The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism (Vol. 1-4). Frederick Whymper
themselves somewhere in your cabin! All this is possible; still Dr. Stables describes life on other vessels under more favourable auspices.
The important addition of a chaplain to the establishment on board our ships of war seems, from the following letter of George, Duke of Buckingham, to have been first adopted in the year 1626:—
“The Duke of Buckingham to the University of Cambridge.
“After my hearty commendations. His Majesty having given order for preachers to goe in every of his ships to sea, choyce hath been made of one Mr. Daniel Ambrose, Master of Arts and Fellow of your College, to be one. Accordingly, upon signification to me to come hither, I thought good to intimate unto you, that His Majesty is so careful of such scholars as are willing to put themselves forward in so good actions, as that he will expect—and I doubt not but that you will accordingly take order—that the said Mr. Ambrose shall suffer noe detriment in his place with you, by this his employment; but that you will rather take care that he shall have all immunities and emoluments with advantage, which have been formerly, or may be, granted to any upon the like service. Wherein, not doubting of your affectionate care, I rest,
“Your very loving friend,
“G. Buckingham.
“York House, July 29th, 1626.”
Sailors, in spite of their outbursts of recklessness, have frequently, from the very nature of their perilous calling, an amount of seriousness underlying their character, which makes them particularly amenable to religious influences. The chaplain on a large modern ironclad or frigate has as many men in his charge, as regards spiritual matters, as the vicar of a country town or large village, whilst he has many more opportunities of reaching them directly. Many of our naval chaplains are noble fellows; and to them come the sailors in any distress of mind, for the soothing advice so readily given. He may not dare to interfere with the powers that be when they are in danger of punishment, except in very rare cases; but he can point them out their path of duty, and how to walk in it, making them better sailors and happier men. He can lend them an occasional book, or write for them an occasional letter home; induce them to refrain from dissipation when on liberty; cheer them in the hour of greatest peril, while on the watery deep, and give them an occasional reproof, but in kindness, not in anger. To his brother officers he has even better opportunities of doing good than to the men. On the smaller classes of vessels—gun-boats and the like—the captain has to perform chaplain’s duties, by reading prayers on the Sabbath. This is the case also on well-regulated steamships or passenger sailing-vessels of the merchant service. The fine steamers of such lines as the Cunard, or White Star, of the Royal Mail Company, or of the P. and O., have, of course, frequently, some clergyman, minister, or missionary on board, who is willing to celebrate divine service.
A Committee of the Lower House of Convocation has recently collected an immense amount of statistics regarding the provision made by private ship-owners for the spiritual welfare of their men, and the result as regards England is not at all satisfactory. In point of fact, it is rarely made at all. The committee seeks to encourage the growth of religion among sailors by providing suitable and comfortable church accommodation at all ports, and urges owners to instruct their captains as to conducting divine service on Sundays, and to furnish Bibles, prayer-books, and instructive works of secular literature. Too much must not, however, be expected from Jack. The hardships and perils through which he passes excuse much of his exuberance ashore. It is his holiday-time; and, so long as he is only gay, and not abandoned, the most rigid must admit that he has earned the right to recreation. A distinguished French naval officer used to say that the sailor fortunately had no memory. “Happy for him,” said he, “that he is thus oblivious. Did he remember all the gales and tempests, the cold, the drenching rain, the misery, the privations, the peril to life and limb which he has endured, he would never, when he sets foot on shore, go to sea again. But he has no memory. The clouds roll away, the sea is calm, the sun shines, the boat bears him to land; the wine flows; the music strikes up; pretty girls smile: he forgets all the past, and lives only in the present.”
While the chaplain may, and no doubt generally does, earn the respect and esteem of the men, woe to any example of the “Chadband” order who shall be found on board. This is, in the Royal Navy, almost impossible; but it sometimes happens that, on passenger ships, some sanctimonious and fanatical individual or other has had a very rough time of it. He is regarded as a kind of Jonah. In a recent number of that best of American magazines, the Atlantic Monthly, the woes and trials of one poor Joseph Primrose, a well-meaning minister who went out to America in 1742, are amusingly recounted. There were, aboard the Polly, the vessel in which he took passage, several of the crew who viewed their religious exercises askance. “These men,” says he, “had been foremost in a general indignation uprising that had ensued upon the stoppage of their daily allowance of rum; which step had been taken on my earnest recommendation. For this injurious drink we had substituted a harmless and refreshing beverage concocted of molasses, vinegar, and water, from a choice receipt I had come upon in a medical book aboard the vessel. The sailors, to a man, refused to touch it, egged on by these contumacious fellows, and more especially by one Springer, a daring villain, who reviled me with bitter execrations. In fine, the captain was obliged, for our own safety, to restore the cherished dram; and I had the mortification to find myself, from that time forth, an object of dislike and suspicion to these men, who were kept within decent bounds only by respect for their master. I became convinced, on reflection, that I had gone the wrong way about this unfortunate piece of business; having, in fact, made a very serious error in the beginning, gentle argument and good example being more apt to bring about the desired end than compulsory measures, these dulling the understanding by rousing the temper, especially among persons of the meaner sort. All my efforts—and they were not few—to place myself on a friendly footing with these men were of no avail: they had conceived the notion that I was their enemy, and met all my advances with obstinate coldness. As Captain Hewlett exacted the daily attendance at prayers of every soul on board, these knaves were compelled to be on hand with their fellows; but they rarely failed to conduct themselves with such indecent levity as made me rue their presence, playing covertly at cat’s-cradle, jack-straws, and what not; besides grinning familiarly in my face, whenever they could contrive to catch my eye.” This unseemly behaviour was as nothing to what followed ashore. While addressing a large assemblage, he noted the advent of a number of unmannerly fellows, who, with a great deal of clatter, elbowed their way to the front. “The moment I clapped eyes upon them,” says poor Primrose, “I knew them for the sailors who had so persecuted me aboard the Polly, and my heart sank at the bare sight of them.” They sung, or rather bawled, ribald words to the music of the hymns; and one of them, when rebuked by some gentleman present, whipped out his cutlass, and a general row ensued, which broke up the assembly. A little later, Primrose induced a tavern-keeper to allow him to preach on his premises. “A West Indian vessel coming into port about the middle of April, and a horde of roystering sailors gathering in the common room of the ‘Sailor’s Rest’ to drink, I announced a discourse on the subject of ‘gin-guzzling,’ choosing one that I had delivered aboard the Polly, and which seemed to fit the occasion to a nicety. No sooner had the landlord seen the notice to this effect that I had attached to his door-cheek, than he sends for me to repair to the tavern without loss of time; and on my appearance, in great haste, comes blustering up to me in a most offensive manner, demanding whether I purposed the ruin of his trade, by putting forth of such a mischievous paper; adding, with astounding audacity, that he should certainly lose all the custom I had been the means of fetching to his house, did I persist in my intent. Mark the cunning of the knave! He had encouraged my labours for none other purpose than the bringing of fresh grist to his mill; and here was I, blindly leading precious souls to destruction, the poor dupe of a specious villain—a wretch without bowels! My agony of mind on being thus suddenly enlightened was of such a desperate sort, that, gnashing my teeth, I leapt upon the miscreant, and, bearing him to the ground with an awful crash, beat him about the head and shoulders with the stout cane I carried; and with such good will, that I presently found myself lying in the town gaol, covered with the blood of my enemy, and every bone in my body aching from the unaccustomed exercise. … Truly was I as forlorn and friendless a creature as the world ever saw. My clothing had been rent beyond repair in the shameful struggle, and, yet worse, one of my shoes was gone—how and where I knew not; and although I promised