Jack Tar

by Roy Adkins

  Singing, with or without a musical accompaniment, was favoured. The Royal Navy did not allow the singing of sea shanties while the men worked (long spells at the capstan* were accompanied by tunes on a fiddle or a flute), but the sailors sang forebitters when off duty. The name ‘forebitter’ comes merely from the fact that they were sung on the forecastle, where the sailors were allowed to congregate, and this space was in front of (‘afore’) the bitts. The songs themselves might be traditional, memorised from music hall and theatre performances, bought as ballad sheets from street hawkers, or composed by the men themselves. Forebitters dealt with subjects with which seamen were familiar – pirates, long and difficult voyages, battles, strange incidents and, above all, women. One song from this era begins:

  Farewell and adieu to you Spanish Ladies

  Farewell and adieu to you Ladies of Spain

  For we have new orders to sail for old England

  But I hope in a short time for to see you again

  We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British heroes

  We’ll rant and we’ll roar all on the Salt Sea

  Until we strike soundings in the channel of Old England

  From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.15

  This was originally a Royal Navy song, mostly sung on homeward-bound ships from the Mediterranean, but was later adopted by merchant seamen, who used it as a capstan shanty.

  Songs enlivened all aspects of life ashore and afloat, such as ‘The Sea Fight’, described as ‘a catch written by Captain Thompson’:

  Boatswain! Pipe all hands hoy!

  Turn out every Man and Boy!

  Make Sail – give Chace.

  Then splice main brace!

  A Gallant Ship! my boys she’s French!

  In Grog and Flip here’s to each wench

  Loos Boys, higher

  Stand by – Fire!

  She strikes! she strikes! ours is the day.

  A Glorious Prize! belay – belay!16

  Captain Edward Thompson was well known for his poetry and songs, some of which were published in 1767 under the title of Sailor’s Letters, written for his Select Friends in England.

  Another song, collected by Richard Blechynden in 1781, begins:

  We are the Boys that fear no noise

  When Thundering cannons roar.

  We Sail for Gold and Silver Bright,

  And spend it when on Shore.

  Foll de roll – de roll &c.

  We eat Salt Beef for our relief

  Salt Beef and Biscuit Bread

  Whilst you on shore and numbers more

  Are on dainty dishes fed

  Foll de roll etc.17

  The song ends with the verse,

  When our Goodly Ships are sinking down

  We know not Good from Evil

  There’s the Parson a Praying and the Boatswain a swearing

  So we serve both God and Devil.18

  Many songs were bawdy or straightforwardly obscene, as the seaman George Watson remarked: ‘The poet you might see employed composing sea-songs, or odes on naval exploits; sometimes also smutty, or amorous rhymes to gratify the youthful midshipmen, and other lusty members of his auditory.’19 Today, many of the more popular songs have survived as traditional songs or folk songs, and where these sound rather trite in their sentiments and bland in their words, it is often the inevitable censorship of the Victorian folk-song collector who bowdlerised the original bawdy version.

  Good singers were admired, but one performer on board the Macedonian attempted to desert. On discovering that the merchant ship he boarded was actually delivering gunpowder to his old ship, he gave himself up and was pardoned. Samuel Leech described how he was welcomed back:

  The crew were all delighted at his return, as he was quite popular among them for his lively disposition and his talents as a comic singer, which last gift is always highly prized in a man of war. So joyous were we all at his escape from punishment, that we insisted on his giving a concert, which went off well. Seated on a gun, surrounded by scores of men, he sung a variety of favourite songs amid the plaudits and encores of his rough auditors. By such means as these, sailors contrive to keep up their spirits amidst constant causes of depression and misery … But for these interludes, life in a man of war, with severe officers, would be absolutely intolerable; mutiny or desertion would mark the voyages of every such ship.20

  Because many of the men were pressed into the navy, Leech thought that anything to alleviate their situation was welcome:

  A casual visitor in a man of war, beholding the song, the dance, the revelry of the crew, might judge them to be happy. But I know that these things are often resorted to, because they feel miserable, just to drive away dull care. They do it on the same principle as the slave population in the South [United States], to drown in sensual gratification the voice of misery that groans in the inner man … so, in a man of war, where severe discipline prevails, though cheerfulness smiles at times, it is only the forced merriment of minds ill at ease; minds that would gladly escape the thraldom of the hated service to which they are bound.21

  Daniel Goodall of the Temeraire mentioned that the amusements went beyond music and dancing, and included theatricals: ‘Independent of the numerous sea games wherewith we diversified our dancing, the midshipmen got up very enlivening, if not critically correct, dramatic entertainments, which their audiences, more inclined to be pleased than critical, always took in the best spirit possible, and thus afforded encouragement to perseverance on the part of the young gentlemen.’22 Several years later, when he was a marine on board the Amelia anchored at Corunna, Goodall again found that the midshipmen were fond of amateur dramatics:

  Our ‘middies’, by way of contributing their quota to the general amusement, got up a dramatic representation, to which everybody of importance in the place was invited, for they judged rightly that nautical amateurs would be regarded as quite a novelty, if not a treat. Our principal manager in this affair was Mr Coulson, a native of Quebec, who had joined as a midshipman when we were out there as convoy. He certainly had some histrionic talent, and that is more than I would venture to assert for his coadjutors. A Glasgow man, one of the crew, was scene painter … All our actors were midshipmen, with the exception of one, a marine, required to make up the roll of dramatis personae. We had six ladies on board, wives of seamen and petty officers, who had got leave to accompany their husbands on the cruise, but none of these had a vocation for the boards, and were of no farther use than as they lent their aid in getting up the young gentlemen in their parts, and in supplying some needful articles from their wardrobes for our female characters.23

  The schoolmaster, an Irishman named O’Donnell, was persuaded to deliver the prologue, but he suffered from stage fright:

  O’Donnell was well qualified to have done justice to this part of the proceedings, for he was an excellent elocutionist, but he also laboured, unfortunately, under the disadvantage of being a very nervous man, and to counteract this constitutional defect he endeavoured to brace himself up with a tumbler or two of grog. He succeeded in this only too well, for before anyone could notice the extent to which he had imbibed, he rushed on to the stage and into the prologue in such style as never before was witnessed. After roaring half through the piece with an emphasis, accent, and gesticulation most wonderful and amusing, he fairly broke down.24

  While trying to read a scribbled copy of the prologue stuck inside his hat, O’Donnell lost his balance and sat down on the stage, but Goodall was relieved that the production was saved when ‘one of the “middies” rushed out half-dressed, and, seizing the schoolmaster by the collar of the coat, dragged him off, still seated, and roaring lustily at the unlucky prologue, amid shrieks of laughter. The best of the joke was that our foreign visitors, though they joined in the general mirth, seemed to take it for granted that it was all in due course.’25

  Musical shows and plays were a method of impressing the local dignitaries, and in 1807 Vice-Admira
l Cuthbert Collingwood wrote home to his wife about the reaction of an official from the North African province of Tetuan to the sailors taking women’s roles in the plays:

  We have an exceedingly good company of comedians, some dancers that might exhibit at an opera, and probably have done so at Sadlers Wells, and a band consisting of twelve very fine performers. Every Thursday is a play night, and they act as well as your Newcastle company. A Moorish officer, who was sent to me by Hadgi Abdrahman Ash Ash, the Governor of the province of Tetuan, was carried to the play. The astonishment which this man expressed at the assembly of people, and their order, was itself a comedy. When the music began, he was enchanted; but during the acting, he was so transported with delight, that he could not keep his seat. His admiration of the ladies was quite ridiculous; and he is gone to his Prince fully convinced that we carry players to sea for the entertainment of the sailors: for though he could not find the ladies after the entertainment, he is not convinced that they are not put up in some snug place till the next play-night.26

  Apart from their varied entertainments, sailors’ spare time was spent repairing and making clothes, shoes and other items, using skills from previous occupations. ‘Here in one place may be seen a tailor,’ observed Robert Wilson,

  in another a shoemaker, a tinker, a brazier, a glazier, a plumber, a painter, a seamster, a draftsman, a twine-maker, stocking and glove makers, hat makers, hat coverers, button makers, knife makers, book binders, coopers; nay, every trade almost that you can mention, even to a watch maker, and all at their different occupations … Those who are not employed sewing or mending, you’ll see them either learning to read or write, or cyphering, or instructing others. Some are playing the violin, flute or fife, while others dance or sing thereto. Others are relating awful stories of what happened in awful times, while their hearers are listening with respectful silence.27

  The seamen manufactured all kinds of things from materials they acquired, from bone knitting needles to carved wooden boxes. Some of the handicrafts were for their own use, while others were presents for friends and family at home. Fancy ropework was popular, as were pictures of ships in a variety of techniques, and coins were sometimes engraved as love tokens. One such silver coin was apparently engraved by John Walsh, with a picture of a ship on one side and the inscription ‘Foudroyant 1781’, while on the other side are the names Jno [ John] Walsh and Elizabeth Manah above two hearts, pierced with two arrows, encircled by the inscription ‘When this you see remember me.’28

  With the ship’s company isolated for weeks or perhaps months at a time, any news was at a premium, and in the absence of news, gossip was rife. As Aaron Thomas put it, ‘No person who has not been in a ship can credit the various reports which are flying about every day, or rather every hour. These are termed Galley Packets.’29 When blockading the port of Brest, Daniel Goodall said that they craved excitement and latched on to any rumours: ‘Before we had been a month at sea, a report circulated amongst the crew that we were to have an entire change of officers, and … at first the news was set down as a mere “galley packet,” by which name unfounded reports are known on shipboard.’30 Aaron Thomas occasionally noted such gossip in his journal: ‘At dinner yesterday, Ridgeway tells me, that [Captain] Harvey said, that in every bawdy house in Portsmouth, he had very often noticed, very general indeed, that when they brought him wine, there never was any stopper in the wine decanter, but always an old cork – by which remark I must infer that he has been a visitor general, to all the [brothels] … in Gosport, Portsmouth and Portsea.’31

  Anything and everything might constitute an item of interest, such as one incident that Thomas recounted:

  The Captain sent his servant out of the cabin to desire the officer of the watch to keep his luff and hold his wind.* The servant went on deck, and told the officer, that it was the Captain’s desire that he would hold his wind. Bless me says the officer, I broke wind so gently that I did not think that the Captain could have heard me: Oh, I have it now; it is very true that I was standing near the cabin skylight. I did not think of that. Pray make my humble respects to the Captain and assure him that I shall not be guilty of the like again. Servant came from off the quarter deck, and told the Captain that Mr. P was very sorry for what had happened, but that he would take care not to be guilty of the like again. This led to an explanation, and this little affair ended in a laugh amongst all parties.32

  Doubtless real-life incidents formed the kernel of various stories passed on from sailor to sailor, as Thomas was well aware:

  In a ship, some transaction is every half hour arising for comment. The foremast man ingratiates himself with the wardroom boys; every word he hears the officer speak is brought out and immediately told at the breechen of every gun in the waist, to this is always added a thousand falsities. Everyone who relates the story adds something. If a servant says the chaplain and the purser broke a wine glass today at hob nob, the story goes the purser cut the slit in his tongue with a piece of flint glass which chaplain put in his rice pudding. The most trifling disaster which occurs in the captain’s cabin is magnified to the galley as a most momentous calamity for the sake of laughing at the misfortunes which attend their superiors.33

  In this way gossip formed the basis for many of the ‘yarns’ narrated by sailors to pass the time and which the soldier William Wheeler observed: ‘Those who are fond of the marvellous, group together between two guns and listen to some frightful tale of ghost and gobblin, another party listens to some weather beaten tar who “spins a yarn” of past events, until his hearers sides are almost cracked with laughter’.34 Samuel Leech considered that many of the stories were ‘of things most rare and wonderful; for your genuine old tar is an adept in spinning yarns, and some of them, in respect to variety and length, might safely aspire to a place beside the great magician of the north, Sir Walter Scott’.35 Archibald Sinclair, recalling events many years later, was rather more cruel in his assessment of storytelling:

  It would scarcely be credited in the present day the almost total want of anecdotal power, or the faculty of telling a story, which pervaded all hands. Not only was there little or no invention, but even repetition did not seem to improve the original fault of bad telling. The same anecdotes or stories were repeated over and over again, with little or no variation, and the listeners were like children, who, when once you have told them a story, do not like the smallest deviation, either in word or deed, from the original text. It is at once and for ever stereotyped into their brain. If I have heard the story of a distinguished admiral and the midshipman’s pig once, I have heard it a thousand times. It seemed a never-failing source of amusement and interest.36

  Aaron Thomas heard a story that appealed to the men’s dark humour:

  Hilliard [William Hilliard, boatswain’s mate] told me this day that he was on board the Bellona of 74 guns in the year 1759, and on the ship being paid, a woman had leave to come on board and sell three barrels of ale. But two of them contained gin, which the Master at Arms found out, and stove in the head of both, so that the liquid run about the decks, and the ship having a small heel at this time, the gin run to leeward, which the ship’s company perceiving, lay down on their bellies and drank as much as they could lick up; but fifteen or twenty, who were more alert and deeper [more thoughtful] than the rest, jumped overboard, and put their mouths to the scupper holes from whence the gin was running out in a spout. Here they swallowed so much that nine men lost their senses in 3 minutes … and were drowned. The rest were picked up by the ship’s boats, but in so drunken a state that they were hoisted in with a whip [a simple hoist for bringing ladies aboard].37

  Gossip and yarns were a constant distraction, but could rarely compete with news from the outside world. While his ship was cruising off the coast of Newfoundland in 1794, Thomas found they had an unusual amount of news:

  From the circumstance of our falling in with a number of American vessels and getting newspapers from them we used, jocosely, to call these
latitudes our coffee room – here we come to read the news. Very few vessels we boarded from Europe but what gave us newspapers. As soon as a sail was discovered the cry on the quarter deck was ‘I see a newsman two points to our larboard beam, I wonder if she is from Europe or America’. After she had been boarded and the officer returned, the buzz of ‘What news?’ would be as violent on deck for some minutes as … the appearance of a Gazette Extraordinary [in a coffee house].38

  Thomas was exceptional in being well educated and had been in business in London and possibly elsewhere, which is probably why he was employed as the captain’s coxswain and steward. He made the most of newspapers when they came his way, and noted in his journal on 30 August 1798: ‘Spent the whole day on board, in reading the Star, Sun and Morning Post London newspapers which came out by the last packet: yet the newest paper was dated on June the first of this year.’39

  The number of seamen who could read inevitably varied from ship to ship, and there is evidence that where the majority were illiterate, some of those who could read and write pretended they could not, while others who were poor readers and writers lost what little skill they once had. The seaman Richard Greenhalgh wrote apologetically to his parents that ‘my old writer Thomas Brown is drafted on board of the Ann … Excuse my bad writing as I have not practiced it much lately, but now I have lost my writer, and so I believe I shall write myself for the future.’40 There was always a demand for literate men to read and write letters, according to Samuel Leech: ‘I now experienced the advantage of the primary education I had received when a boy. Many of my shipmates could neither read nor write, and were, in consequence, either altogether deprived of the privilege of intercourse with their friends, or were dependent on the kindness of others, to read and write for them. For these I acted as a sort of scribe.’41