I have always had a fascination, love and interest in sailing ships. At one time, I considered building my own rig and spending my life upon the many oceans, anchored where I pleased and taking some brainless rich Americans as crew every so often on holiday to have them fulfill some need to be Black Beard and his lady whore.
There is something alive about a ship which lives by the wind and having the freedom to ply any harbor by just hoisting anchor. If I had built my spaceship, I would be doing that right now in hopeful search of earth like planets to set my feet upon.
The merchantmen were of interest for they were the mob of democracy and not the court martial of military vessels. The British merchantmen had no real discipline, but the American ships were right royal in beating with yarn ropes from the rigging and other miseries.
I include some quotes on the whaler Cachalot as she was like most ships. The officers had to be hard men, because the men they ruled over were unruly men cast off from society and were looking for men who would better them. Bettering was often physical in a braining or a lashing, as the men would kill officers if given leave, but once the leadership was sorted out the crew would function well.
The Cachalot's story was unique in a British sailor wrote it with great deal of experience, and it is an insight into that world which once was, and nothing like the Norwegian ships plying trade now in looking more like the Love Boat in officer and crew.
I place the following quotes for a look into this world.
.......scene. Seven stalwart men were being compelled to march up and down on that tumbling deck, men who had never before trodden anything less solid than the earth. The third mate, a waspish , spiteful little Yankee with a face like an angry cat, strolled about among them, a strand of rope-yarns in his hand, which he wielded constantly, regardless where he struck a man. They fell about, sometimes four or five at once , and his blows flew thick and fast, yet he never seemed to weary of his ill-doing.
....where all the greenies were allowed below, were groaning in misery from the stifling atmosphere which made their sickness so much worse, while even that dreadful place was preferable to what awaited them on deck. There was a rainbow-coloured halo round the flame of the lamp, showing how very bad the air was....
.....American ships generally have an excellent name for the way they feed their crews, but the whalers are a notable exception to that good rule. The food was really worse than that on board any English ship I have ever sailed in , so scanty also in quantity that it kept all the foremast hands at starvation point. But grumbling was dangerous, so I gulped down the dirty mixture mis-named coffee, ate a few fragments of biscuit, and filled up (?) with a smoke, as many better men are doing this morning. As the bell struck I hurried on deck— not one moment too soon— for as I stepped out of the scuttle I saw the third mate coming forward with a glitter in his eye that boded no good to laggards......
That was the crew in vomit and seasick, and being ridden hard by the officers who showed no mercy as in reality the crew would have mutinied if allowed as the sick would not have worked and the entire command structure would have been voided.
The officers were summed up by the huge free black who was as bad as the worst.
.......I was pounced upon by "Mistah" Jones, the fourth mate, whom I heard addressed familiarly as "Goliath" and "Anak" by his brother officers, and ordered to assist him in rigging the "crow's-nest"......
.......Mistah Jones, finding I did not presume upon his condescension, gradually unbent and furnished me with many interesting facts about the officers.
Captain Slocum, he said, was "de debbil hisself, so jess yew keeps yer lamps trim' fer him, sonny, taint helthy ter rile him."
The first officer, or the mate as he is always called PAR EXCELLENCE, was an older man than the captain, but a good seaman , a good whaleman, and a gentleman. Which combination I found to be a fact, although hard to believe possible at the time.
The second mate was a Portuguese about forty years of age, with a face like one of Vandyke's cavaliers, but as I now learned, a perfect fiend when angered . He also was a first-class whaleman, but an indifferent seaman.
The third mate was nothing much but bad temper— not much sailor, nor much whaler, generally in hot water with the skipper, who hated him because he was an "owner's man."
"An de fourf mate," wound up the narrator, straightening his huge bulk, "am de bes' man in de ship, and de bigges'. Dey aint no whalemen in Noo Bedford caynt teach ME nuffin, en ef it comes ter man-handlin'; w'y I jes' pick 'em two't a time 'n crack 'em togerrer like so, see!" and he smote the palms of his great paws against each other, while I nodded complete assent......
Yes nothing like having a black bully psychopath terrorist as your new best chum, instead of your worst enemy.
Remember that as you look at all of those condescending faces who installed Obama into the White House, in this is how they made their money exploiting people and the world.
It is how they still do it today............remember that and remember all of you rich people in your clean investments today in just where all that money is generated from.
"The cleanest hands are the filthiest hands."
Lame Cherry
agtG
