger part of these do not enter the navy, but are passed into the Merchant Marine, their training being very similar. The Government simply lends the ship. Thus the Chichester, at Greenhithe, a vessel which had been in 1868 a quarter of a century lying useless—never having seen service—was turned over to a society, a mere shell or carcase, her masts, rigging, and other fittings having to be provided by private subscriptions. Her case irresistibly reminds the writer of a vessel, imaginary only in name, described by James Hannay:37—“H.M.S. Patagonian was built as a three-decker, at a cost of £120,000, when it was discovered that she could not sail. She was then cut down into a frigate, at a cost of £50,000, when it was found out that she would not tack. She was next built up into a two-decker, at a cost of another £50,000, and then it was discovered she could be made useful, so the Admiralty kept her unemployed for ten years!” A good use was, however, found at last for the Chichester, thanks to benevolent people, the quality of whose mercy is twice blessed, for they both help the wretched youngsters, and turn them into good boys for our ships. Some of these street arabs previously have hardly been under a roof at night for years together. Hear M. Esquiros:—“To these little ones London is a desert, and, though lost in the drifting sands of the crowd, they never fail to find their way. The greater part of them contract a singular taste for this hard and almost savage kind of life. They love the open sky, and at night all they dread is the eye of the policeman; their young minds become fertile in resources, and glory in their independence in the ‘battle of life;’ but if no helping hand is stretched out to arrest them in this fatal and down-hill path, they surely gravitate to the treadmill and the prison. How could it be otherwise? … The question is, what are these lads good for?” That problem, M. Esquiros, as you with others predicted, has been solved satisfactorily. The poor lads form excellent raw material for our ever-increasing sea-service.

      The training of a naval cadet—i.e., an embryo midshipman, or “midshipmite” (as poor Peter Simple was irreverently called—before, however, the days of naval cadets)—is very similar in many respects to that of an embryo seaman, but includes many other acquirements. After obtaining his nomination from the Admiralty, and undergoing a simple preliminary examination at the Royal Naval College in ordinary branches of knowledge, he is passed to a training-ship, which to-day is the Britannia at Dartmouth. Here he is taught all the ordinary acquirements in rigging, seamanship, and gunnery; and, to fit him to be an officer, he is instructed in taking observations for latitude and longitude, in geometry, trigonometry, and algebra. He also goes through a course of drawing-lessons and modern languages. He is occasionally sent off on a brig for a short cruise, and after a year on the training-ship, during which he undergoes a quarterly examination, he is passed to a sea-going ship. His position on leaving depends entirely on his certificate—if he obtains one of the First Class, he is immediately rated midshipman; while if he only obtains a Third Class certificate, he will have to serve twelve months more on the sea-going ship, and pass another examination before he can claim that rank.38

      The actual experiences of intelligent sailors, or voyagers, written by themselves, have, of course, a greater practical value than the sea-stories of clever novelists, while the latter, as a class, confine themselves very much to the quarter-deck. Dana’s “Two Years Before the Mast” is so well known that few of our readers need to be told that it is the story of an American student, who had undermined his health by over-application, and who took a voyage, viâ Cape Horn, to California in order to recover it. But the old brig Pilgrim, bound to the northern Pacific coast for a cargo of hides, was hardly a fair example, in some respects, of an ordinary merchant-vessel, to say nothing of a fine clipper or modern steam-ship. Dana’s experiences were of the roughest type, and may be read by boys, anxious to go to sea, with advantage, if taken in conjunction with those of others; many of them are common to all grades of sea service. A little work by a “Sailor-boy,”39 published some years ago, gives a very fair idea of a seaman’s lot in the Royal Navy, and the two stories in conjunction present a fair average view of sea-life and its duties.

      Passing over the young sailor-boy’s admission to the training-ship—the “Guardho,” as he terms it—we find his first days on board devoted to the mysteries of knots and hitch-making, in learning to lash hammocks, and in rowing, and in acquiring the arts of “feathering” and “tossing” an oar. Incidentally he gives us some information on the etiquette observed in boats passing with an officer on board. “For a lieutenant, the coxswain only gets up and takes his cap off; for a captain, the boat’s crew lay on their oars, and the coxswain takes his cap off; and for an admiral the oars are tossed (i.e., raised perpendicularly, not thrown in the air!), and all caps go off.” Who would not be an admiral? While in this “instruction” he received his sailor’s clothes—a pair of blue cloth trousers, two pairs of white duck ditto, two blue serge and two white frocks, two pairs of white “jumpers,” two caps, two pairs of stockings, a knife, and a marking-type. As soon as he is “made a sailor” by these means, he was ordered to the mast-head, and tells with glee how he was able to go up outside by the futtock shrouds, and not through “lubber’s hole.” The reader doubtless knows that the lubber’s hole is an open space between the head of the lower mast and the edge of the top; it is so named from the supposition that a “land-lubber” would prefer that route. The French call it the trou du chat—the hole through which the cat would climb. Next he commenced cutlass-drill, followed by rifle-drill, big-gun practice, instruction in splicing, and all useful knots, and in using the compass and lead-line. He was afterwards sent on a brig for a short sea cruise. “Having,” says he, “to run aloft without shoes was a heavy trial to me, and my feet often were so sore and blistered that I have sat down in the ‘tops’ and cried with the pain; yet up I had to go, and furl and loose my sails; and up I did go, blisters and all. Sometimes the pain was so bad I could not move smartly, and then the unmerited rebuke from a thoughtless officer was as gall and wormwood to me.”

      Dana, in speaking of the incessant work on board any vessel, says, “A ship is like a lady’s watch—always out of repair.” When, for example, in a calm, the sails hanging loosely, the hot sun pouring down on deck, and no way on the vessel, which lies

      “As idle as a painted ship

       Upon a painted ocean,”

      there is always sufficient work for the men, in “setting up” the rigging, which constantly requires lightening and repairing, in picking oakum for caulking, in brightening up the metal-work, and in holystoning the deck. The holystone is a large piece of porous stone,40 which is dragged in alternate ways by two sailors over the deck, sand being used to increase its effect. It obtains its name from the fact that Sunday morning is a very common time on many merchant-vessels for cleaning up generally.

      INSTRUCTION ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR.

      The daily routine of our young sailor on the experimental cruises gave him plenty of employment. In his own words it was as follows:—Commencing at five a.m.—“Turn hands up; holystone or scrub upper deck; coil down ropes. Half-past six—breakfast, half an hour; call the watch, watch below, clean the upper deck; watch on deck, clean wood and brass-work; put the upper decks to rights. Eight a.m.—hands to quarters; clean guns and arms; division for inspection; prayers; make sail, reef topsails, furl top-sails, top-gallant sails, royals; reef courses, down top-gallant and royal yards. This continued till eight bells, twelve o’clock, dinner one hour. ‘All hands again; cutlass, rifle, and big-gun drill till four o’clock; clear up decks, coil up ropes;’ and then our day’s work is done.” Then they would make little trips to sea, many of them to experience the woes of sea-sickness for the first time.

      But the boys on the clean and well-kept training-brig were better off in all respects than poor Dana. When first ordered aloft, he tells us, “I had not got my ‘sea-legs’ on, was dreadfully sea-sick, with hardly strength to hold on to anything, and it was ‘pitch-dark’ * * * How I got along I cannot now remember. I ‘laid out’ on the yards, and held on with all my strength. I could not have been of much service; for I