ONE-MAN CREW

Dominion, Volume 27, Issue 258, 28 July 1934, Page 6

ONE-MAN CREW

Aboard a Ghost Ship at Wellington

THE WATCHMAN’S JOB From time to time come reports of life aboard ships flying the flag of the Russian Government —ships, the world is given to understand, in which the crew from cabin boy to captain has some sort of collective say in the manner of their direction and operation. . Whether , that happens to be the regime under the new social experiment hardly matters for the purposes of this story. But what does matter is that there is no need for New Zealand to' go to Russia to see the perfect Soviet at work. It is here in Wellington. It Is taking place on a ship in which any day the cabin boy may occupy, if he should so desire, that holy of holies, the captain’s own apartment; or the fireman may say to the chief engineer, “I’ll go below when I choose,” and live to tell the tale; or “chins.” the carpenter, may inform the cook that the stew is not what it is represented to be, and not die mysteriously before sunset. All this is happening in a ship that lies In Port Nicholson. There has been no mutiny. The secret is the satisfactory functioning of the perfect Soviet state—a one-man Soviet. Like Alexander Selkirk,

Truth to tell, although this vessel is a modern steamship of five thousand tons or more, there is but one man to make her crew. The watchman, who is one of four or five having the care of "the fleet, which is laid up for want of cargo, is a man who can say with Alexander Selkirk that he is monarch of ail he - surveys, and that his right there is none to dispute. So it comes about that the watchman, if he so fancies', can lay claim to the title of cook and crew and captain bold like the complement of the Nancy brig. It is a question whether this old seafarer—for the major portion of bis seventy years he has sailed the Seven what a tremendous despot he has become. He takes orders from only one source—the owners.

In talking to a representative of “The Dominion” who trod the decks "yesterday with him, the venerable Irishman mentioned that in all. his days under the house flag of a dozen companies he had served only in the “black squad,” the fraternity who toil In the stokehold. So he had never before had opportunity to sit in the captain’s chair. The idea seemed a good one. Accordingly, he did it. What would it feel like to pace the bridge? He tried that too. Are chief engineers human? To inspect the cabin of ;one might be to find evidence that they might not all be made of wrought iron and might sleep on pillows like other folk. What went on in the gal’ey? He would see for himself. The freedom of the ship was his. For himself, he would find a niche where the great ones of the earth were accustomed to travel. While he was captain he would lord it for a day. A first class cabin on the promenade deck was where he had “bunked down.” The Ghost Ship. , With hurricane lamp to light his path, the seafarer led the way down a companionway into the depths of the ghost ship. He marched through alley ways that in themselves were silent as the grave. The only sounds were the tramp of feet on the teak and the faroff clop of little waves against the hull deep below. Stripped bare of everything moveable—for she had not put to sea for.many a day—the ship echoed dismally like a house, empty of furnishing. Saloon, cabins, fo’c’sle—all were strangely deserted, much as the Bird of Dawning appeared when John .Masefield’s castaways found her crewless and adrift on the broad Atlantic. Not quite like “The Bird,” for the derelict was fully provisioned. The ghost ship of Wellington has victuals aboard of her, but sufficient only for her skeleton crew of one. The watchman looked about in the galley. ' Pots and pans .were, there, but no fire had warmed the stoves these many weeks. Fear of Fire. Into out of the way corners the lantern shone. Doors were opened here, ioekgrs and cupboards searched there. The watchman was assuring himself of two things. First, that no unauthorised person had slipped aboard during the day and stayed on the ship; second, that the dread foe of the shipping world, a smouldering fire, had not broken out in any part of the vessel. There is no telling what might happen. Four or five times between the hours of 6 p.m., when he comes on duty, and 6 in the morning, the' watchman makes a thorough investigation before he calls it a night. Apart from the owners, the insurance authorities require it.

It is a lonely occupation and one calling for firm nerve. Noises at night aboard a ship may give rise to all kinds of imaginings in the minds of timorous people. Always there is something creaking and groaning, loose gear about the decks, the ladder down the side, rats scurrying, the flood of the tide. The watchman snatches what sleep he may, but at most it is fitful. He can cail himself in fancy what he likes, but first and last he is the man to whom the company looks for the safety of the ship while she is manned by a crew of one.