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N:r 12
NAUTISK TIDSKRIFT
1927
Under vidstående rubrik innehåller vår
kollega »Finlands Sjöfart» en
karakteristik över flydda tiders
yankeestyrman: the
»bucko-mate». Det är
en välgjord skiss över
en utdöd sjömanstyp, och den skall säkert
läsas av mången med intresse och en
igenkännande nick; en påminnelse från
ungdomsårens knock-about-period. Vi tro att
läsaren instämmer med oss uti, att
texten gör sig bäst på det språk författaren
använt, vilket må tjäna som ursäkt för
att den ej översättes.
The »bucko» mate is dead now säve
for one or two of his lingering ghosts
in hookers that trade under the Yankee
register. He has overstepped himself.
He has been reduced to the use of kid
gloves in the handling of his crews.
But we knew him. We of the old
wind jämmers knew him. He was a hully
and a brute. We hated him. We always
felt that we would have tipped him
cheer-fiully over the side ön a dark night.
Yet we never did, because he was a
brave man.
The »bucko» mate was seldom a giant
of stature. As often as not he was a
small man, nimble ön his feet, with a
soft voice that ön occasion could
over-power a gale, and an eye that made laughs
die down to gurgles in the throat.
Probably he had a wi fe and children
ashore, and was a kind husband and
fa-ther. As likely as not he took a kindly
interest in gardening.
But the »bucko» mate was always a
brute ön deck. The discipline he
en-forced was the cliscipline of the hard fist
and the well-booted foot. When he gåve
orders his fist followed his tongue so
quickly that the man who did not jump
to obey had no jump lef t in him.
Yet am I not without respect for the
»bucko» mate. As often as not he was
one man against a watch. Mioist of the
fo’c’s’le hands were hard cases, entirelv
at hoime in a rough hemse. They knew
how to use their knees and their thumbs.
There is little -möre to learn in the art
of manJhandling.
The »bucko» mate kept men like that
under control. At the first hint of
insubordination he would fly to the pinrail.
In one wonderful action he would kick
out a belaying-pin, catch it in mid-air,
and bring it crashing, down ön the skull
of the inisubordinate. It was his job to
haze a crowd into efficiency when they
were helpless from want of sleep and
want of food. It was his job to get his
ship to port even if he had to do it with
men hanging half-dead in their sea boots.
He did his job!
The »bucko» mate is really dead: but
his ghosts still linger. We who are good,
honest sailormen fear those ghosts. We
avoid shipping with them; but we
ad-rnired them for the brave men they were.
There must have been something they
feared—but I never found out what it
was. Steam and short passages killed
them. Cap badges and gold lace killed
them. Perhaps trade unions killed them;
and perhaps it is as well that they are
dead.
But. . . oh, they were brave men to
work with !
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