"Going to sea" the old-fashioned way. How well do you think you could keep up with the duties assigned to these boys?Little Decatur Jones had fully made up his mind that nothing but a sailor's life would satisfy him. The old sea-faring spirit of his forefathers was in the lad, and he chafed and fretted greatly under the restrictions of what he called his "humdrum" country life. His father was dead, and his mother could not procure an appointment for him to the naval academy at Annapolis. But when she learned through the village postmaster that the United States Navy offered just such boys as Decatur Jones a good home, fair wages, and the sea-life he desired, she decided, after long deliberation, to let the boy have his way.
And so it came about that, soon after her decision, little Decatur stood on the pier at the foot of West Twenty-third street, New York, where a sea-soldier (called a "marine"), stood on guard at the landing and a little steam-launch bobbed against the pier waiting to take several boys out to the school-house. Think of starting for school in a steam launch!
The launch steamed out into the river and hauled alongside the steps of the school-house. And the school-house was a great war-ship. The boys climbed the high, black side of the ship and came out upon the shining white decks. There they found another marine on guard, while an officer and some young sailors were busy near at hand.
The admission to the school is simple enough. A boy must be of robust figure, intelligent, of a sound and healthy constitution, free from any physical defects or malformation; he must be able to read and write; and be of the standard height and measurement. All of these requirements our young Decatur could meet satisfactorily ; yet it is a test which many boys fail to stand; for, at a recent examination in Boston, out of nearly one hundred applicants, only twenty-six succeeded in passing the requisite physical examination.
Then Decatur Jones signed his name to what are known as the "shipping articles," by which he agreed to serve continuously in the Navy of the United States until he was twenty-one years old; and, having exhibited a printed form signed by his mother, in which she gave her consent to the step he had taken, he was declared a voluntarily enlisted third-class boy in the United States Navy, with the pay of $9.50 per month, besides what is known as the navy "rations " of thirty cents per day.
The very next day saw Decatur Jones with a squad of other new recruits on board one of the steamers of the Fall River Line, bound for Newport, at which place they were at once transferred to the school-ship "New Hampshire," anchored off Coasters' Harbor Island.
Some six years ago, the State of Rhode Island presented this island of Coasters' Harbor to the United States, with the understanding that it was to be used as a naval training station. It lies within a mile of the beautiful old city of Newport, and is separated from the main-land by a narrow strait spanned by a causeway. Anchored off this island lies the bluff-bowed old line-of-battle ship "New Hampshire," with numerous decks, of which protrude the muzzles of guns. This is the cradle of the training fleet—the real school afloat. All the other ships, at New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington, and San Francisco are simply the entering, or receving, ships. As often as there are twenty boys ready at any of these ships, they are sent, as was our friend Decatur Jones, to the stout old ship "New Hampshire" at Coasters' Harbor.
As Decatur clambered up the three long flights of gangway ladders and stepped upon the quarter-deck, he was met by a pleasant-looking gentleman, radiant with brass buttons and gold lace. This was the officer of the deck. He took Decatur's transfer papers from the trembling lad, looked him over from head to foot, and called for the master-at-arms.
The master-at-arms, whom Decatur soon learned to like, and to call, as did the other boys, from some as yet undiscovered reason, "Jimmy Legs," doffed his cap and saluted the brass-buttoned officer of the deck.
"Master-at-arms," said that dignitary, "you will see that this boy has a bath and that his hair is cut; then take him down to the sick-bay to be vaccinated. After that, get him his bag and hammock; show him his 'swing' and how to 'lash and carry.'"
"Aye, aye, sir!" responded "Jimmy," briskly, although the order was rattled off at such a rate that poor Decatur had no idea what the gentleman in brass buttons was talking about. But "Jimmy Legs " did; and turning to Decatur, he said, "This way, lad," and led him at once into a large deckhouse on the upper deck, where stand a dozen or more bath-tubs, beside the steam pump and boiler.
The bath was soon over, and then, on the deck next below, Decatur's abundant hair was neatly clipped down to the regulation "short cut" by a boy barber; after which he was taken to the hospital-room, known as the "sick-bay," upon a still lower deck, where he was vaccinated by the surgeon, a kind-looking old gentleman.
After this intimation that cleanliness and health are among the most important considerations in the school of the sailor, Decatur was left to himself and given a chance to look about him. He wandered through the great ship, gazed up at the tall masts and lofty spars with their masses of rigging, and felt certain that he would surely become dizzy were he to try to skip aloft, as could most of the five hundred boys who, in their natty blue uniforms, seemed to be in every part of the ship. He examined the great guns on the gun-deck, the ponderous capstans and heavy anchor-chains, the racks of burnished rifles and shining cutlasses, the brightly scoured mess-tables on the berth-deck, with their outfits of knives, forks, spoons, and pans shining like polished silver, until, tired and hungry, he began to wonder whether he was to have any supper and where he was to sleep.
Just at the right moment along came "Jimmy Legs" again. "Here 's your station billet, my son," he said, handing the boy a small piece of printed paper. "Watch number, 22, port forecastle: that 's your hammock number also. At quarters you go with number two's gun crew, first division. Then here you have your station given for all the exercises with sails and spars. You belong to the first cutter's crew—that 's your boat, d' ye see? All the information in a nut-shell. There 's the call for mess formation sounding now, so run along and join your crew—number two, first division."
"Dear me," thought Decatur, "I never can remember all that. Number two—first division; I wonder what it means?"
But in the midst of his wondering a manly-looking boy, with two red chevrons on his arm, stepped up to him.
"What 's your name?" he asked. "Jones?"
"Yes; Decatur Bainbridge Jones."
"Well, my name 's Nelson, and I 'm captain of your gun's crew—number two, first division," said the new-comer. "Follow me, and I 'll show you where we fall in."
Decatur, greatly relieved, followed his new friend along the line of boys, and was properly placed with his own crew. Then, after muster, all the crew marched down to a supper of bread and milk, and Decatur picked up plenty of information.
"Who 's Commodore Duff? " he asked, catching at the curious name as it passed among the boys. "Is he the head of the ship?"
"Well, we could n't get along without him very well," was the laughing reply. "Why, Duff's our caterer, you know. He's an Italian with a jawbreaking name, and we call him Duff for short; and does n't he feed us well, though? You just ought to have seen our last Christmas dinner,"—and there sounded a chorus of appreciative smacks in recollection of that Christmas dinner.
Supper over, "Jimmy Legs" made his appearance again, loaded down with a hammock, mattress, blankets, a large black canvas bag, and a small square box.
"This is your bed," he said to our friend Decatur, pointing to the hammock. "This is your clothesbag, and this is your ditty-box for sewing gear, writing materials, and odds and ends. You will draw your clothing to-morrow, when the officer of your division has had a look at you. Now, come along and I 'll show you where to swing your hammock."
He led the way to the gun-deck. "This is your berth," he said; "number twenty-two, same as your hammock number and watch number. I 'll take care of your bag and box until to-morrow."
Then he put up the hammock, arranged the bedding, and trotted quietly away, while young Decatur, thoroughly tired out, found that a hammock is a much more comfortable bed than he imagined, and was soon sound asleep.
The next morning, when Decatur had donned his blue shirt with its rolling collar, the loosely fitting trousers, and the jaunty cap with "New Hampshire" lettered in gold upon it, he felt himself in reality "every inch a sailor." And as he now becomes one of the five hundred, and hence loses to a great degree his identity, we must leave him to share the fortunes of his comrades, while we take a more general look at what these fortunes are.
The blast of bugles and flare of drums at early daylight is the "reveille," warning the young apprentices that it is time to "turn out." Should they forget this fact, there are any number of petty officers ready to impress it upon them. Twelve minutes are allowed in which to turn out, dress, lash hammocks, carry them on deck, and stow them in the nettings provided for the purpose. The next step is to carry out the morning orders, under the direction of the officer of the deck. The decks are swept clean, and the running rigging laid up neathly on the pins. The order is then passed to scrub and wash clothes. Each boy becomes for the moment his own washerman, and, brush in hand, goes heartily at this laundry work. Smirched clothing is never tolerated; so every day is wash-day, thereby giving all hands an opportunity to keep their clothing neat and clean.
The cleanliness of the ship itself is a matter considered equally as important as that of the crew. The boatswain's mates pipe "Wash down the decks," and the work begins. Buckets of water, hickory brooms, sand and holy-stones, squillgees and swabs—all are brought into use to drive every particle of dirt from the oak planks of the decks, which soon shine with a whiteness that any housewife would envy. Then the ship must be cleaned outside, and the copper sheathing scrubbed and oiled until it looks like a band of reddish gold above the water-line. The ship having received her share of attention, the boys are given a half-hour in which to prepare for "early inspection," at which the master-at-arms and a number of subordinates make a critical observation of the toilets.
Then comes breakfast, and, after that, more cleaning. There are no intervals of idleness. This time it is the guns that need care; their brass-work must be made to shine like a mirror in the sun. While this is going on, a bugle sounds sick-call, and all those who are too ill for the day's work flock down to the dispensary, where the old surgeon and his young assistant are busy feeling pulses, peering down throats, and prescribing generously for each patient.
The great event of the forenoon is "quarters." All the crews assemble at their guns for muster, inspection, and drill. Four guns' crews, of seventeen boys each, make up a division, which is in charge of an officer. The drills are varied and interesting, and pertain more particularly to that part of the training which makes "fighting men." The boys are exercised in loading, pointing, and firing the heavy cannon which constitute the ship's battery. The target is towed out to the proper distance from the ship. There is about this gunpractice much "make-believe"—as the phrase goes—at first, but when the boys are thoroughly posted in their duties, real powder and shell are brought in. The deafening reports are at first a sore trial to delicate nerves, but our young friends are soon able to stand unmoved while an eight-inch Dahlgren gun belches forth flame and smoke.
Broadsword and cutlass drills, under the supervision of an expert swordsman, and pistol, howitzer, and infantry drills form a part of the routine, which goes toward strengthening the youthful arm that may some day be raised in defense of our country's flag.
After quarters, exercises and studies, with an interval of one hour at noon for dinner, fill up the time until four o'clock. Evening quarters, for muster only, are at half-past four, and supper is at five. Hammocks are piped down early in the evening, and every one must be turned in at nine o'clock, when silence fore and aft is the order of the night.
The school of instruction for the apprentices is divided into three departments, viz.: Seamanship Department, Gunnery Department, and Department of Studies. Each department is in charge of an officer, with several assistants. In seamanship, the boy is first taught the names of all the spars, ropes, and sails. He is then sent on the "monkey yard," which is slung a few feet above the deck, and there taught how to handle a small sail. Encouraged to take a run up the rigging every morning, the boy soon forgets his fear of falling, and is then allowed to take part in the regular exercises aloft—such as loosing, furling, reefing, bending, and unbending sails, sending up or down light yards and top-gallant masts, etc. Cutting and fitting rigging, knotting and splicing rope, sail-making, boxing the compass, heaving the lead and log signals, pulling oars, swimming, and the use of the diving apparatus come under this head. The course of instruction in gunnery includes the theory of gunnery, in addition to the practice mentioned in a preceding paragraph as divisional drills. The Department of Studies embraces the rudiments of an ordinary English education—reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic, grammar, geography, history, moral and religious instruction, and singing.
This, then, is the every-day work of the apprentices, but it is not all work and no play. On Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday afternoons, those whose conduct record may warrant are given liberty to visit the quaint old town of Newport. For those who do not care for this, the island close at hand is a rare place for base-ball, foot-ball, and other field sports. Boating is always in order—the ship's boats for rowing, and the little brig Toy or the schooner-yacht Wave for sailing. These last two, manned by the boys themselves, make pleasant cruises in Narragansett Bay, and often visit the surrounding towns. And it is a pretty sight on some breezy day to see the boys walk out on the long boom and drop into the cutter that bobs and dances alongside. In the pleasant summer evenings the band plays for "stag" dancing on board ship, and a singing-master leads the choruses, which make the air resound with "Nancy Lee," "Life on the Ocean Wave," and other songs of the sea. A library and reading-room are open during recreation hours. On Sunday mornings church service is conducted by the Chaplain on the gun-deck, when all are required to be present.
For the bad or unruly boy. or the one who lazily or willfully shirks his duty, there is first justice and then punishment. Such a boy is duly reported to the officer of the deck and the culprit is speedily summoned to answer to the charges against him before a court composed of the captain, the executive officer and the chaplain. It is like a regular police court, too. in which if the boy can plead a good excuse or can prove by witnesses that no blame attaches to him he may do so. Everything is done according to exact justice, and punishment is only given when proven to be merited.
After a year on the ship, those boys who have advanced far enough in their profession to be considered available for sea are generally transferred to some of the cruising ships of the training squadron, when the fleet rendezvous at Newport in the early spring, preparatory to the summer cruise.
The transfer day is a gala day. The fortunate boys are bustling around getting their bags and hammocks ready and saying their good-byes. "Commodore Duff" always provides a grand farewell dinner on this occasion, to which every departing apprentice will look back with pleasure when fresh provisions give out at sea, and "salt horse" (salt beef), "soup and bully" (canned beef), and "hard-tack" have important places in the bill of fare. The draft turns out in blue mustering-clothes, and, amid a volley of cheers and swinging of caps, boards the tug, which has been waiting alongside, and are soon distributed among their new homes.
Once upon the high seas, much of the romance of the sailor's life fades quickly away. It may be pleasant to stroll along the cliffs and to watch the great waves break in a line of white foam and a shower of spray, but once afloat in a wave-tossed ship, many a young sailor has felt contemplation give way to an indescribable feeling of misery and woe. There are few people who are proof against sea-sickness, and the land-lubber who can endure the rolling and pitching without a qualm is a hero indeed. But the lad who "tackles it" manfully, with a dogged determination to crush out the first symptoms of weakness, generally conquers, and is soon able to laugh with the rest. One or two days is the average time allowed for getting one's "sea legs."
The coast-line soon fades away in a purple haze as the small fleet bowls along before the wind out into the broad Atlantic. The change is exhilarating. To many it is a new world—the blue above and the blue below. The weather is fair to-day, but to-morrow the clouds may bank up around the horizon in dark, foreboding masses, the gentle breeze may increase to a howling gale, and the speeding ship be stripped of her lofty canvas until she is left wallowing in a heavy sea and drifting bodily to leeward. It is then that the stout heart and the steady hand of the sailor boy stand him in good stead. There are to'-gallant sails and royals to be furled, the lofty yards of which sway from side to side with the motion of the ship, making the dizzy height all the more perilous, and the youngsters must reef top-sails, working with their hands, and acquiring the knack of "hanging on" without the help of those useful members.
Day and night the watch is set, to pass four hours on deck ready to answer every call, whether it be to man the "jib down-haul" or "spanker brails"; then four hours below, with nothing to do. The "dog watches" of two hours each (from 4 to 6 p. M. and from 6 to 8 p. M.) break the continuity, and enable the watches to alternate, and thus secure eight hours below every other night.
Thus a year—several months of it spent in seavoyaging—slips quickly by, and the young tar has advanced steadily in his calling. His fund of general knowledge has been increased by visiting foreign countries. At no time has the training in the three departments of Seamanship, Gunnery, and Studies been lost sight of, although self-reliance has taken the place of that dependence upon others which is necessarily so common at first.
Upon attaining his majority, the apprentice is in every way fitted for general service as a man-of-war's-man, and may serve—according to his choice—in any squadron that stands in need of men. Whether he chooses the much-sought-for European squadron, or visits the celestials in China, or wanders in the Pacific or South Atlantic, let us hope that he will at all times prove himself worthy of his alma mater, and help to regenerate that fast-disappearing class—the American seaman.
Makes me proud to carry on the Navy tradition. Thanks for sharing!
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