I sometimes wonder who it was first coined that well-known phrase, “little Japanese sailors.” As phrases go it is very “catchy,” but in the matter of accuracy it is very general only. Save for Russians and Italians, some of the biggest sailors going are Japanese. Beside their own officers they look giants, while actually they average nearly an inch higher than British bluejackets, and in breadth fully equal them. One and all, they are fine men physically, able to hold their own in size with almost any other nation’s bluejackets, except Russians and Italians. They are almost invariably stout and well set up, and they are always smiling; they take to their profession much as their officers do.

As previously stated, they are recruited chiefly from the northern islands, and chiefly from the lowest classes. These make the bravest sailors, and they have been educated from early youth upward into a disregard for death. Till quite recently, most Japanese villages had feuds with neighbouring hamlets, and these resulted in a good many broken heads and a fair amount of blood-letting, all of which the Government, if it did not actually encourage, at least viewed with a very lenient eye on account of its practical utility in rearing fighters.

Japanese officers have, on the whole, a preference for sailors of little education. Their view is that such are less hampered by appreciating danger. Apparently some of the better class sailors—artificers and others drawn from a rather better class socially, acquire with their education an inconvenient ability to realise some of the frightful dangers of modern naval warfare. Either from experience or instinct, these more educated men are not looked on with favour. “The less a man knows the better sailor he will make,” is the saying.

A rabid anti-Japanese of my acquaintance, who has spent his life in the Far East, allows the Japanese only one virtue—general and complete bravery. “No Japanese,” said he, “is ever afraid.” It is not easy to reconcile this statement with the Japanese estimate of educated sailors given above; but I am not in a position to deliver a verdict of any value on the question. The officers’ contempt of danger, alluded to some pages back, has little bearing on the point. The fact that “cowardice” exists as an offence in the Japanese naval code of punishments may, perhaps, throw a little light upon the matter; but, even so, we need an exact definition of what the word “cowardice” means to a Japanese. It does not mean cowardice as we should understand it. I incline to fancy that it means the absence of an utter disregard for life; and that what the Japanese call a coward we describe as a waverer—which is by no means the same thing. It is not impossible that their more liberal definition of cowardice would include a man who got unduly excited in action. After Yalu, several men were punished for that.

The general intelligence of Japanese bluejackets is high, they have the national aptitude for “picking things up” with marvellous rapidity—wherein they form a marked contrast to the Russian sailors, who learn very slowly. They—some of them—also forget rapidly; a national defect in Japan.

In many ways they are replicas of their officers. Like their officers, their ideas of dissipation centre round learning something. Parties of fifty or so “do” London and our chief industrial centres when they are in England. On these occasions, and, indeed, always in foreign ports, their behaviour leaves nothing to be desired. At Portsmouth, where public houses are thick as can be, and where leave is given very freely, a hundred or so will roam the town all day in groups, fraternising and being made much of by the populace, but any disorder or trouble with the police in consequence is almost unknown.

On shipboard drinking is said to be on the increase; but it is rarely a cause of trouble, though a drunken Japanese is a nasty customer. Most are temperate.

Stealing is practically unknown. Natural causes operate here. If by any chance a Japanese sailor steals, he is a marked man. His shipmates refuse to have any dealings with him whatever, he is an absolute outcast; and his crime is passed on against him by his comrades should he be sent to another ship. This perpetual ostracism is a most effectual safeguard.

Till recently Japanese sailors were not over and above obedient. A marked change has since sprung up, and they are now, as a rule, very amenable and willing, as well as able. They still, however, need some tact in management; and attempts to knife officers are not unknown.

Cleanliness is a national characteristic. Japanese sailors, like all of the lower class in Japan, bathe more frequently even than the upper classes—twice each day every Japanese sailor has a bath. If from war, or any other cause, they are prevented from bathing for a couple of weeks or so, the lower class Japanese suffer a great deal from skin diseases. Hence they are ill-adapted for lengthy torpedo boat service.

In general neatness their average is high; on whatever work they are engaged—except, of course, coaling ship—they are usually spick and span.

Despite his good qualities, however, the average Japanese bluejacket is not on a par with his officers in value. He lacks stolidity; and, take him all and all, he is inferior to a Chinese sailor. The Chinaman is braver, or, rather, what the Japanese call braver. According to the Japanese, Ah Sin is the finest material for bluejackets in the world, and they are not alone in this opinion.

To return to the Japanese bluejacket. Like his officers, he has little, if any, religion—though, nominally, a certain proportion may be Buddhists or Shinto. They have, however, a species of semi-religious code over some minor matters—for instance, no Japanese sailor will accept a tip for small services, such as showing visitors round a ship, or because he is coxswain of a boat in which you have taken passage. According to their ethics, it is a crime to accept special payment for anything done in the way of duty, and if a man by any chance did accept anything, his shipmates would render his life unbearable by their contemptuous ridicule of him. So, though they will as readily and gladly take any amount of trouble for a stranger, to try and give them a tip annoys them. I once kept a Japanese boat’s crew, which had been sent for me, waiting a long time, on a bitterly cold day, through some misunderstanding as to time. It was a long row to the ship, against a strong tide, in which they were soon wet through. Arrived at the ship, my first attempt to tip the coxswain was greeted by a shake of the head. Thinking he had misunderstood my intention, I repeated the attempt. He at once called out, “No. Go away!” in a most indignant tone, and his whole expression was that of a man on whom I had put a deadly insult.

Japanese sailors are very quick in everything. In the Far East brawls between them and Russian sailors, before the war, were very frequent, and though the Russians are physically much the superior, yet, from their quickness, the Japanese were more frequently the victors.

When Japanese sailors are in England, some of our missionary societies keep an eye on them—taking them about, and generally trying to help them. One old lady is particularly kindly remembered by the crews of those destroyers that fitted out at the West India Docks. She gave the crew of one of them a good many texts of the usual ornamental sort when they left. They hung all these up, giving the post of honour to one that said, “The wicked shall be destroyed.” They regarded this as a very kindly compliment and good wish to their destroyer! I do not think that the texts stand any chance of fulfilling a missionary rôle—however, there they hung, in the fok’s’le, and over the officers’ bunks in the wardroom also, in the hopes that “the old lady, who had been so good to the men,” would derive some quid pro quo in the way of satisfaction at the sight.