by Bartimeus
*XXII.*
*CONCERNING THE SAILOR-MAN.*
"Able Seaman, Seaman Gunner, one Good Conduct Badge." Thus, with aclick of unaccustomed boot-heels, he might describe himself at themonthly "Muster by open-list." In less formal surroundings, however, heis wont to refer to himself as a "matlow," a designation notinfrequently accompanied by fervid embellishments.
Occasionally he serves to adorn the moral of a temperance tract: areporter, hard pressed for police court news, may record one of hismomentary lapses from the paths of convention ashore. OtherwiseLiterature knows him not.
Generally speaking, his appearance is familiar enough, though it is tobe feared that the world--the unfamiliar world of streets and a shodpeople, of garish "pubs" and pitfalls innumerable--does not invariablysee him at his best. The influence of the Naval Discipline Act relaxesashore, and not unnatural reaction inspires him with a desire to tilthis cap on the back of his head and a fine indiscrimination in thematter of liquid refreshment.
But to be appreciated he must be seen in his proper sphere. On boardship he is not required to play up to any romantic _role_: no oneregards him with curiosity or even interest, and he is in consequencenormal. Ashore, aware of observation, he becomes as unnatural as aself-conscious child. A very genuine pride in his appearance is partlythe outcome of tradition and partly fostered by a jealous supervision ofhis Divisional Lieutenant. A score of subtleties go to make up his rig,and never was tide bound by more unswerving laws than those that set aspan to the width of his bell-bottomed trousers or the depth of hiscollar. This collar was instituted by his forebears to protect theirjackets from the grease on their queues. The queue has passed away, butthe collar remains, and its width is 16 inches, no more, no less. Thetriple row of tape that adorns its edge commemorates (so runs thelegend) the three victories that won for him his heritage; in perpetualmourning for the hero of Trafalgar, the tar of to-day knots a black silkhandkerchief beneath it. It is doubtful whether he is aware of theportent of these emblems, for he is not commonly of an inquiring turn ofmind, but they are as they were in the beginning, they must be "justso," and that for him suffices.
A number of factors go to make his speech the obscure jargon it has beenrepresented. Recruited from the North, South, East, and West, he bringswith him the dialect he spoke in childhood. And it were easier tochange the colour of a man's eyes than to take out of his mouth thebrogue he lisped in his cradle. A succession of commissions abroadenriches his vocabulary with a smattering of half the tongues ofEarth--Arabic, Chinese, Malay, Hindustanee, and Japanese: smatteringstruly, and rightly untranslatable, but Pentecostal in their variety.Lastly, and proclaiming his vocation most surely of all, are the undyingsea phrases and terms without which no sailor can express himself. Eventhe objects of everyday life need translation. The floor becomes a deck,stairs a hatchway, the window a scuttle or gun-port. There are others,smacking of masts and yards, and the "Tar-and-Spunyarn" of a bygoneNavy; they are obsolete to-day, yet current speech among men who atheart remain unchanged, in spite of Higher Education and theintroduction of marmalade and pickles into their scale of rations. Thetendency to emphasis that all vigorous forms of life demand, findsoutlet in the meaningless oaths that mar the sailor's speech. Lack ofculture denies him a wider choice of adjectives: the absence of privacyor refinements in his mode of life, and a great familiarity fromearliest youth, would seem an explanation of, if not an excuse for, ahabit which remains irradicable in spite of well-meaning efforts tocounteract it.
The conditions of Naval Service sever his home ties very soon in life.The isolation from feminine and gentler influences that it demands isresponsible for the curiously intimate friendships and loyalty thatexist on the mess-deck of a man-of-war. With a friend the blue-jacketis willing to share all his worldly possessions--even to the contents ofthe mysterious little bag that holds his cleaning-rags, brick, and emerypaper. Since the work of polishing a piece of brass make no greatdemand on his mental activity, the sailor chooses this time to "spin ayarn," and, from the fact that the recipient of these low-voicedquaintly-worded confidences usually shares his cleaning-rags, the tardescribes his friend as his "Raggie." To the uninitiated the wordsignifies little, but to the sailor it represents all in his hard lifethat "suffereth long and is kind." His love for animals, which isproverbial, affords but another outlet for the springs of affection thatexist in all hearts, and, in his case, being barred wider scope, areintensified.
Outside events have for him but little interest. So long as he is notcalled upon to bear a hand by his divinely appointed superior, while hisration of rum and stand-easy time are not interfered with, the rise andfall of dynasties, battle, murder, and sudden death, leave himimperturbable and unmoved. Only when these are accompanied bysufficiently gruesome pictorial representations in the section of thepress he patronises can they be said to be of much import to him. But hedearly loves a funeral.
His attitude towards his officers is commonly that demanded by anaustere discipline, and accompanied more often than not by realaffection and loyalty. He accepts punishment at the hands of hisSuperior in the spirit that he accepts rain or toothache. Its justicemay be beyond his reasoning, but administered by the Power that ruleshis paths, it is the Law, as irrevocable as Fate.
Morally he has been portrayed in two lights. Idealists claim for him aguilelessness of soul that would insult an Arcadian shepherd. To hisdetractors he is merely a godless scoffer, rudely antagonistic toReligion, a brand not even worth snatching from the burning. Somewheremidway between these two extremes is to be found the man as he reallyis, to whom Religion presents itself (when he considers the matter atall) a form of celestial Naval Discipline tempered by sentimentality.
But these are generalities, and may not apply to even a fraction of themen in the Fleet to-day. Conditions of life and modes of thought on theLower Deck are even now changing as the desert sand, and those who liveamong sailor-men would hesitate the most to unite their traits in onecomprehensive summary. It is only by glimpses here and there ofindividuals who represent types that one may glean knowledge of thewhole.
In the Ship's Office of a man-of-war are rows of neat brass-bound boxes,and here are stowed the certificates of the Ship's Company, those ofeach Class--seamen, engine-room ratings, marines, &c., being keptseparately. At the first sight there is little enough about theseprosaic documents to suggest romance or even human interest to theordinary individual. Yet if you read between the lines a little,picking out an entry here and there among the hundreds of differenthandwritings, you can weave with the aid of a little imagination allmanner of whimsical fancies. And if, at the end, the study of themleaves you little wiser, it will be with a quickened interest in theinner life of the barefooted, incomprehensible being on whose shoulderswill some day perchance fall the burden of your destiny and mine.
The King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions, with a flourish ofunwonted metaphor, refer to the document as "a man's passport throughlife." The sailor himself, ever prone to generalities, describes hisCertificate as his "Discharge." In Accountant circles in which thething circulates it is known as a "Parchment."
A Service Certificate--to give its official title--is a double sheet ofparchment with printed headings, foolscap size, which is prepared forevery man on first entry into the Service. At the outset it isinscribed with his name, previous occupation and description, hisreligion, the name and address of his next of kin, and the period ofservice for which he engages.
In due course, when he completes his training and is drafted to sea, hisCertificate accompanies him. As he goes from ship to ship, on pages 2and 3 are entered the records of his service, his rating, the names ofhis ships, and the period he served in each.
On 31st December in each year his Captain assesses in his ownhandwriting, on page 4, the character and ability of each man in theship. These fluctuate between various stages from "Very Good" to"Indifferent" in the former
case; "Exceptional" to "Inferior" in thelatter. Here, too, appear the history of award and deprivation of GoodConduct Badges; the more severe penalties of wrong-doing, such as cellsand imprisonment. Here, too, they must remain (for parchment cannot betampered with, and an alteration must be sanctioned by the Admiralty) inperpetual appraisement or reproach until the man completes hisEngagement and his Certificate becomes his own property.
The heading PREVIOUS OCCUPATION shows plainly enough the trades andclasses from which the Navy is recruited, and is interesting, if onlyfor the incongruity of the entries. They are most varied among theStokers' Certificates, as these men entered the Service later in lifethan the Seamen.
_Labourer_ suggests little save perhaps a vision of the ThamesEmbankment at night, and the evidence that some one at least found asolution of the Unemployment problem. But we may be wronging him.Doubtless he had employment enough. Yet I still connect him with theEmbankment. At the bidding of the L.C.C. it was here he wielded pickand crowbar until the sudden distant hoot of a syren stirred somethingdormant within him: the barges sliding down-stream out of a smoky sunsetinto the Unknown suggested a wider world. So he laid down his tools,and his pay is now 2s. 1d. per diem: from his NEXT OF KIN notation heapparently supports a wife on it.
_Farm Hand_. Can you say what led him from kine-scented surroundingsand the swishing milk-pails to the stokehold of a man-of-war? Did theclatter of the threshing-machine wake an echo of
"... the bucket and clang of the brasses Working together by perfect degree"?
Perhaps it was the ruddy glow of the hop-ovens by night that heexchanged for the hell-glare of a battleship's furnaces. Or, as a finalsolution, was it the later product of these same ovens, in liquid form,that helped the Recruiting Officer?
_Newspaper Vendor_. A pretty conceit, that Vendor! He has changedvastly since he dodged about the Strand, hawking the world's news andexchanging shrill obscenities with the rebuke of policemen andcab-drivers. But the gutter-patois clings to him yet: and of nights youmay see him forward, seated on an upturned bucket, wringing discords ofunutterable melancholy from a mouth-organ.
_Merchant Seaman--Golf Caddie_. He spat in the sand-box before makingyour tee, and looked the other way when you miss your drive, if he wasas loyal as caddie as he is a sailor. _Errand Boy--Circus Artiste_. Ofa surety he was the clown, this last. His inability to forget his earlytraining has on more than one occasion introduced him to a cell and thebitter waters of affliction. But he is much in demand at sing-songs andduring stand-easy time.
Now here is one with a heavy black line ruled across his record on page2, and in the margin appears the single letter "K" He is a recovereddeserter. He "ran," after eight years' service and stainless record.Was it some red-lipped, tousle-haired siren who lured him from the pathsof rectitude? Did the galling monotony and austere discipline suddenlyprove too much for him? Was it a meeting with a Yankee tar in someforeign grog-shop that tempted him with tales of a higher pay andgreater independence? Hardly the latter, I think, because they caughthim, and on page 4 of the tell-tale parchment appears the penalty--90days' Detention.
Lastly: _Porter_. Where on earth did he shoulder trunks and bawl "Byy'r leave"? Was it amid the echoing vastness of a London terminus, withits smoke and gloom? Or--and this I think the more probable--was it onsome sleepy branch-line that he rang a bell or waved a flag, collectedtickets, and clattered to and fro with fine effect in enormous hobnailboots? Then one fine day ... but imagination falters here, leaving usno nearer the reason why he exchanged his green corduroys for the jumperand collar. And if we asked him (which we cannot very well), I doubt ifhe could tell himself.
They make a motley collection, these tinkers and tailors andcandlestick-makers, but in time they filter through the same mould, andemerge, as a rule, vastly improved. You may sometimes encounter them,in railway stations or tram-cars, returning on leave to visit a homethat has become no more than an amiable memory.
And some day, maybe, you will advertise for a caretaker, or one to doodd jobs about the house and garden, whose wife can do plain cooking.Look out then for the man with tattooed wrists, and eyes that meet yoursunflinching from a weather-beaten face. He will come to apply in personfor the job--being no great scribe or believer in the power of the pen.He will arrange his visit so as to arrive towards evening,--this being,he concludes, your "stand-easy time." He wastes few words, but from thebreast-pocket of an obviously ready-made jacket he will produce acreased and soiled sheet of parchment.
It is the record of his life: and after two-and-twenty years throughwhich the frayed passport has brought him, at forty years of age, heturns to you for employment and a life wherein (it is his onestipulation) "there shall be no more sea."