Columnist | On the deck of the clipper

Blackballer, men who sniff the wind

Blackballer were odd men that could sniff the wind and smell an approaching storm. They might also know how to tack their way out of a dead calm before it grabbed the ship in a vice-like grip and drove its crew to madness. On the deserts of the ocean, the blackballers would stay on deck, awaiting to shinny, agile as monkeys, up the rigging of the big main mast.

“Which ships?” you might ask. The most beautiful ships of all time, stretching about 70 metres long and generally sporting three masts on which would be hoisted forty sails. These were the glorious clippers and they could hit absolutely blistering speeds, beating even the steamers of the day. There’s an old adage that only a sailor that’s rounded the ocean caps has the right to wear earrings and put both feet on the table. In their rare visits ashore, the blackballers were known by their gold earrings, carefree demeanour and the fact that they casually carried a knife. Their name comes from the fact that they originally worked for the Black Ball Line, a shipping company that beat all records on most routes, primarily the one between good old England and the gold and promise-rich new land of Australia. The term was later extended to cover all sailors on sailing vessels before they finally were crushed under the might of steam. Just imagine a big sailing ship shooting along at more than 20 knots. They arrived over the horizon like a cloud of sails. Their holds would be laden with goods and people. Each clipper would take aboard more than 700 passengers when they set off for Australia. They were people leaving with hope in their hearts. The vain hope of a good life that Europe could not offer. The blackballers somehow managed to keep the passengers calm as they negotiated the seemingly endless, insidious ocean. The only distraction was a sort of daily gossip paper that kept everyone abreast of the happenings aboard.

Some of the news regarded the clipper’s speeds and times. They often broke records that had stayed put for many, many years. Out on the deck would be the blackballers, their feet planted wide and firm, gazing off out to sea, a tiny smile playing on their lips that would settle the nerves of the passengers. Then at long last they would get to their destination – the port, smoky taverns, terra firma. But the ground seemed to burn their feet. A few hours ashore and they’d be bored with a world that didn’t move with the sea and ready to embark on yet another new adventure.

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The glittering world of yachting

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