There were two ways to rate as a mate: Through the cabin windows, or through the hawsepipe. The first meant an apprenticeship and four years wherein very young men were expected to be taught by the captains how to become officers, and the second was by working up from the foredeck to the aft cabin. Neither was easy, but the latter was harder.
Second mate itself was not particularly a comfortable place for most; in that position, he had one foot on the foredeck and one on the quarterdeck, and was expected to work just like the rest of the seamen, yet not actually be one of their comrades. The increase in rank and pay often meant giving up at least a survivalistic sort of camaraderie, and yet did not insure that the first mate and captain would accord any more respect.
In other words, it was not the most comfortable place to be on most ships, but the aforementioned second mate (dubbed Scotty in some distant past) had gotten rather lucky.
He'd started as an orphan, wherein it was a fair bet he would not have likely made it to adulthood, except he had a rather uncanny ability to survive. One part dogged determination, one part intelligence. He got a job in Belfast's shipyards, in a rather roundabout way. He might have stayed there, even -- he liked working with his hands and was good at it -- except he'd fallen madly in love with the schooner he was now on.
From there, it had been three or four years of hard work to try to find a way aboard her; he took to sea in order to get himself proper seatime experience, starting right down as an ordinary seaman and working his way up, picking up whatever education he could from whomever would provide it.
Now, at twenty-two, he was second mate aboard this schooner he had helped build quite some time ago. It still meant no better food, nor more sleep, and barely any authority, but the Grey was truly his home, and the sea his only country.
Therefore, he had no trouble agreeing with Nimoy, looking off into the blue expanses thoughtfully, "Aye, it quite is. A good wind on th' quarter, and a followin' sea."
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Damn for not having pictures of Len in period costuming. :(
Date: 2009-09-19 05:48 pm (UTC)Second mate itself was not particularly a comfortable place for most; in that position, he had one foot on the foredeck and one on the quarterdeck, and was expected to work just like the rest of the seamen, yet not actually be one of their comrades. The increase in rank and pay often meant giving up at least a survivalistic sort of camaraderie, and yet did not insure that the first mate and captain would accord any more respect.
In other words, it was not the most comfortable place to be on most ships, but the aforementioned second mate (dubbed Scotty in some distant past) had gotten rather lucky.
He'd started as an orphan, wherein it was a fair bet he would not have likely made it to adulthood, except he had a rather uncanny ability to survive. One part dogged determination, one part intelligence. He got a job in Belfast's shipyards, in a rather roundabout way. He might have stayed there, even -- he liked working with his hands and was good at it -- except he'd fallen madly in love with the schooner he was now on.
From there, it had been three or four years of hard work to try to find a way aboard her; he took to sea in order to get himself proper seatime experience, starting right down as an ordinary seaman and working his way up, picking up whatever education he could from whomever would provide it.
Now, at twenty-two, he was second mate aboard this schooner he had helped build quite some time ago. It still meant no better food, nor more sleep, and barely any authority, but the Grey was truly his home, and the sea his only country.
Therefore, he had no trouble agreeing with Nimoy, looking off into the blue expanses thoughtfully, "Aye, it quite is. A good wind on th' quarter, and a followin' sea."