Sailors often wonder whether landsmen realize what it means for a ship to be always watched and tended, from the time she leaves port until she arrives at her destination; whether, when coming on board a ship in harbour, and looking curiously at the deserted wheel aft, they appreciate the fact that for every minute of perhaps five or six months there is a man at that wheel, steering the ship over the trackless sea, guided alone by the compass. This ceaseless care of the vessel has always struck me as a very impressive thing, especially where, as in an ordinary sailing ship, every man in the fo'c'sle takes his turn, or "trick," as it is called. At the commencement of the voyage the men settle among themselves, in an informal manner, the order in which they shall follow each other at the wheel, and, subject to alterations in their number, this order is preserved throughout the voyage. Some curious terms are current among them about the steering turns. For instance, when a man has neither "wheel" nor look-out occurring in a watch he solemnly announces he is a "farmer;" when it happens that his "wheel" occurs from 4 to 6 a.m. he growls at the idea of his having the "gravy-eye" wheel, a coarse but most expressive designation for that sleepiest of watches. This is the time when more accidents, through lack of watchfulness, occur than any other in the twenty-four hours.
His duty of steering varies greatly with the ship and the man. Some vessels are beautifully docile, responsive to the lightest touch on the wheel, and actually sympathetic--I can use no other word--to a good helmsman. I have been in vessels that one could almost steer blindfold by the feel of the wheel, where the making of a serpentine course was a certain proof that the helmsman was either a bungler or grossly careless. It is popularly supposed that a ship is always steered by the apparent movement of the compass, and this is fairly true of steamships, but it is ridiculous when applied to sailing ships. The compass must be watched, of course; but the man who keeps his eye fixed upon it will soon find that not only must he work like a slave, but that no amount of wheel-twisting will keep his ship steady on her course. He must watch the movement of the ship's head against the sky, the clouds, the stars, for he can then see instantly what amount of helm she requires, whereas the compass does not tell him until too late, or it is so lively that it is no guide at all, except that its average swing from side to side of the point he is told to steer by will be approximately the same. I have often been steering a large iron ship running before a heavy westerly gale in high southern latitudes when the compass has swung continuously round through its whole thirty-two points. Some men get so bewildered by this that they are useless as helmsmen. Others, again, when steering before a heavy following sea, will lose their nerve. The mighty waves thundering up astern like ravening monsters, only to be satisfied by the overwhelming of the vessel, are terrible to see, and a prudent officer who notices the helmsman looking astern at such times, with a wild eye and a blanched face, will have him relieved at once, before that appalling disaster "broaching to" takes place. This occurs when a ship running dead before a gale of wind, with her yards square, is suddenly caught a little on one side by a furiously rushing wave and whirled round until her sails get caught aback, the sea thunders over her broadside, and she is in the greatest danger of being dismasted, turned over, or smashed up altogether. Many a ship posted as missing has thus been destroyed; she has disappeared from the face of the sea in five minutes, without giving any one on board the slightest chance of life.