Many are the times that I, a recruit of only eight years service, have been caught in the firm grasp of a misty- eyed old chief who sentimentally informed me on matters regarding the Old Navy. His tale is invariably prefixed by, “You never had it so good. Why, in the old Navy ...” and so on, ad infinitum.
Heretofore, I have always listened to such stories with all respect due a misty-eyed old chief, while, at the same time, I harbored doubting thoughts about the validity of the details the chief was presenting to me. Considering that some of them are thirty-three or thirty-four years old, I was always prepared to forgive an old chief for little lapses of memory which were associated with the onslaught of age.
But all that was before I happened across a 1902 edition of The Bluejacket's Manual. Now, it is with the deepest sense of humility that I submit a blanket apology to all old chiefs whose parables on the Old Navy I have doubted because I have just discovered that ashes were hoisted in the Old Navy and that reveille at sea was at 0400 every day.
And, believe me, reveille was an enthusiastic undertaking. Lung power and foot locomotion had not been supplanted by public address systems, so reveille and a new day were first greeted by firing a ship’s gun. An exuberant ringing of the ship’s bell would follow; and, in turn, the bell would be followed by all available local bugle talent with noises peculiar to the bugle. Not to be outdone, all boatswains’ mates would then join in concert to pipe an extended rendition of “All hands.” Then, to ensure that all hands had arisen to the spirit of the occasion, a master-at-arms would tour the berth deck offering encouragement to those who were experiencing difficulty in facing a 0430 “turn to.”
Bed sores were undoubtedly kept at a minimum in the Navy of 1902 because there was little time left during the day in which to cultivate them. Survivors of reveille faced a day which featured twelve hours and twenty minutes of turn to and nine opportunities for boatswains’ mates to engage in their more favored diversion of piping sweepers. The first turn to was passed at 0430 after the crew had had the morning coffee which was furnished each division in a large pot. On four or more days a week clothes were washed immediately after turn to. At 0730, the men shifted into a clean uniform of the day for breakfast. After three and one half hours of anticipation, finicky eaters were probably a rarity in the chow line.
The balance of the ship’s work-day was dedicated to about the same routine as is followed today, except that the Plan of the Day was interspersed by notations to hoist ashes. Quarters were held at 0930 and the divisions were inspected by division officers, after which time a few ashes were hoisted and general drills and exercises commenced. Dinner was served at 1230 and the next turn to didn’t come until 1300. It is noteworthy that about 1430 the Plan of the Day would indicate, “instruction of Landsmen: Hoist Ashes.” Supper was served at 1730 and, you guessed it, was followed by another turn to at 1830. The work-day ended when “Hammocks” was passed at 1930. Thirty minutes later the master-at-arms snuffed out the smoking “lantern” and probably had no difficulty in keeping silence about the deck.
Smoking hours were generally limited to idle periods during the day such as the first thirty minutes preceding 0430 turn to, during meal hours, and from supper to tattoo. But there is nothing to indicate that spit “kids” were covered or otherwise incapacitated for service to those who felt so inclined. It is likely that designated sweepers were keen advocates of a careful aim among those who utilized the plug-in-jaw system of receiving nicotinic stimulation.
There is some question about what recreational facilities were available to one aboard a ship of the Old Navy, although I am sure it would not be foolish conjecture that not even movies of television calibre were available; indeed, the word “movie” would have probably been defined as something that was done with a holystone. With shore duty coming as a reward for twenty-five years service, it is possible that the 1902 Bluejacket could find recreation by adjourning to the fantail and pondering over the shore duty which would accrue to him in 1927. Or perhaps he could hoist a few ashes, or browse through his ditty box while thinking of the retirement benefits he would receive after thirty years service (provided he were at least fifty years old).
What the sailor of a half century ago lacked in entertainment was made up in inspections which were held with calculated regularity. In addition to the six thorough division officer inspections he received during the week, the ’02 sailor received a real sweat- drawer from the captain on Sunday. Sunday’s inspection was held in “full dress” uniform. Strangely enough, when the command “Hand salute” was given, every man saluted with the hand furthest from the captain.
Bag inspections were held by division petty officers under the supervision of division officers. A bag inspection was in order if the division petty officer noticed one of his men scratching or hoisting ashes when he should have been scrubbing clothes. When the word “scrub and wash clothes” was passed, it was a positive order to scrub and wash clothes, and it was the petty officer’s responsibility to make certain that those individuals who weren’t scrubbing and washing clothes had no clothes to scrub and wash. This was accomplished by holding a bag inspection on the spot.
But all wasn’t inspection in The Old Navy. Payday generally came once a month, although it was postponed if the ship were at sea or other places where the money would be of no use to the men. (The same effect is obtained today by closing the gedunk stand for inventory.) Pay was also withheld from men in the hospital unless approval for their payment could be secured from the medical officer in charge. It appears likely that in cases of some pre-penicillin illnesses such approval would not be forthcoming.
The highest paid enlisted men in the Navy were the Chief Machinists and Chief Commissary Stewards, who drew seventy dollars a month. A Chief Boatswain’s Mate rated only fifty dollars a month, while a Chief Yeoman made away with sixty dollars. An Apprentice, third class, was entitled to a cool nine dollars monthly and a Coal Passer (Seaman, third class) drew twenty-two dollars a month, probably rating every drop of it. It is interesting to note that a Boilermaker (Petty Officer, first class) drew sixty-five dollars a month, which was fifteen a month more than a Chief Quartermaster drew. The Landsman who was fortunate enough to be assigned the cushy duty of lamplighter drew an extra five dollars monthly to supplement his wage of sixteen dollars. Submariners, who were probably scarce at the turn of this century, also received an extra five dollars per month.
Each enlisted man, with the exception of Apprentices, was required to keep to his credit on the rolls of his pay officer a sum of money amounting to one month of the pay of the rating in which he was serving. Apprentices were required to keep two months pay on the books, a staggering amount when his nine dollars per is considered.
Pay and conduct were two closely related propositions in ’02. The Crew drew money in accordance with Conduct Classes graduating from Conduct Class 4 (8-balls) to Conduct Class 1 (Politicians). First Class Conduct men were allowed to draw up to a full month’s pay; Second Class Conduct men could draw one-half of one month’s pay; Third Class, a third of a month’s pay; and Fourth Class Men hardly scratched with one fourth of a month’s pay. A man whose behavior was erratic undoubtedly kept his pay officer hopping.
Men were assigned to Conduct Classes according to individual merit as was evidenced by attention to duty, military bearing, proficiency, etc. Liberty and other privileges were given only after consideration of the particular Conduct Class the Bluejacket occupied at the time. It would probably be likely that the Seaman who was in Conduct Class 4 would have been a good prospect for a Conduct Class 1 man to approach regarding a little liberty money. Graduation from a lower to a higher Conduct Class (one grade at a time) was a monthly occasion, but reduction in class could be made at any time that misconduct dictated. To a few people Conduct Class 1 probably looked as formidable as Mt. Everest.
Men who launched a career in the regular Navy of 1902 did so under vastly different circumstances from those in existence today. One didn’t just pop in at the Recruiting Station and swap his zoot suit for the title of Seaman. The word “seaman” was applied only to those individuals who had been to sea. Article 833, paragraph (5), of Navy Regulations in effect in 1902, stated, “No person except an honorably discharged ex- Apprentice shall be enlisted as a Seaman unless he shall have been four years at sea; nor as an Ordinary Seaman unless he shall have been two years at sea before the mast. In both cases, applicants shall be required to pass a satisfactory examination.”
Probably the best way to start a naval career a half-century ago was as an Apprentice. Candidates for enlistment as Apprentices had to “be between the ages of fifteen and seventeen years, of robust frame, intelligent, of perfectly sound and healthy constitution, free from any physical defects or malformations, and not subject to fits.” Inability to read and write was waived for a boy of general intelligence. The apprentice’s term of enlistment lasted until his twenty- first birthday.
On being accepted for enlistment, the Apprentice, third class, was assigned to a training station for a period of six months to be instructed “in reading, writing, arithmetic, and the rudiments of the seaman’s profession.” His instruction further included schooling in such subjects as Sailmaking, Sword Exercise, Sewing, Great-Gun Target Firing, and Bearing-General Conduct. On completion of his tour at the training station, the Apprentice was transferred to a cruise training ship.
But the Apprentice’s introduction to the sea didn’t mean his school days were over. After assignment to general service, the Apprentice, third class, was advanced to Apprentice, second class, and assigned to regular shipboard duties and instruction with rotation to different parts of the ship every three months. Regulations prohibited the assignment of Apprentices to duty in fire- rooms or as mess cooks except in cases of necessity. They could be detailed as messengers for periods up to three months.
After a year of such on-the-job training, qualified Apprentices were advanced to Apprentice, first class. At this time those Apprentices, first class, who demonstrated mechanical and electrical ability were assigned to duty in the “dynamo room” with a possible future assignment to Electrical School by the Bureau of Navigation.
In the final year of his enlistment, an Apprentice was eligible for an acting appointment as a Petty Officer, third class, of the Seaman Branch (Master-at-Arms, Coxswain, Gunner’s Mate, Quartermaster) or as a Yeoman or Electrician, third class. The Apprentice had arrived; he was now a Seaman.
In the early days of practical electricity, the Navy Electrician’s Mate was probably regarded as one of the more highly skilled technicians in the artificer class. A candidate for enlistment as an Electrician in the Navy, according to Article 833 of Navy Regs, was required to “be an electrician by trade . . . know the names and uses of the various parts of a dynamo and dynamo engine . . . methods of wiring . . . and understand arithmetic.” Those applicants who were considered competent to stand a dynamo watch were enlisted as Electricians, second class, at forty dollars a month. Citizenship was a requisite to direct enlistment as a Petty Officer.
Applicants who did not meet Petty Officer or Seaman qualifications, or were past the age of seventeen, were enlisted as Landsmen. A Landsman could be enlisted for a special position, i.e., Landsman-for-Yeoman. Landsmen, like Apprentices, received organized instruction from an already education-conscious Navy.
The 1902 Bluejacket's Manual does not elucidate with reference to the qualifications and duties of Coal Passers. Probably it would be reasonable to assume that they passed coal.
Coal was an extremely important commodity to the ’02 Navy inasmuch as oil was still regarded by many as only a good wart- remover and purgative. To the onlooking civilian, coaling a navy ship might have appeared as a festive occasion, but to the crew of the ship it was a serious job which was conducted as a drill. In a spirit of competition, each division worked in its own part of the ship from stations on the decks and in the lighters. Coal was transferred aboard ship in baskets, bags, or buckets, and was further transported in portable chutes to bunkers below decks. Both men and ship took a beating during coaling, with coal dust filtering into every nook and cranny of the ship. A full Field Day was generally held immediately after the ship was coaled, and, in the words of The Bluejacket’s Manual, “Men take (sic) this opportunity to bathe or wash themselves.”
That’s it, The Old Navy, a sketchy view of the Bluejacket who hoisted the ashes and tended the dynamos fifty-two years ago. And the next time I see an old chief, we shall grow misty-eyed together as I grasp his arm and say, “Chief, we never had it so good.”