THE CAPTAIN OF AN OCEAN LINER
THE CAPTAIN OF AN OCEAN LINER
On all the largest steamships there are besides a captain and chief officer, three second officers, one third and one fourth officer. Thesecond officers are known as senior second, junior second and extra second, and each, like the chief officer, is a duly qualified master, capable of taking the ship around the world if need be. The general duty of the second officer is the navigation of the ship under the captain's directions. Each of these officers stands a four hours' watch on the bridge, and each during his tour of duty has, as the captain's representative, direct charge of the ship. The third and fourth officers stand a watch of six hours, alternating with each other, and, there are, therefore, always a second and third or fourth officer on watch at the same time. Although in rough weather it is work that tests the strength and tries the nerves of the strongest man, no officer can leave the bridge while on watch, and should he violate this rule, he would be dismissed at once. In addition to his watch the third officer has charge of all the flags and signals by night and day, and he also keeps the compass book, while the fourth officer, besides his workon the bridge, has charge of the condition of the boats.
Observations are taken every two hours, as on an ocean greyhound, rushing over the course between America and Europe at the rate of twenty miles an hour, it is of the first importance that the ship's position should be known at all times. Fog may come down at any moment, and observations not to be obtainable for several hours. The positions of more than one hundred stars are known, and by observing any of these the ship's whereabouts can be ascertained in a few minutes. Of course, the "road" becomes more or less familiar to a man who crosses the ocean along the same route year after year, yet this familiarity never breeds contempt or carelessness, for no man knows all the influences that affect the currents of the ocean, and while you will find the current in a given place the same forty times in succession, on the forty-first trip it may be entirely changed. Now and then a big storm that has ended four or five hours before a liner passes a certainpoint may give the surface current a strong set in one direction, and there is no means of telling when these influences may have been at work save by taking the ship's position at frequent intervals.
The ship's crew stand watch and watch, and in each watch there are three quartermasters who have charge of the wheel. Steering in the old days before the introduction of steam gear, was an arduous and too often perilous duty, but to-day, even in the roughest weather, a lad of twelve can easily manage the wheel, which is merely the purchasing end of a mechanical system that opens and shuts the valve governing the steam admitted to the steering cylinders. First-class ships number from twelve to fifteen men in each watch. A certain number of these must be able seamen, and none are allowed many idle moments. In the middle watches the decks are scrubbed; in the morning watches the paint work is overhauled and cleaned; and finally, when the weather permits, the brass work is polished until it is made as radiant as themidday sun. This scrubbing, burnishing and cleansing runs through every department, and in no perfunctory way, for each day the ship is inspected thoroughly, and upon the result hangs the possible promotion of the subordinates.
Once in every twenty-four hours the captain receives a written report from the first officer, the chief engineer and the chief steward, and at eleven o'clock in the forenoon of each day, accompanied by the doctor, he inspects all parts of the ship. Let us follow him, if he is gracious enough to give permission, in this daily visit to the underground realm ruled over by the chief engineer and steward. In the fleetest of the liners the engineer force numbers nearly two hundred men, divided, as a rule, into three crews, with a double allowance of officers for duty. An engineer keeps watch in each fire-room, and two are stationed on each engine-room platform. Watches depend upon the weather. In most cases, the force, officers and men, serve four out of twelve hours, but in foggyor stormy weather officers stand at the throttles with peremptory orders to do no other work. In relieving each other great care is taken; those going on the platforms feeling the warmth of the bearings, examining the condition of the pins and shafting, testing the valves, locating the position of the throttle, counting the revolutions, and by every technical trial satisfying themselves before assuming charge that all is right.
Distressing at all times is the lot of the poor fellows who man the stoke hole. On the Fürst Bismarck, for instance, there are twenty-four furnaces, manned by thirty-six brawny and half-naked stokers. Suddenly from somewhere in the darkness comes three shrill calls upon a whistle, and instantly each furnace door flies open, and out dart hungry tongues of fire. With averted heads and steaming bodies, four stokers begin to shovel furiously, while two others thrust their slice-bars through each door and into the mass of fire and flame. Burying their lances deep in the coals, they throw their weights full uponthe ends as levers, and lift the whole bank of fire several inches. Then they draw out the lances, leaving a black hole through the fire into which the draft is sucked with an increasing roar. Three times they thrust and withdraw the lances, pausing after each charge to plunge their heads in buckets of water, and take deep draughts from bottles of red wine. But this cooling respite lasts only a moment at best, for their taskmasters watch and drive them, and each furnace must do its stint. It is fair, however, to say that everything that can be done to lessen the hardships of the stoke-hole has been done by the steamship companies. The best quality of food is given the stokers, and they are allowed double rations of wine and kummel four times a day, practically all they care to drink.
The chief engineer of an ocean steamship is fairly well paid, and he deserves to be, for fidelity and merit lead to the engine-room as they do to the bridge, and mastery of the former presupposes long years of exacting service in subordinate positions. Indeed, manyof these officers have given their best years to one employ, and, like the hardy McAndrews sung by Kipling, deserve much of it in every way. Some of the old chiefs are the greatest travelers in the world, so far as miles may count. One of whom I was told has traversed in the service of one company more than 900,000 shore miles, a distance four times that between the earth and the moon; and still higher is the record of another, who completed before his retirement 154 round trips, making in distance over 1,000,000 statute miles.
The captain in his daily tour scrutinizes every nook and corner of the engineer's department, and not less scrupulous is his inspection of the domain in which the chief steward holds sway. There is good reason for this, since, as far as the comfort of the passengers is concerned, the chief steward is the most important person on board a liner, having charge of the staterooms, dining-room, storerooms and kitchen. Like the engine-room the ship's kitchen, locatedamidships, is an unknown world to most of the passengers. There are, as a matter of fact, three kitchens, besides a serving-room. The soups, fish, meats and vegetables are prepared and cooked in one room and the bread and pastry in another, while the steerage has a kitchen to itself in which all the cooking is done by steam. Space being valuable, all these rooms are small, and meals for 500 or 1,000 people are cooked in an apartment no larger than the kitchen in a low-priced flat, or the pantry in a country house. This makes it necessary to keep everything in its place, and it amazes one to see how compactly the ship's supplies can be arranged. Nothing is left down on shelves or in drawers which may be hung on hooks, and even the platters and serving dishes are made to hang, there being a loophole at one end for this purpose.
Moreover, what the ship's kitchen loses in size is made up in the number of storerooms. Far aft is the main storeroom, which, with its bins reaching from floor to ceiling, and itsracks overhead, looks like a wholesale grocery store.
Close at hand is the wine locker, a long place, lined with narrow shelves, which have an upward tilt and are crowded with all sorts and kinds of bottled liquors. Down deeper, most often where the stern rolls in from the counter, is a big compartment, where are stored barrels of flour, potatoes, vinegar and beer, which when needed are hoisted up under the direction of the storekeeper. Pretty well forward is the refrigerating plant, a zinc-lined chamber, where the choicest sides of beef, joints of mutton, chickens and turkeys are kept frozen. All the liners, it may be noted in passing, carry a butcher, whose duty it is to cut the steaks and chops, and to see that no good material goes to waste through unskillful hacking.
Adjoining the kitchen is the serving-room or pantry, frescoed with silver coffee-pots and cream-mugs and lined with shelves filled with crockery, while the hook-dotted ceiling glitters with an hundred other pieces ofsilverware which swing and scintillate with every motion of the ship. The shelves are really wooden pockets, faced with strips of wood, which keep the dishes from rolling out, and stowed away there are cups and plates by the hundred. Along the side of the room is a big hot press, having on its top all manner of indentations for the trenchers, saucepans and soup pots which are sent in from the kitchen laden with food at mealtime. This is flanked by a line of glistening tea and coffee urns, while in a convenient corner is a roomy icebox for the cold meats and butter.
To the kitchen and the pantry the storeroom is always sending tribute, and they send it to the glass-doored dining-room which, with its long tables, its dazzling white cloths, and its glittering array of silver and glass, looks at night like an enchanted realm. Seats at table are assigned by the steward or the purser, who gives out the seats to those who ask for them first. Each seat is numbered and the passenger receives a billet with his seat number on it when he goes to his firstmeal on board. Formerly there was a struggle for seats at the captain's table, but now the wise and wary ones rally about the purser and the doctor, for the commander's duties seldom permit him to go below save at dinnertime. Still, wherever his place at table may be fixed, the cabin passenger finds that no opportunity is neglected to serve his comfort and lighten the tedium of the voyage. On the German lines a band accompanies every vessel, and plays through the long first-cabin dinner, and again on deck in the evening. All German and American holidays are observed on these boats, and when Christmas comes to the travelers at sea, they find themselves in the midst of a Fatherland festival, the chief feature of which is a brightly adorned and illuminated tree. Nor are the steerage passengers forgotten on these occasions, amusements, and a special feast being provided for them.
On the boats of the Compagnie Generale Transatlantique French festivals and American holidays are celebrated by concerts, balls,dinner parties and extra luxuries at the regular meals. Entertainment is provided for the steerage passengers and a special menu is furnished for the festal days. On such occasions, too, the ships are gayly decorated with bunting from stem to stern. The "captain's dinner" is another pleasant feature of the voyage on a French liner. This takes place just before the end of the voyage and is regarded as a token of good will between the passengers and the ship's company. Champagne is furnished without extra charge at this dinner and toasts and speechmaking follow. On a British liner on Sunday morning the captain, in full uniform, supported by his officers, reads the Church of England service, to which all are invited, while American and British holidays are observed in a fitting manner, the ship being always "dressed" for the occasion. The boats of the British lines have also a concert for the exploitation of the talent on board and a parting dinner given an evening or two before arrival in port.
Meantime how do the steerage folk get onwhen voyaging over the western ocean? Here there is another and different story to tell. In a ship like the Britannic of the White Star line, picture to yourself a barn-like apartment some seventy feet long and thirty feet wide, but tapering almost to a point at the forward end. It is dimly lighted and badly ventilated by means of a shaft, through which the mainmast enters, and by portholes which are too near the water ever to be opened except in harbor and are well nigh submerged when the vessel lies over or rolls. Lined along the three sides of this rude triangle are large skeleton frames, each upholding two tiers of coffin-like bunks, one above the other, the beds being placed side to side in rows of eight and end to end two deep. Thus each of these structures holds thirty-two bunks, whose sides and bottoms are of rough boards. A narrow passageway runs across ship between the pens, of which there are seven in all, making a total of 224 souls who are crowded into these sordid quarters. Picture this to yourself and you have before you the men's cabin of thesteerage of the Britannic. The room being lighted at night by gasoline lamps, smoking is forbidden, while all relaxation must be taken on that small portion of the lower deck beyond which no steerage passenger is allowed to roam, for there is no means of amusement or recreation in the cabin.
Still there is a brighter side to the picture. All the companies provide ample and wholesome fare for their steerage passengers. No captain ever fails to include in his daily tour a personal and painstaking inspection of this department and he is always approachable in the event of complaints arising on the part of the humblest and poorest traveler. It is related of one old-time commander, Captain John Mirehouse, that in order to assure himself of the proper quality and preparation of the steerage food he invariably had his lunch served from the steerage galley at the dinner hour; and he used to declare that his lunches were as wholesome and palatable as he could desire. Nor is it to be supposed that steerage passengers are all immigrants, for, odd as itmay seem, there are many world wanderers who cross and recross in the steerage, who travel over great parts of the world and who in their class are as independent as the men and women lodged in the first cabin. Besides these curious characters there are Scottish carpenters and other mechanics who come to America for a few months at a time to take advantage of higher wages and who return as they came when the Christmas holidays draw nigh. Often a liner leaving New York in the early days of December carries more than I,000 passengers in the steerage.
Whether you travel in the cabin or the steerage, the closing days of a voyage are always sure to be the shortest and the pleasantest ones. The routine of marine life ceases to be a burden, and with the disappearance of the last lingering cases of sea sickness life on the fleet greyhound of the waters becomes a source of joy. Newly found friends and glimpses of passing vessels cheer and break the solitude, while the tonic of the sea air courses like an elixir in the blood. Youngcouples flirt demurely in shady corners of the deck, whence issue now and again sudden bursts of rippling laughter; nor is there lack of jollity in the smoking room, whence eddy the flotsam and jetsam of the ship and cards rule the hour from early forenoon until the lights are turned out at night. If it be summer and the passage a westward one you may count, as a rule, upon skirting the Grand Banks without mishap and upon rounding the Georges in the same lucky manner. Then, after long and eager waiting, comes the happy hour when there is a cry of "Sail, ho," and a few minutes later a yawl emerges from the gathering darkness and a bluff, black-garbed pilot climbs to the ship's deck, bringing news from the outer world and the glad assurance that land and home are just beyond the horizon line.
Soon comes the welcome cry, "There she is, Fire Island light, right over the starboard bow." The watcher in the lighthouse telegraphs the steamer's arrival to the quarantine station and the ship news office, andlong before noon the vessel reaches quarantine. Here the health officer boards her, and if it is found that she has no case of contagious disease on board she is permitted to proceed to her dock, which she reaches in about one hour and a half, including the time of examination. Meanwhile she has been met down the bay by a revenue cutter having a squad of customs officers on board and declarations have been made and signed by the cabin passengers as to the contents of their trunks, which are searched as soon as the vessel arrives at her dock. Here, also, an officer of the Immigration Bureau takes charge of the steerage passengers and has folk and baggage conveyed to the Barge Office for the examination which will impel their return to the place from which they came or end in the granting of permission for them to enter the land of mystery and promise.
Within the hour in which the liner reaches her moorings on the New York or Jersey shore the last passenger has taken hisdeparture, shore leave has been granted to the majority of the ship's company and waiting hands have promptly taken in hand the task of making ready for the leviathan's next ocean pilgrimage, since, as I said at the outset, one voyage is no sooner ended than preparations for another are begun.
It is by no means an easy task to secure admission to the United States Navy, and of those who present themselves for enlistment in ordinary times about one man in a dozen is accepted. Landsmen furnish a great majority of recruits, and of these more come, it is said, from New York than any other city in the country. The candidate who presents himself on board of any one of the receiving ships constantly in commission for enlistment purposes is first put through a rigid oral examination designed to prove his mental and moral makeup. If he passes this test the recruiting officer turns him over to the examining surgeon, by whom the discovery of the slightest physical defect is counted assufficient ground for the candidate's rejection. If, however, he passes the doctor he is vaccinated and sent back to the recruiting officer, who swears him in for a three years' cruise, after which he is turned over to the paymaster's clerk to draw his uniforms and small stores.
A month of preliminary training on the receiving ship follows. Here he is put through the well-known "setting-up drill," which is designed to give the full use of the muscles and feet and to develop the agility and endurance necessary to the performance of ship duty. This exercise is of daily occurrence while the recruit is in the early stage of his enlistment and is practiced frequently during the entire period of service, being part of the drill of every ship's company. The recruit is also given practice in what is known as "the boat drill," and when opportunity offers in the manning and manipulation of the guns.
At the end of his first month comes the newly enlisted man's assignment to a vessel in active cruising service. Here, with a goodly batch of other landsmen, he is taken in handby the master-at-arms, gets a ship's number and a mess kit, learns where to stow his clothing and hammock, and is part and parcel of the life on a man-of-war.
The recruit's first days on shipboard are apt to put his nerves and temper to the test, for the old-timers among the ship's company are sure to let pass no opportunity to bedevil and confound him. Calking mat is the name given to the piece of matting which the bluejacket spreads upon the deck when he wants to take a nap and which protects his uniform from being soiled. He buys it himself, but never a landsman went aboard his first ship that he was not told to go to the master-at-arms for a calking mat. Now, the average master-at-arms on a man-of-war is a man who, having been in the navy for half a lifetime, has ceased to find amusement in the calking-mat request preferred to him by several thousand recruits, and as a consequence the reception the newcomer gets when he approaches Jimmy Legs on this matter is liable to be a badly mixed affair of boots andlanguage. Again, recruits are often sent to the officer of the deck to prefer absurd questions or questions on matters in which they have no concern. When one of these recruits walks up to the officer of the deck and, after a bow, innocently asks when the ship is to sail he is in for a speedy if disgraceful scramble forward. Or on his first day aboard a man-of-war the recruit is often told that in order to go below to his locker he must first get permission from the officer of the deck. "To my locker below, sir, may I go, sir?" he is told to say when he goes to the mast to ask for the desired permission. If the officer of the deck happens to be in good humor he will turn away to preserve his dignity by not smiling, but if his temper is on edge the recruit is in for a lesson in directness of language that will make him wish he had not thrown over his job ashore. Trials of this sort, however, soon have an ending. The average recruit quickly masters the marine ropes, and instances are not uncommon of clever landsmen who have finished their first three years' cruise as chiefpetty officers, drawing from $50 to $75 a month.
Besides the receiving ships regularly devoted to the enlistment of naval recruits on the Atlantic and Pacific coasts American warships are constantly shipping men, both in home and foreign ports, to fill gaps in crews. In this way many peculiar geniuses, men of really remarkable attainments along certain lines, gain admission into the navy as enlisted men. At Bangkok a few years ago an American man-of-war shipped a German as a messroom attendant. He was a fine-looking man of thirty and had little to say to his mates. One morning at sea soon after the German's enlistment a knot of officers gathered in the wardroom were discussing a difficult point in ordnance. The messroom attendant, who was watching out for the officers' needs, ventured to enter into the discussion. He did it, however, so quietly and respectfully and at once showed such perfect knowledge of the topic in hand that the officers found themselves listening to him with much interest. Infive minutes the German had shown that there was no detail of the armament of the world's navies with which he was not familiar and that he was a past master in all matters pertaining to modern great guns. His proficiency in this respect being reported to the commanding officer, he was made a chief gunner's mate and was about to be a gunner when his time expired and he went to Germany, where he was employed by the Krupps as an ordnance expert. It came out that he had spent his life in the ordnance branch of the Krupp works and that he had been compelled to leave Germany suddenly on account of some trouble in which he had become involved. He had gone to Siam in the hope of getting an opportunity to rearrange the Siamese fortifications. Failing in this, and discouraged and penniless, he had shipped in the American navy.
"Once a sailor always a sailor" is not strictly true of men-of-warsmen of the American navy. Less than one-half of the men who complete one enlistment ship for a second three years' cruise, but a majority of the menwho put in two cruises settle down to a lifelong continuance in the service, for when a bluejacket has passed one or two summers in the latitude of the North Cape and a couple of winters among the West Indies or in the South Pacific he is pretty sure to acquire a dislike for the climate of the United States that keeps him in the navy for good and all. Moreover, after a few years in the navy a bluejacket becomes possessed of the idea that he is really doing nothing aboard ship to earn his $16 a month and board.
Herein, however, he unconsciously proves himself a humorist, for the routine of life on a man-of-war is in reality a hard and laborious one. Reveille is sounded at daybreak, and the men who have not been on watch during the night turn out of their hammocks, lash and stow their bedding and get early coffee and biscuit. Then clothes are scrubbed, decks washed down and dried and the ship's side and boats cleaned, so that when the breakfast call is sounded at 7:30 o'clock most of her morning toilet has been made.
Breakfast over, the men light their pipes and loll at ease until the uniform of the day is announced, whereupon they array themselves in the garb prescribed and when the "turn-to" call has been sounded proceed to their several tasks. The days and even the hours and minutes of men-of-warsmen are allotted to special duties. Every day they are put through drill, sometimes with great guns, sometimes with cutlasses, sometimes with small boats and in many other ways. Moreover, arms and accoutrements have to be cleaned daily, the ordnance freed from rust and stain and the brasswork kept polished. While this is going on the bugle sounds the sick call and all who feel the need of the surgeon's care repair to the sick bay, after which a list of those unfit for service is furnished the officer of the deck, so that their duties can be attended to by their mates.
The morning is still young when the order comes, "Clear up the decks for inspection." Cleaning rags are put away, hands washed, an extra hitch given to the trousers, and thenthe call to quarters is sounded. The men go to their stations at the various guns, their officers appear and a swift inspection of their appearance is made, after which the several divisional officers report to the executive officer. The last named is armed with a list of those who are legitimately absent and checks off the absentees reported by the division officers. When this task is finished the executive reports to the captain, who is standing near and who then makes a tour of the ship, inspecting battery and crew. Following inspection comes some of the drills already referred to, dinner at noon, an hour for its discussion and smoking, and more drills during the afternoon, ending with the setting-up drill just before the bugle sounds for supper.
After that meal the men are at liberty to do very much as they please unless a searchlight or night signal drill happens to be scheduled for the evening. With 9 o'clock comes taps and the cry of the master-at-arms, "Turn in your hammocks and keep silence"—an order that must be obeyed, for on aman-of-war the sleep of the crew when the hour comes is a sacred thing and not to be disturbed.
The modern battleship is first of all a fighting machine, and that being the chief purpose for which it is created it is natural that the drill of "clearing ship for action" is one to which particular attention should be given. Following it always is a mimic encounter with an imaginary foe. Not the slightest detail in preparation is ever neglected and only blood and shrieks and wounds are lacking to make the imaginary battle as realistic as an actual one would be.
As soon as the cry of the boatswain's mate echoes from the main deck the bugle sounds the "assembly" on the gun and berth decks and the officers and men at once hurry to their allotted stations. Quiet is insisted upon; there is little confusion, and the swirling tide set in motion by the boatswain's call has no conflicting currents. So far as is possible each of the squads into which the ship's company is divided is berthed and messed in thatsection of the ship in which its duties will lie in the hour of battle. Thus on a battleship like the Virginia a portion of the first division improvises as soon as the call is sounded a breastwork for sharpshooters, using hammocks and awnings.
Meanwhile others of the same division rig collision mats, unship the railing around the forecastle, lower anchor davits in cradles and carry below and secure levers and tackles. At the same time other divisions lower and unship awning stanchions and railing in wake of the guns, close water-tight compartments, rig in and secure danger booms, unship ladders and supply fresh water for drinking purposes. Magazines are opened and lanterns trimmed, battle bucklers are fitted to air ports, and those detailed to attend speaking tubes in the wake of torpedo tubes go to their stations and receive and respond to the signals sent out from the central station. Nor is the surgeon's division less busy at this critical hour; its members convert the wardroom into a temporary operating room, remove rugs andcurtains and see that the adjoining staterooms are made ready for the reception of the wounded. There is an enormous amount of work to be done before a ship can be got in readiness, but in little more than a half hour after the order is given the captain hears from his executive officer the report, "Ship is ready for action, sir." The gun crews, stripped to the waist, with their knotty muscles standing out in high relief, wait for the order to begin the fighting; and when it comes the great guns are elevated, depressed, concentrated and put through all the maneuvers possible in an actual battle. After this there is a moment's rest, and then, last of all, the order is given to repel boarders. The enemy is alongside and swarming over the bulwarks. The men in the tops pour down a murderous fire with rifles and Maxim and Gatling guns; headed by their officers, the men on deck, cutlass in one hand and revolver in the other, slash and hew, shoot and hack until the enemy turn tail and flee as fast as their imaginary legs can carry them. The ship is saved.
When at sea half of the crew of a man-of-war is always on duty and the other half taking a rest. The latter court their ease in many ways. Some stretch out on the hard deck and take a nap, others play checkers, spin yarns, write letters or read novels. Some are lost in reverie; all of them look careless and happy and nearly all of them smoke or chew tobacco. Music often claims a group of them at any hour of the day, and at night dancing is sometimes indulged in, always with wild delight. A stranger who strays into the forecastle observes that a few of its inhabitants wear double-breasted coats and linen collars. These are the men of rank before the mast and they are known as petty officers. The master-at-arms, the machinists and the yeoman are among the chief of these, and other petty officers are the boatswain's mates, gunner's mates and carpenter's mates. They are, comparatively speaking, high in rank above the rest of the crew and are treated accordingly by the latter. They have a mess table by themselves, presided over by themaster-at-arms and adorned by glassware, crockery and napkins. All mess tables on a ship are large enough for ten or fifteen men to sit at and one of the company is selected by his mates to act as caterer. Meals are always well-behaved affairs, particularly at the tables of the petty officers, for the sense of rank is as keen before the mast as it is abaft among the commissioned officers. Every officer and man on a ship is subordinate or superior to somebody else and he cannot forget that his official relations even with his bosom companions are among the laws of the land. Nor do the exigencies of confined space interfere with this sense of rank. A bluejacket may have to dodge around an admiral and give orders under his nose, but there is still a gulf between them not to be bridged by any man.
In a visit to the forecastle among all the crowd there the youngest sailors and the apprentice boys are those that attract one the most. Their alert, intelligent faces give one a pleasant idea of the coming American man-of-warsman and attest the efficacy of themethod employed to fit them for their future career. The present naval apprentice system of the United States has been in force since 1875. The candidate for an apprenticeship must be from fourteen to eighteen years of age, of robust frame, intelligent, of sound and healthy constitution and able to read and write. The boy who is found to be qualified signs an agreement to serve continuously until he is twenty-one years of age and is sent to the training station at Coaster's Harbor Island, near Newport, where is anchored a receiving ship capable of comfortably accommodating 500 apprentices. The boys sleep in hammocks, assist in keeping the ship clean and in various ways are gradually accustomed to a nautical life. The daily routine begins at 5:30, when reveille is sounded and all hammocks are lashed and stowed. After an early breakfast the boys wash their clothes, scrub decks and bathe, and then for about six hours are daily occupied with drills and studies, the course of instruction including gunnery, seamanship and English. The hours aftersupper until 9 o'clock, when all must be in their hammocks, and Saturday afternoons are given up to recreation. Many kinds of games are furnished the boys, and they have also free access to a good library.
Each apprentice on leaving Coaster's Harbor Island spends a year on a training ship and is then transferred to a regular man-of-war. Here his education is still continued, and the end of his enlistment generally finds him thoroughly acquainted with a modern ship and her armament and fitted to take the billet of a petty officer. Many of the apprentices who re-enlist are sent to the Washington Navy Yard for a six months' course of instruction in gunnery, a limited number being afterward detailed to the Naval War College at Newport for an equal length of time to be given a practical knowledge of electricity and torpedoes. They then graduate into the service with the rank and pay of seamen-gunners, and that the training they have received warrants its cost is proved by the assertion of experts that American gunners have not theirsuperior in any navy of the world. The making of an American man-of-warsman is a process worth while.
A MAN-OF-WARSMAN
A MAN-OF-WARSMAN
In peaceful times one day is very much like another on an American man-of-war, but there are four days of special importance in the calendar of the bluejacket serving thereon. These are general muster day, general inspection day and Thanksgiving and Christmas days. The first-named marks the observance of a ceremony of great importance to the participants—the reading of the articles of war or rules which have been framed for the government of the navy. Unlike other musters and routine drills which take place day after day with the utmost regularity, this function is observed not oftener than once a month. On most ships the first Sunday of each month is reserved for this purpose, but it frequently happens that two or three months elapse between one general muster and the next. Shortly before 10 o'clock in the morning of the day selected the chief boatswain's mate passes the order through the ship of "Allhands to muster." At once every soul on the vessel except the sick and, if at sea, half a dozen others who cannot be spared from the wheel and engine room repairs aft to the quarterdeck, where the members of the crew range themselves in long ranks on the port side of the deck, facing the officers, who stand in a line on the starboard side, where they are placed according to rank, with the senior officer aft. All the officers are in full dress, with cocked hat and epaulettes and gold lace on coats and trousers, while the men must appear in their best, with shoes polished and clothes well brushed.
When the last straggler has taken his place the senior lieutenant, raising a white-gloved hand to his cocked hat, salutes the captain and informs him that all his officers and men are "up and aft." After this, by order of the officer of the deck, silence reigns. At a word from the commander the senior lieutenant begins to read the articles of war, and as he does so all heads are uncovered. Simple yet eloquent is this expression of the faith inwhich every naval officer must live. "The commanders of all fleets, squadrons, naval stations and vessels belonging to the navy," runs the wording of the first article, "are required to show in themselves a good example of virtue, honor, patriotism and subordination." The second article earnestly recommends all officers and seamen in the naval service diligently to attend on every performance of the worship of Almighty God. Further on is another article which informs every listener—and every one of the hundreds assembled is an intent listener—that "the punishment of death or such other punishment as a court-martial may adjudge may be inflicted on any person in the naval service who enters into a mutiny or who disobeys the lawful orders of his superior officer or who strikes the flag to an enemy or rebel." The same penalty awaits any one who in time of war deserts or who sleeps upon his watch, or who when in battle "displays cowardice, negligence or disaffection or keeps out of danger to which he should expose himself." Theseoffenses are only a few of the many which all wearers of the uniform are enjoined not to commit. Some of the others are "profane swearing, falsehood, drunkenness, gambling, fraud, theft or any other scandalous conduct tending to the destruction of good morals;" and it also is forbidden to any one to be guilty of cruelty toward any person subject to his orders. Other parts of the articles contain similar injunctions to all in the navy to maintain the honor of the flag and the integrity of their lives.
As a fructifier of patriotism the importance of this ceremony cannot be easily overestimated. Lukewarmness has no place in its presence, and any one who witnesses it cannot fail to be impressed by its disclosure of a faith that one feels sure could remove mountains. In remote lands it is a rite which borrows added seriousness from its foreign surroundings. Its words have often echoed against the walls of foreign forts while a Sabbath calm has brooded over the latter and robbed them of their threatening aspect, and many atime during its performance American sailors have been able to look up from their quarter-decks to the cottages and fields of some other land where a different creed is held and with just as strong a faith as their own. No one can doubt that while this ceremony lives the country is stronger and safer than it would be without it.
The reading of the articles of war consumes a scant quarter hour. When it is finished the order is given and repeated by the boatswain's mate for all petty officers to muster in the starboard gangway. They form in two long ranks. At the end nearest the quarter-deck stands the master-at-arms and then come yeoman, writers, machinists, the apothecary, printer, painter, electrician, bandmaster, boatswain's mate, gunner's mates, quartermasters, oilers, water tenders and ship's corporals. The paymaster or his clerk starts to muster the crew, calling out each man's full name, and the latter answers with his rating. When the petty officers are all mustered they are allowed to leave and go forward—alwaysbeing cautioned to keep quiet. Then follows a scene that reminds one of the early days of the navy—a custom more than a century old and borrowed originally from the English. It is called "going around the mast." When each man's name is called he answers with his rating, removes his cap, walks around the mast to the starboard side and goes forward. This is kept up until all seamen, ordinary seamen, landsmen, coal heavers, firemen and bandsmen have passed under the inspection of the captain, who stands near the mainmast intently watching and forming an opinion of each man as he passes before him. When all have gone forward the order is given by the executive officer to "pipe down," the shrill whistles sound and general muster is over.
General inspection day on a man-of-war usually follows close upon the termination of a foreign cruise and involves no end of labor on the part of officers and crew. In the early morning of the day appointed the last touches are given to the ship's bright metal work, the last rubs to its great brown guns. The decksare scrubbed and holystoned, so that the keen eye of the executive officer cannot find a spot. The bluejackets give a last turn to their hammocks and a last pat to their kits, for not a thing will escape the scrutiny of the board of inspection and survey. When the members of that body appear they find waiting for them on the main deck the whole crew, spick and span, with their kits, long canvas bags containing their white and blue clothing done up in neat rolls. While a part of the board examines these to see if any of the men have failed to roll them properly the other members go below to inspect the ship. They visit the wardroom, staterooms and forecastle; examine the water-tight compartments, the boilers, engines, bunkers and magazines and the wood and metal work, passing over no dark corner in gallery or pantry in which may lurk dirt or other signs of neglect.
All this, however, is preliminary to the real labors of the day, for when the members of the board of inspection have again assembled on deck comes the eagerly expected order,"Clear the ship for action!" Instantly the long roll is beaten, the boatswain's whistle sounds, and from the bowels of the ship the members of the crew come tumbling out, swarming over the deck in what seems the wildest confusion, but is in reality perfect order. Every man has certain duties and much drilling has taught him how to perform them in the simplest, readiest and easiest manner. The whole deck crew is organized into divisions and each division has its separate and particular work. One division lashes fast the big anchors and makes them as secure as possible. Another takes care of the boats. The spare spars are got out and lashed together. The boats are lashed into a nest, plugs pulled out so that they will fill with water and float with gunwales awash. The nest is lashed to the spars that will serve as a drag and a buoy to mark their location, and then spars and boats are put over the side and left to drift as they will.
While this is going on other divisions are at work with the rail and awning stanchions.Every thing comes down. The pegs are knocked out of the davit hinges and the big iron bars are folded over to the deck. Everything movable that can be put out of the way is stowed in its proper pace swiftly and silently. The battle gratings are brought out and fitted over the hatches. Any thing that might be knocked to pieces by a shell or shot to splinters by small fire is carried below, and when the work is finished not a superfluous bar or beam, not an extra rod, box, implement or article of any sort stands on the deck to cumber the desperate work of the ship in her life and death struggle.
At the same time the powder magazines are opened and the great guns swing around for action, shot and shell piled up about them. The tops are manned; every small gun is ready with its crew to hurl a deluge of missiles of all shapes and sizes; rifles, pistols and cutlasses are served out to the men, and in the space of time it costs to write these lines the ship lies at anchor ready to blow anadversary off the face of the water or to be blown off herself.
With the ship cleared for action, there is drill at the great guns and execution of the order to repel boarders. After this the ship is again put in condition and the bugle sounds to quarters. The ship's bell has struck the alarm for fire. In a trice long lines of hose are laid and men hurry around with their extinguishers on their backs. The "smotherers," with their hammocks, are ready for work, axmen are stationed to cut away woodwork and sentinels are posted prepared to flood the magazines. There is neither hitch nor break in the drill, and at its conclusion the men go to their well-earned noonday meal.
After dinner the marines are ordered to land and attack a distant fort. The boats are lowered away and provisioned for several days. Water, beef, beans, cartridges, rifles, guns and boxes of tools are stowed away in them, and then the men pile into them until it seems as if they must sink under their load.Many colored flags flutter from the mainyard of the big ship, the launches take the boats in tow and off they start. They do not go far, however, for soon a signal from the ship countermands the order to attack and they return and are hauled on board. Then comes a drill that is looked upon with regretful pride by the old tars who still love the shapely ships of the past and cannot overcome their dislike for the modern "teakettles;" it is a sail drill. The sailors scamper aloft, lay out on the big yards and soon the ship, with all sails set, is tugging at her anchors. Again the boatswain's whistle sounds. The executive officer, trumpet in hand, shouts his orders and the yards gradually come down until the ship is under close-reefed topsails. Then the sails are furled, the yards squared and the men wait for the next command. They do not have to wait long. A luckless man—imaginary, of course—falls overboard. There is another hurry and scurry, a life buoy is thrown to the drowning man, the cutter is lowered away and under the powerful strokes of six oars sweepspast the ship to the rescue. The man is saved and the cutter again hoisted on board. This ends the work of the day and all hands are piped to supper. Soon the sunset gun booms, once more the bugle sounds and the great striped flag at the stern comes down. General inspection day is over.
The crew of an American warship celebrate Thanksgiving day in the good old-fashioned style, which means that the dinner is made the chief incident. About this all the interest of the holiday gathers, and the feast is enjoyed in anticipation, in realization and in reminiscence. The expense of the extras which supplement the ordinary rations on that occasion is borne entirely by the men. Ordinarily Jack is a most improvident creature who sees no reason for worrying himself about what he is to eat to-morrow so long as he has enough for to-day, but for Thanksgiving and Christmas he makes unusual effort to save something to put into the common fund for the occasion. His comrades are generous, however, and if, as often happens, hispockets are light when the contributions are being taken up he is not allowed to miss the feast, but may have his share charged up against him, to be paid at a more convenient season.
One way in which the men save their money is by commuting their rations. The amount of food furnished by the government is extremely liberal, so that the daily ration provided for each sailor is more than he can eat under ordinary circumstances. The value of a daily ration is put at 30 cents. A common practice is for ten men to draw rations for only seven. If the mess consists of thirty men the value of the commuted rations would thus amount to $2.70 a day. This is multiplied by the time pay day comes around to a considerable sum and is paid back to the men with their wages. Part of it at a time like Thanksgiving is devoted to buying the luxuries of the dinner.
The fund kept or raised for this purpose has always been known as the "slush fund." The term dates back to the early days of thenavy when the men were allowed to save the pork drippings and other grease, odd ends of rope and all kinds of waste about the ship and sell them to junk dealers for whatever they could get. "Slush" was the general name given to the waste stuff and the money which it brought in was the "slush fund." This disposition of the refuse is now taken out of the mens' hands, but they still continue to call their dinner fund by its ancient title.
A Thanksgiving dinner among the men-of-warsmen is a festivity well worth seeing. Nothing is done by halves, and the messroom decorations and the table furnishings would do credit to many a more pretentious assembly. The messrooms are brightly lighted up and their usually bare walls are gayly draped with American flags. Instead of the every-day enamel cloth the tables are covered with spotless white linen. If the ship is in port the celebration can be much more elaborate, because the men are then able to buy, beg or borrow from their friends on shore any number of ornamental articles withwhich to beautify the tables. Vases of flowers are artistically arranged about, and a great cake with a fanciful superstructure of icing is a favorite adornment. Enormous turkeys stand watch at each end of the tables at the beginning of the feast, but they disappear early in the action and their places are taken later by relays of mince and pumpkin pies. "Spuds," as all sailors call potatoes, are plentiful, affording ample proof of Jack's traditional fondness for this vegetable. Besides tea and coffee the only drink is beer. The men are allowed to have this not only on special occasions, by the way, but at any time when they have money to pay for it at the general canteen. At dinner time on almost any day a few of the men may be seen with open bottles of beer before their places at the table.
However, after all is said and done, Christmas is the rarest day in the naval calendar, the celebration in American fashion being never neglected on a United States man-of-war in port or at sea. The ship is dressedfore and aft with banners, and in port her decks are piled with green stuff. In any of the ports in low latitudes, like Callao or Montevideo, the mass of palms and ferns distributed on Christmas on the spar deck of a warship gives the vessel a lovely holiday appearance. Bluejackets always hang up their socks on Christmas eve. Each takes a new pair out of his ditty bag and strings it to the foot last of his hammock. Examined in the morning, they are commonly found filled with fine, dusty coal, lumps of salt-water soap or pieces of broken candle, but their owners hang them up from year to year, willing to sacrifice a pair of socks to the perpetuation of the custom. On Christmas day there are all manner of games on the spar deck. They are for the most part humorous games and are devised chiefly for the amusement of the men who through misconduct are not permitted to spend the day ashore. In the evening there is always some good music in the forecastle or on the berth deck. On some ships the bluejackets essay the most ambitious airs, and ifthe bandmaster takes care to put the singers of the crew on the right path one of their Christmas night concerts is worth going a long way to hear.
Soldiers who serve afloat—such are the men composing the United States Marine Corps. Lack of military qualities in the sailor led to the corps' formation in the first days of the navy, nor has the passing of the years wrought any material change in the character of Jack Tar. Formidable in impetuous assaults, he lacks the steadiness and discipline necessary in sustained conflicts and in the effective use of the rifle, and so with the navy's growth the Marine Corps has come to constitute one of its most important branches.
The marines are useful in times of peace for police duty in the navy yards and on shipboard, but it is when the country is engaged in war that they most fully justify theirexistence. Then it is their duty to man the rapid-firing guns of our warships, fill vacancies at the other guns, with their rifles scour the decks of the enemy from the tops, the poop and the forecastle, cover boarding parties with their fire and repel boarders with fixed bayonets. Should the enemy gain a foothold they must gather at the mainmast, so as to command the deck. They must make the small arms effective and disable the enemy's men while the great guns, with which the marines have nothing to do save in case of emergency, play havoc with his ship.
However, all naval fighting, as recent events have proved, is not done on the decks of men-of-war; the surprise of camps or posts and the escalade of forts frequently render shore operations necessary, and at such times picked men are sent with the attacking sailors, known as pioneers, while the rest of the marines form a supporting column to cover the retreat and embarkation of the sailors in case the undertaking fails. In times of fire on shipboard the marines guard the boats'falls and officers' quarters, prevent panic or pillage, compel compliance with orders of officers and allow no one to throw overboard any property or fitting or abandon the ship until duly authorized. Finally a frequent duty of the marines abroad is to guard the American legations and consulates and the interests of American citizens in times of revolution or public disorder.
With duties so varied and exacting ahead of him, the making of a marine is a process well worth studying. Recruits for the corps come from all stations of life. In its ranks may be found well-educated men, now and then a college graduate among them, who have become reduced by misfortune or bibulous habits, country boys who have left the farm for the city to seek their fortunes and found want instead, and men who have lost their occupations. All find a refuge in the corps, provided they are physically and mentally sound, at least five feet six inches in height, between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, unmarried and of good habits.
The recruit as an essential part of his training must learn how to do well many different things. He begins, if a stranger to military science, by mastering the drills and manual of arms and every evolution possible to a body of men on foot, since he must leave the ship when there is work to be done and be able to move quickly and with precision under the most galling fire. The ax, the shovel and the pick must also become familiar tools in his hands, and that he may fight to the best possible advantage he is taught to delve and heap until a breastwork is built. After that he must accustom himself to the dragging straps of a light artillery piece and learn how to haul it at a breakneck pace down into the ditch he has dug and up on the other side to the crown of the intrenchment. Then, as no one else comes up to load, aim and fire it for him, he must learn all that a field artilleryman knows and become skillful in the handling and quick and sure in the aim of his howitzer.
When so much of his apprenticeship has been accomplished the marine climbs theship's side and makes acquaintance with his duties as a marine policeman. The end of the first month afloat finds him on guard at every post in the ship. He knows each compartment and gangway; has been instructed in the working of the guns from the heavy turret pieces to the six-pounders; has watched the magazines and carried messages to the officers, and has even gone down to the coal bunkers, if the ship happens to be coaling in a hurry, and taken his turn at passing coal.
However, he is still only a marine in the making, and this fact is brought home to him when the ship goes out for target practice and, with a bluejacket for a teacher, he learns to handle and supply ammunition to the lifts in the magazines and to work the lifts themselves, so that when the need comes he can take Jack's place and do his work. In the old days of sailing ships the marines had to know how to splice a rope or furl a sail; nowadays he does not need to, but he must learn to make his way quickly and nimbly to the fighting tops. In doing so he does not have to climbto a ratline, one minute almost in the sea and the next at the very top of the heavens, but he gets painfully dizzy when for the first time he feels the ship sinking away from under him as he looks down. In the end he masters that also and, with practice, is soon able to make the little guns in the fighting tops talk as fast as the best of the jackies. When he has learned to descend from his aerial nest to the deck at a dignified pace and to land safely upon his feet, his education is practically completed, and it has taken him from six months to a year to get it.
Every navy yard in the country has its detachment of marines, but the barracks at the Brooklyn yard are the most popular, and as the marines have their choice of stations when they return from a cruise, the largest number, seldom less than three hundred, are usually quartered there. In the part of the yard set aside for the marines is a long and narrow building of gray brick, with a piazza running its entire length, shaded by a line of trees. This is the barracks, the living quarters of themen. A roomy parade ground stretches out in front, and in a group of trees to the left, with a garden behind, is the house of the commandant of marines, while at about the same distance to the right are the quarters of the other officers, each approached by a stone walk canopied and shaded by rows of pear trees.
Visit the Brooklyn barracks of a summer morning and you will find the marine there in every condition known to the corps and in every stage of his development. Out on the parade ground is a squad of raw recruits being commanded and marched about in the effort to trim off their individuality of motion, and here comes Private Dougherty, with his wheelbarrow and sickle, a bronze-faced old man who was retired awhile back because his thirty years of service had been completed. There is hardly a seaport in the world that Dougherty is not familiar with, and he will tell you, when in the mood, how he killed the Corean general. The Colorado, flagship of Rear Admiral Rodgers, steamed up theSalee river, in Corea, for the purpose of effecting a treaty with the Coreans for the protection of shipwrecked American sailors and to make surveys and soundings. Her survey boats were treacherously fired upon by the forts in the river and a fight began. After one of the forts had been captured and its former occupants driven out, Dougherty jumped over the parapet, ran down to where the Corean leader was rallying his forces and shot him dead. For this service to his country Congress voted Dougherty a medal of honor. And well he had earned it.
Ashore or afloat, the daily life of the marine is one of hard work and plenty of it. At 6:30 in the morning, when in barracks, the men must be out of bed and ready fifteen minutes later for the "setting-up" drill, which is gymnastic exercise without apparatus. Then the mess call is sounded and they file into the long messroom, furnished with two tables extending the whole length, and breakfast on hash, pork and beans or beef stew, according to the day in the week, and bread and coffee.After breakfast the order is given, "To the colors!" and the flag is raised on the pole in front of the guardhouse. Then the guards take their posts and the routine of the day begins, reaching a climax at 10:30 o'clock, the hour of dress parade, when the marines are out in full force.
Each remaining hour of the day has its allotted duty, but every marine with a clean record has twenty hours out of every forty-eight to himself. Many of the marines stationed at the Brooklyn yard spend their idle hours in the library, a light, airy room on the second floor of the barracks, furnished with a goodly collection of books and with a number of the weekly and monthly magazines. But as to the books, some of the most assiduous readers know the contents of them all, and long for more. Nor need the private of marines end his life in the ranks unless he be so minded. A school is provided for him where, if he elects to do so, he may conquer fractions and cube root, and in time, after his studies have raised him to the grade ofsergeant-major in the ranks, should there chance to come a war the line is open to him, and once his ivory-hilted officer's sword and gold lace are worn he has the entree to any officers' mess and a place that no man but one of his own line can fill. That the men in the ranks who choose to employ their leisure hours in study get their reward was proven in the war with Spain, which raised no less than thirty sergeant-majors to the dignity of shoulder straps.
The dominant desire of the ambitious young marine is, of course, to get to sea. The work there is harder than in the barracks, but he does not consider that when he thinks of life afloat and the foreign ports to which it will take him. During his five years' enlistment in the corps each capable marine makes two sea voyages, extending over a period of three years. On shipboard the shore drills are continued as far as practicable and to them, as already hinted, is added target practice. His time off duty the marine spends in the forecastle and amidships reading,sleeping, writing up his diary or twanging the strings of his favorite instrument, the guitar.
The things which chiefly occupy his thoughts, however, are rations and going ashore. As to the former, they are considerably better than he gets at the barracks and may be augmented from the bumboats—a genuine boon to the luxury-loving marines. These bumboats approach the men-of-war at every port with articles of utility and food in great profusion, and the American marine has a worldwide reputation among their proprietors for his generosity. Ah Sam, of the port of Hong Kong, the greatest man in the world in his line, whose boats are fifty and sixty ton junks, is said to have made his fortune from sales to American men-of-war. At any rate, when one enters or leaves the harbor he fires a salute of twenty-one guns.
And it is only fair that the marine should have a salute fired on his own account now and then, for he is a leading and important figure in all the pomp and ceremony of man-of-war life. Indeed, it is an interesting andpretty sight to watch the ceremonies which take place on board ship on the arrival of a high official, such as an ambassador, an admiral, a general or a consul. As the cutter dashes up to the side with spray flying from the oars the ship's bugle sounds "Attention." The side boys offer the man ropes as the official steps on the gangway and the captain receives him as he steps on the quarterdeck. As the two walk aft the marine officer, in quick, sharp tones, commands, "Present arms," and the whole marine guard, drawn up in line on the port side of the quarterdeck, bring their rifles up in salute, while the bugle sounds a flourish and the drum a roll, two for an admiral, three for an ambassador and four for the President. The marines on a ship are collectively called the guard; the ceremony is called parading the guard. It takes place on the arrival or departure of any official of rank. If the official does not visit the ship it takes place when his flag passes by, and it also takes place when two ships of war pass each other.
The landsman visiting an American warship finds the marine everywhere in evidence. At the door of the captain's cabin stands a marine, doing duty as an orderly, and no one can enter that officer's presence until he has first taken in the name. Down below a marine guards the storage rooms, and up on the berth deck another stands sentry over the torpedoes, while still farther along on the same deck is the "sentry over the brig," for the brig, be it known, is the ship's prison, where, in complete solitude and on a bread and water diet, an offender can meditate and see the error of his ways. Finally in the crowded forecastle the marine keeps order among the crew and an occasional eye on that fishing boat floating down with the tide, for Jack sometimes goes fishing and makes queer hauls. With a coin as a bait, he drops over his line, gets a nibble, hauls in a little brown bottle—and does not show his catch to the sentry.
The marines, in a word, do the sentry duty of the ship, but this does not prevent these seasoldiers and the sailors from getting on well together. Occasionally, a marine recruit, just assigned to a ship, will develop symptoms of a disease known as "duty struck," and blindly lay the foundation for years of unpopularity for himself by taking advantage of his authority to make it as warm as he can for the blue jackets, but such a recruit is quickly called to order by the older men of the guard. As a rule, the marines and blue jackets are on the most friendly terms, and there are few liberty parties of blue jackets bound for a good time ashore that are not accompanied by a favorite marine or two, invited along to help the sailormen dispose of their money, for, out of his $13 a month, the marine does not have a deal for shore use.
The guard duty performed by marines on American ships is of an arduous and exacting kind. On some vessels, usually the smaller gunboats, the marine guard soldier is on post for two hours, and then gets only two hours off before buckling on his belt again, month in and month out. This sort of thing involvesa breaking up of sleep that tells severely on marines serving on small ships, and it is for this reason that sea soldiers are so partial to flagships, and exhaust all the means in their power to be assigned to such large vessels of war. However, on every warship, no matter what its size, there is at least one first-rate billet for the private marine; that is the mail orderly's job. The mail orderly is the messenger between the ship and the shore, attends to all sorts of errands for officers and men, and is a general buyer of trinkets for all hands. A good deal of money passes through his hands, and his commissions are good, not to speak of the tips which are given to him for performing little diplomatic tasks ashore for the men forward. A marine mail orderly usually leaves the service at the expiration of a cruise with a snug sum tucked away.
The first sergeant of a marine guard on a ship too small to rate one or more marine officers fills a responsible and exacting place, and is treated with great consideration by the officers, since, to all intents and purposes, heis an officer himself. He may go ashore when he chooses without putting his name down on the liberty list, and when he comes back to the ship from shore leave, he is not searched for liquor, an immunity which he enjoys in common only with the ship's chief master-at-arms. The first sergeant is responsible for the conduct of his men, and, if they do wrong, he is reproved much as if he were an officer. For the preservation of discipline, he is required to hold himself aloof from the members of his guard as much as possible, and he associates and frequently messes with the ship's chief petty officers.
Semper fidelis—always faithful—is the legend worn upon the flags, guidons and insignia of the Marine Corps, and, in its hundred years of existence, it has never been false to its motto. It was one of the orderlies of the corps, Corporal Anthony, who, when the Maine was sinking, and nearly all who could do so were hastily leaving, made his way toward Captain Sigsbee's cabin, and, on meeting him, calmly gave the report the dutyof the occasion required of him. And this quiet performance of duty in the face of impending death, has had a hundred parallels in the history of the Marine Corps.
During the bombardment of Tripoli, in 1803, and the desperate hand-to-hand fighting which occurred between the vessels on both sides, Decatur boarded one of the Tripolitan gunboats and engaged the captain in a duel with swords. One of the enemy coming up from behind was about to cleave Decatur's skull with his sword, when a marine interposed his arm. The arm saved Decatur, but it was severed to the skin. In the same battle, Lieutenant Trippe, of the Vixen, boarded a Tripolitan gunboat and singled out the commander for a personal combat. A Turk aimed a blow at the lieutenant, but before he could strike, Sergeant Meredith, of the marines, ran him through the body with his bayonet. It was also an officer of marines, Lieutenant O'Bannon, who, with Midshipman Mann, hauled down the Tripolitan ensign, after having stormed the principal defenseof Derne, and planted the flag of the Republic on that ancient fortress.
The marines participated gallantly in the War of 1812, and in the expedition against Quallah Battoo, a few years later, formed the van of the attacking party, and were in the thickest of the fight with the Malays. This Quallah Battoo expedition furnished a stirring passage for our naval history that is well worth recalling. In February, 1831, the American ship Friendship was loading on the coast of Sumatra. While the captain, two officers and four of the crew were on shore the Friendship was attacked by the crew of a Malay pepper boat, who, after killing the first officer and several of the seamen, succeeded in cutting off the ship and plundering her of every article of value on board. The attack was clearly concerted, and the Achense rajah, Chute Dulah, received the spoils, refusing the restoration even of the ship.
Time moved with leisure steps in those days, but as soon as news of this wanton outrage reached the United States, promptmeasures were taken to punish its authors. On February 5, 1832, the frigate Potomac, commanded by Commodore John Downes, anchored off Quallah Battoo and landed a force of 250 men to attack the town. The assaulting party, composed mainly of marines, did its work in a thorough and practical manner. The town and the four forts defending it were captured and destroyed, and several hundred Malays killed, including the rajah chiefly concerned in the plunder of the Friendship and the massacre of its crew. The surviving rajahs begged for peace, and this was finally granted by Commodore Downes, but the lesson taught at the cannon's mouth is still remembered on the Sumatran coast.