THE LAST SALTPETRE LINE

by 

Harry Tobin

One could already say by 1926 that the era of the great four-masted, deep-sea sailing ships was over. Before and after the first world war, there was a deep depression in Europe, and more than one hundred large sailing ships were laid up in France and England. Most of them finally found their end in the scrapyard, but the best of them saved when they were sold very cheaply, at even less than their scrap price, to Mr Erikson from the Western Archipelago of Finland.When there were only a few large sailing ships left in the entire world, nearly all of them had fallen into the hands of Mr Erikson, a native of Aland Island, in the Swedish speaking region of West Finland. Mr Erikson had obtained a monopoly of the sailing ship business, including the wheat trade from Australia.In 1926, captains were able to find an experienced crew for their ships only with great difficulty. One or two years later, when the sailing ships had begun to disappear from the seas, the availability of crews had suddenly changed. As a result, there now were more than enough healthy young men keen to sign, though Mr Erikson had initiated an apprentice system, under which a sailor had to pay a certain sum of money to obtain a board position. Soon, there were more applications for jobs than there were openings on the ships, all of which belonged to the fleet of Mr Erikson.Even as late as 1948, the year during which Mr Erikson died, following a nine-year hiatus, the four-masted barks Pamir, Wiking and Passat, made their voyages from Australia carrying wheat to England.These were the last commercial trips ever made by square-rigged sailing ships. There were no developments that would enable sailing ships to compete with motor and steam vessels at sea.As the old mariner, Singleton said in Joshep Conrad, The Nigger of the Narcissus."Ships!.... Ships are all right. Is men in em'.Yes, indeed, the men in them. When the deep-sea sailing era ended and had been replaced by steam and engines, there were still the men of the sailing ships left, but they were now aboard steamers. There was not such a significant difference between sailing ships and steamers because, as old Singleton said, the men in them made the ship.The sailors brought the sailing era with them and transformed it into the steam age. It was, in fact, a very natural consequence of the sailing era, which had lasted thousands of years.Until 1974-78 the great traditions of the sea and the old code of the merchant navy was no longer used and had vanished entirely. There were no longer any old sailors, or their accumulated knowledge or common sense, among the crew onboard those box-shaped vessels.Yet until 1963, there were still a few cargo-carrying sailing ships left in the North Sea and Baltic Sea trade, auxiliary, and rigged fore-aft aft. One of them was the schooner Norik, registered in Marjaham, Aland, in Finland. Perhaps she was the last.It was springtime when we brought the steamer Angus into the Bay of Marjanham, in Aland, to lay her up there. She was an old ship owned by Garl Kore, one of those well-known captains who had had command of a deep-sea cargo-carrying sailing ship around Cape Horn.The day of our arrival was damp and chilly. We secured her, tying the mooring lines to the trees on the slope of the bank. We had been on board her for a long time, some of us for a year, some for two. Now we were leaving the old mariner with sadness, having all been paid -off. Although she was nearly a hundred years old, the Angus had been our home for a long time, and we had known each other very well.After a few days of work, we got her fixed up for laying and the funnel covered with tarpaulin. The other, ordinarily sailor and I, were the only ones left on board.We found a berth at the sailors' home and then spent our time walking around.In addition to the Angus, There were two other up laying sailing ships. The largest was the Pommern; like everyone else, we knew she lay there as the maritime museum. And a little bit further was another sailing ship. It was a wooden three-masted schooner, rigged fore and aft with a long bowsprit and her hull black. At first, we were sure that she must be in another maritime museum. However, the next day, when we visited the seamen's office, we read in the newspaper that the ship was an auxiliary schooner named Norik. It had been commissioned and was short of hands.We were joined that same day by a man wearing thin spectacles and a long black raincoat. He was a ship cook looking for a job.So, all three of us jumped over the gunwale to the deck of the sailer.We came upon a man standing on the deck wearing a short black leather blouse and a black bared. On seeing our board, he immediately asked to see our seaman's books.I looked around and noticed that the main deck was spacious. There was a deck house at the fore-end of the ship. It was a typical fo'c's'le-her rigg with numerous ropes, lanyards, and uprising shrouds with wooden ladders, backstays and falls. There were wash ports above sheer-strake, fitted with lids hinged along the top. Their purpose at sea was to drain the deck of large volumes of water. There were three motor winches. Two of them stood at the foot of the main and mizzen masts. The third operated the windlass on the forecastle.The cargo hatches were small, and their collars were low.The poop itself was also low, with wooden ladders on either side of the ship. Two boats were hanging in their davits, close to the rail on top of the poop deck.Three tall wooden masts rose straight up to heaven, and booms reached out above our heads. She was short of the topsail. The wheel was housed, and there was a mess-room at the aft end. The living quarter of officers and owners were beneath the poop. The ship looked all right, and it had a strong smell of romance.The man in the leather jacket, who appeared to be the captain, showed us the forecastle, in which we were to dwell during the coming months. The fo'cs'le was an obscure quarter for sailors, cold, and with the air full of natural moisture. It was a wretched place in which to live during late April in latitudes above sixty degrees north, where the air could be bitterly cold, and the weather could revert suddenly to winter. There was a fireplace in the corner of the forecastle house. It was a tiny metal firebox with which we tried to keep warm during the following months. We brought our gears aboard and settled down in the forecastle.We newcomer shared this quarter with the Donkeyman, an older man from the mainland. All told, there was a crew of seven men on board. They were the captain, the mate and the engineer, as well as the four of us who lived at the fore. The captain mate and the engineer hailed from Swedish speaking islanders-all of them from Marjanham.We were towed to the pier the next day to load the timber for Norway. The cook went ashore. There was some gossip about tuberculosis. The mate whose appearance resembled a caricature of a yellow-tinged army sergeant gave me a caulking iron and hammer, with an order to climb outside the bows and make caulking with the hammer back the stuff that had been forced out by ice.I swung out a plank and began this first task on board. By afternoon the cook had returned aboard. He had a paper with him, which proved him sick; he had an illness in his lugs. So he was dropped from muster and service at sea.Now, in addition to his usual work, the captain assumed also the cook's role. It fitted him well since he was very economical and Now had control over the supplies.After a few days of loading, we cast off the mooring lines and put them out by the engine. Lars, who had been the bosum on the Angus, came to see us off. He told us that he could have a job onboard a big ferry. I could see Lars standing there on the quay with his bicycle and waving farewell.We did not hoist the sails at first because the auxiliary was functioning, and we ran at a speed of about six knots.However, when we were clear of the harbour and came out open sea, we began to set the sails, hauling up the sail's booms. After half an hour of labour by the four men, the sails turned up the stiff and murky canvas. They were no white at all. They were like three huge shades, hung overhead and blocking the view of the heaven above. The sails took hold, bellied by gently western wind, and the deck took a slight-tilt over to the lee side. We were on the way by sails. After the sails had been set, the sea watch was ordered on. I had the watch from six to twelve. This meant that I had to stand six hours at the wheel twice per day.I had lived in the crew's quarters under the poop deck of steamers before, and my ears were accustomed to the noise of the screw running beneath the floor and the rattle of the steering chains above my head. Now, there were different noises around me. There were the noises of a sailing ship. The sailing ship is not quiet at all. She could be louder than the steamer and sometimes even louder than the motor-ship. Above all, the noise of the sailing ship sound more frightening than anything else, The wind in the riggings cries out like a multi-headed human being, and moans and creaks emanate from all over the wooden construction of the hull. When the gale blew, the pitch-dark night was inhabited by scary noises. The noise of waves breaking over the bows and water crashing down against the outer bulkhead of the forecastle house made the entire deckhouse tremble.We sailed for days until we came off the coast of Norway, then deep into a 'fjord'. We finally dropped anchor off a small village where there was a foul-smelling cellulose plant.We were riding in calm water near the tiny village situated at the foot of the high hill.We had little to do on board the ship because the captain, afraid that his hands would incur overtime pay, would immediately turn us in when typical day working hours had ended. So, one evening, we decided to visit the captain's quarters under the poop. He had a spacious salon with an abundance of plush and mahogany. We asked for money for going ashore. After looking at us for a moment, the captain picked up his purse and withdrew from it the currency of several countries. I received a banknote of Belgium Frances but had no idea of its actual value.Later that same evening, we forecastle men lowered the boat and rowed ashore. As it turned out, there was a tavern in the middle of the village. We entered and found a table at which to sit and ordered a beer. There were a few other people in the bar who gave us curious glances.In the night we had returned on board, we felt hungry, as usual, after the beer. We sneaked into the galley below the poop deck in a quest for food and had just opened the larder when I noticed the captain standing in the doorway wearing a robe. What the hell are you doing here at this time? Is this your mealtime? The captain yelled.Not saying a word, we quickly withdrew from the galley to the forecastle and there, under dim lamps, checked our haul. I found a cold drumstick in my hand while the Donkeyman had a sausage, and the other ordinarily seaman had nothing. We shared the catch in the way of Christians, then we thirsty looked for a drink, but we found none until the Donkeyman remembered that there was a canister full of stern stuff, down there in the fore-peak. He disappeared and was soon back with a can of sprits intended for use in starting the winch's motor. I located a schnapps glass, and he filled it with this poisonous stuff. Then he hoisted the glass and gulped it down. When he filled the following glass for me, I spilt the contents of the glass. However, a cigarette was burning, and spilt spirits burst into flames. The flames quickly spread from the table to the floor. Alarmed by the glare, we began to beat the fire with whatever we had in our hands. In my case, that was only my working trousers; With some effort, we managed to extinguish the fire and narrow avoid burning up the entire wooden ship.TykkääKommenttiJaa