Stations are also assigned at the guns, to the whole crew. When at sea, the drummer beats to quarters every night. This beat, by which the men are summoned to quarters, is a regular tune.I have often heard the words sung which belong to it; this is the chorus:
“Hearts of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,We always are ready, steady, boys, steady,To fight and to conquer again and again.”
“Hearts of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,We always are ready, steady, boys, steady,To fight and to conquer again and again.”
“Hearts of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,
We always are ready, steady, boys, steady,
To fight and to conquer again and again.”
At the roll of this evening drum, all hands hurry to the guns. Eight men and a boy are stationed at each gun, one of whom is captain of the gun, another sponges and loads it, the rest take hold of the side tackle-falls, to run the gun in and out; while the boy is employed in handing the cartridges, for which he is honored with the singularly euphonious cognomen of powder-monkey.
Besides these arrangements among the men, there are from thirty to forty marines to be disposed of. These do duty as sentries at the captain’s cabin, the ward-room, and at the galley during the time of cooking. They are also stationed at the large guns at night, as far as their numbers run. When a ship is in action, and small arms can be brought to bear on the enemy, they are stationed on the spar-deck; they are also expected to assist in boarding, in conjunction with several seamen from each gun, who are armed with pistols and pikes, and called boarders.
The great disparity of numbers between the crew of a merchant ship and that of a man of war, occasions a difference in their internal arrangements and mode of life, scarcely conceivable by those who have not seen both. This is seen throughout, from the act of rousing the hands in the morning to that of taking in sail. In the merchantman, the watch below is called up by a few strokes of the handspike on the forecastle; in the man of war, by the boatswain and his mates. The boatswain is a petty officer, of considerable importance in his way; he and his mates carry a small silver whistle or pipe, suspended from the neck by a small cord. He receives word from the officer of the watch to call the hands up. You immediately hear a sharp, shrill whistle; this is succeeded by another and another from his mates. Then follows his hoarse, rough cry of “All hands ahoy!” which is forthwith repeated by his mates. Scarcely has this sound died upon the ear, before the cry of “Up all hammocks ahoy!” succeeds it, to be repeated in like manner. As the first tones of the whistle penetrate between decks, signs of life make their appearance. Rough, uncouth forms are seen tumbling out of their hammocks on all sides, and before its last sounds have died upon the air, the whole company of sleepers are hurriedly preparing for the duties of the day. No delay is permitted, for as soon as the before-mentioned officers have uttered their imperative commands, they run below, each armed with a rope’s end, with which they belabor the shoulders of any luckless wight upon whose eyes sleep yet hangs heavily, or whose slow-moving limbs show him to be but half awake.
With a rapidity which would surprise a landsman, the crew dress themselves, lash their hammocks and carry them on deck, where they are stowed for the day. There is system even in this arrangement; every hammock has its appropriate place. Below, the beams are all marked, each hammock is marked with a corresponding number, and in the darkest night, a sailor will go unhesitatingly to his own hammock. They are also kept exceeding clean. Every man is provided with two, so that while he is scrubbing and cleaning one, he may have another to use. Nothing but such precautions could enable so many men to live in so small a space.
A similar rapidity attends the performance of every duty. The word of command is given in the same manner, and its prompt obedience enforced by the same unceremonious rope’s-end. To skulk is therefore next to impossible; the least tardiness is rebuked by the cry of “Hurrah my hearty! bear a hand! heave along! heave along!” This system of driving is far from being agreeable; it perpetually reminds you of your want of liberty; it makes you feel, sometimes, as if the hardest crust, the most ragged garments, with the freedom of your own native hills, would be preferable to JohnBull’s “beef and duff,” joined as it is with the rope’s-end of the driving boatswain.
We had one poor fellow, an Irishman, named Billy Garvy, who felt very uneasy and unhappy. He was the victim of that mortifying system of impressment, prevalent in Great Britain in time of war. He came on board perfectly unacquainted with the mysteries of sea life. One of his first inquiries was, where he should find his bed, supposing they slept on shipboard on beds the same as on shore. His messmates, with true sailor roguishness, sent him to the boatswain. “And where shall I find a bed, sir?” asked he of this rugged son of the ocean.
The boatswain looked at him very contemptuously for a moment, then, rolling his lump of tobacco into another apartment of his ample mouth, replied,
“Have you got a knife?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, stick it into the softest plank in the ship, and take that for a bed!”
Poor fellow! what was sport for others was pain to him. He had been used to kind treatment at home. After he had received his hammock, when turning out in the morning, with the boatswain’s mates at his heels, he used to exclaim, “When I was at home, I would walk in my father’s garden in the morning, until the maid would come and say, ‘William, will you come to your ta, or your coffee ta, or your chocolarata?’ But, oh! the case is altered now; it’s nothing but bear a hand, lash and carry. Oh, dear!”
I confess that Billy Garvy was not the only one who contrasted the present with the past, or who found the balance to be greatly in favor of the former. I often looked back to the village of Bladen, and thought how preferable would be the bright hearth-sideand pleasant voices of that quiet home, to the profane, rough, uncomfortable life we led on shipboard. As these reflections were anything but pleasurable, I banished them as quickly as possible, with a determination to be as happy as I could in my station of servant to the surgeon of His Britannic Majesty’s frigateMacedonian: a resolution which I commend to all lads, who, like me, are foolish enough to quit the quiet scenes of a native village, for the noisy, profane atmosphere of a man of war.
As our fare was novel and so different from shore living, it was some time before I could get fully reconciled to it: it was composed of hard sea biscuit, fresh beef while in port, but salt pork and salt beef at sea, pea soup and burgoo. Burgoo, or, as it was sportively called, skillagallee, was oatmeal boiled in water to the consistency of hasty pudding. Sometimes we had cocoa instead of burgoo. Once a week we had flour and raisins served out, with which we made “duff” or pudding. To prepare these articles, each mess had its cook, who drew the provisions, made the duff, washed the mess kids, etc. He also drew the grog for the mess, which consisted of a gill of rum mixed with two gills of water for each man. This was served out at noon every day: at four o’clock, P. M., each man received half a pint of wine. The boys only drew half this quantity, but were allowed pay for the remainder, a regulation which could have been profitably applied to the whole supply of grog and wine for both boys and men. But those were not days in which Temperance triumphed as she does now; though, I believe, the British navy has not yet ceased to dispense the “drink that’s in the drunkard’s bowl” to her seamen.
Shortly after our captain came on board, his servant died somewhat suddenly, so that I had an early opportunity of seeing how sailors are disposed of in this sad hour. The corpse was laid out on the grating, covered with a flag; as we were yet in the river, the body was taken on shore and buried, without the beautiful burial-service of the church of England being read at his grave—a ceremony which is not omitted at the interment of the veriest pauper in that country.
I have purposely dwelt on these particulars, that the reader may feel himself initiated at once into the secrets of man-of-war usages. He has doubtless seen ships of war with their trim rigging and frowning ports, and his heart has swelled with pride as he has gazed upon these floating cities—the representatives of his nation’s character in foreign countries: to their internal arrangements, however, he has been a stranger. I have endeavored to introduce him into the interior: a desire to make him feel at home there, is my apology for dwelling so long on these descriptions.
After various delays, we were at last ready for sea and under sailing orders. The tide and wind were both propitious; then came the long-expected cry of the boatswain, “All hands up anchor ahoy!” The crew manned the capstan in a trice, and running round to the tune of a lively air played by the fifer, the huge anchor rapidly left the mud of the Thames, and hung at the bows of our taut frigate. Then came the cry of “All hands make sail ahoy!” As if by magic, she was immediately covered with canvas; the favoring breeze at once filled our sails, and the form that had lain for weeks inert and motionless on the waters, now bounded along the waves like a thing of life. Rapidly we ran down the Channel, and before we had well got under weigh came to an anchor again at Spithead, under shelter of the garden of England—the Isle of Wight.
Short as was the period between weighing anchor off Gravesend and our arrival at Spithead, it gave opportunity for one of those occurrences which are a disgrace to the naval service of any nation, and a degradation to our common humanity, which the public opinion of the civilized world should frown out of existence: I allude to the brutal practice of flogging.
A poor fellow had fallen into the very sailorlike offence of getting drunk. For this the captain sentenced him to the punishment of four dozen lashes. He was first placed inironsall night: the irons used for this purpose were shackles fitting round the ankles, through the ends of which was passed an iron bar some ten or twelve feet in length: it was thus long because it was no unfrequent case for half a dozen men to be ironed at once. A padlock at the end of the bar held the prisoner securely. Thus placed in “duress vile,” he was guarded by a marine until the captain bade the first lieutenant prepare the hands to witness the punishment. Upon this the lieutenant transmitted the order to the master at arms. He then ordered the grating or hatch full of square holes to be rigged: it was placed accordingly between the main and spar decks, not far from the mainmast.
While these preparations were going on, the officers were dressing themselves in full uniform and arming themselves with their dirks: the prisoner’s messmates carried him his best clothes, to make him appear in as decent a manner as possible. This is always done, in the hope of moving the feelings of the captain favorably towards the prisoner.
This done, the hoarse, dreaded cry of “All hands ahoy to witness punishment!” from the lips of the boatswain, peals along the ship as mournfully as the notes of a funeral knell. At this signal the officers muster on the spar deck, the men on the main deck. Next came the prisoner; guarded by a marine on one side and the master at arms on the other, he was marched up to the grating. His back was made bare and his shirt laid loosely upon his back; the two quartermasters proceeded to seize him up; that is, they tied his hands and feet with spun-yarns, called the seizings, to the grating. The boatswain’s mates, whose office it is to flog on board a man of war, stood ready with their dreadful weapon of punishment, the cat-o’-nine-tails. This instrument of torture was composed of nine cords, a quarter of an inch round and about two feet long, the ends whipt with fine twine. To these cords wasaffixed a stock, two feet in length, covered with red baize. The reader may be sure that it is a most formidable instrument in the hands of a strong, skilful man. Indeed, any man who should whip his horse with it would commit an outrage on humanity, which the moral feeling of any community would not tolerate; he would be prosecuted for cruelty; yet it is used to whipMENon board ships of war!
The boatswain’s mate is ready, with coat off and whip in hand. The captain gives the word. Carefully spreading the cords with the fingers of his left hand, the executioner throws the cat over his right shoulder; it is brought down upon the now uncovered herculean shoulders of theMAN. His flesh creeps—it reddens as if blushing at the indignity; the sufferer groans; lash follows lash, until the first mate, wearied with the cruel employment, gives place to a second. Now two dozen of these dreadful lashes have been inflicted: the lacerated back looks inhuman; it resembles roasted meat burnt nearly black before a scorching fire; yet still the lashes fall; the captain continues merciless. Vain are the cries and prayers of the wretched man. “I would not forgive the Saviour,” was the blasphemous reply of one of these naval demi-gods, or rather demi-fiends, to a plea for mercy. The executioners keep on. Four dozen strokes have cut up his flesh and robbed him of all self-respect; there he hangs, a pitied, self-despised, groaning, bleeding wretch; and now the captain cries, forbear! His shirt is thrown over his shoulders; the seizings are loosed; he is led away, staining his path with red drops of blood, and the hands, “piped down” by the boatswain, sullenly return to their duties.
Such was the scene witnessed on board theMacedonian, on the passage from London to Spithead; such, substantially, is every punishment scene at sea; only carried, sometimes, to a greater length of severity. Sad and sorrowful were my feelings on witnessing it; thoughts of the friendly warnings of my old acquaintance filled my mind, and I inwardly wished myself once moreunder the friendly roof of my father, at Bladen. Vain wish! I should have believed the warning voice when it was given. Believe me, young man, you will often breathe that wish, if ever you wander from a father’s house.
Flogging in the navy is more severe than in the army, though it is too bad to be tolerated there, or indeed anywhere. Other modes of punishment might be successfully substituted, which would deter from misconduct, without destroying the self-respect of the man. I hope the day will come, when a captain will no more be allowed to use the “cat” than he is now to use poison. It should be an interdicted weapon.
Though I have spoken severely of the officers of the navy, let it not be thought that the whole class of naval officers are lost to the finer feelings of humanity. There are many humane, considerate men among them, who deserve our highest respect. This was the case with the first lieutenant of theMacedonian, Mr. Scott. He abhorred flogging. Once, when a poor marine was under sentence, he pleadhard and successfullywith the captain for his respite. This was a great victory; for the captain had a profound hatred of marines. The poor soldier was extremely grateful for his intercession, and would do anything for him to show his sense of the obligation; indeed, the sailors, in their odd way, showed their preference for him by describing him as a man who had a soul to be saved, and who ought to go to heaven; while of the captain, they whispered that if he did not go to perdition, “the devil would be cheated of his due.” These are, in a manner, proverbial expressions of like and dislike, on board a British man of war.
One of the effects of this exhibition of cruelty was seen during the short time we lay at Spithead. The two boys, who were servants to the first and second lieutenants, conceiving a special dislike to the idea of being flogged, took it into their heads to run away. Being sent on shore, they shaped their course for the country. It was well for them that they were not re-taken.
Our frigate had orders to convey between two and three hundred troops from Portsmouth to Lisbon, to assist the Portuguese against the French. The soldiers were stowed on the main decks, with very few conveniences for the voyage; their officers messed and berthed in the ward-room. Having taken them on board, we again weighed anchor, and were soon careering before the breeze on our way to Lisbon.
As usual, we who were landsmen had our share of that merciless, nondescript, hateful, stultifying disease, yclept sea-sickness; as usual, we wished the foolish wish that we had never come to sea; as usual, we got over it, and laughed at ourselves for our sea-sick follies. Our good ship paid little attention, however, to our feelings; she kept along on her bounding way, and, after a week at sea, we were greeted with the pleasant cry of “Land ho!” from the mast-head. As it was now near night, we lay off and on until morning; at day-break we fired a gun for a pilot. The wind being nearly dead ahead, we had to beat about nearly all day. Towards night it became fair, and we ascended the Tagus. This river is about nine miles wide at its mouth, and is four hundred and fifty miles in length; it has a very rapid current, with steep, fertile banks. Aided by a fine breeze, we ascended it in splendid style, passed a half-moon battery, then shot past Belem Castle into the port of Lisbon, about ten miles from its mouth. Here we found a spacious harbor, filled with shipping. Besides numerous merchantmen, there were two ships of a hundred guns, several seventy-fours, frigates and sloops of war, with a large number of transports; all designed for the defence of Lisbon against the French.
Lisbon has a fine appearance from the harbor. A stranger, after a long sea-voyage,while standing onthe deck of his vessel, and gazing on its battlements and towers, might fancy it to be a terrestrial paradise; but, on landing, his admiration would certainly sink below zero, as he plodded his way, beset by saucy beggars at almost every step, through its narrow, filthy streets. Such, at least, was my impression, as I perambulated the city. Among other things, I noticed a great variety of churches and convents, which furnished swarms of plump, good-natured friars, under whose spiritual domination the good people of Lisbon were content to rest. I also counted thirteen large squares. One of them contained a huge black horse, standing in its centre, with the figure of a man upon his back, both much larger than life. What this monument represented,I did not learn. That square is denominated Black Horse Square.
On the day after our arrival, theMacedonianwas the scene of considerable bustle. The troops, who seemed to forget their proximity to a field of carnage, in the delight they felt at escaping from the confinement on shipboard, were landed; several boats’ crews were also sent up the river to assist in the defence of the place.
While we lay here, our ship was well supplied with fruits from the shore. Large bunches of delicious grapes, abundance of sweet oranges, water-melons, chestnuts, and also a bountiful supply of gigantic onions, of peculiar flavor, enabled our crew to gratify their palates in true English style. Poor fellows! they feasted, laughed, and joked, as if the future had nothing to develop but fairy scenes of unmixed delight. Little thought, indeed, does your true tar take of the morrow.
Amid these feastings, however, there rose something to trouble Macbeth, in the shape of an order from the admiral to prepare for a cruise. This was peremptory;—for a cruise, therefore, we prepared. Our boats’ crews came on board; the officers stored their larder with the means of gustatory gratifications; and we stood out to sea again.
The port of Corunna, in Spain, was the next place at which weanchored. While lying in this spacious and safe harbor, our little world was thrown into temporary confusion by the loss of the ward-room steward, Mr. Sanders. This man could speak in the Spanish tongue; he had accumulated a considerable sum of money by long service, prize money, and an economy little known among sailors. For some cause or other he had become dissatisfied; so, one day, he engaged a Spaniard to run his boat under the stern of our frigate; dropping from one of the stern ports into the boat, unperceived by the officers, the wily Spaniards covered him with their loose garments and sails, and then conveyed him to the shore. This was running a great risk; for had he been detected in the act, or taken afterwards, he would have felt the cruel strokes of the lash. Fortunately for himself, he escaped without detection.
From Corunna, we returned to Lisbon, where, at the cheerful cry of “All hands bring the ship to an anchor, ahoy!” we once more placed our frigate, taut and trim, under the battlements of the city.
As servant to the surgeon, it was one part of my duty to perform the task of carrying his clothes to be washed. As great attention to cleanliness, in frequently changing their linen, is observed among naval officers, a good washerwoman is considered quite a desideratum. In attending to this matter for my master, I had frequent opportunities to go on shore. This gave me some means of observation. On one of my visits to our pretty laundress, I saw several Portuguese running along, gesticulating and talking with great earnestness. Being ignorant of their language, my washerwoman, who spoke good English, told me that a man had been stabbed, in consequence of some ground for jealousy, afforded by the conduct of the deceased. Hastening to the spot, I saw the wounded man, stretched out on a bed, with two gaping wounds in his side, the long knife, the instrument of the deed, lying by his side. The poor sufferer soon died. What was done to the murderer, I could not discover.
Though very passionate, and addicted to the use of the knife, for the purpose of taking summary vengeance, the Portuguese are nevertheless arrant cowards. Indeed, it is a question by no means settled, whether all classes of men, in any country, who fly to cold steel or to fire-arms in every petty quarrel, are not cowards at heart. We had an evidence of Portuguese cowardice in an affray which occurred between some of the citizens of Lisbon and a party of our marines. Six of the latter, ignorant of the palace or municipal regulations, wandered into the queen’s gardens. Some twenty of the Portuguese, on witnessing this bold intrusion on the privacy of the queen, rushed upon them with long knives. The marines, though so inferior in number, faced about with their bayonets, and, after much cursing and chattering, their enemies, considering perhaps that the better part of valor is discretion, took to their heels, leaving the six marines masters of a bloodless field. These recontres were quite common between them and our men; the result, though sometimes more serious, was uniformly the same.
As an illustration of the manners of this people, I cannot forbear the insertion of another fact. I was one day walking leisurely along the streets, quite at my ease, when the gathering of a noisy multitude arrested my attention. Looking up, I was shocked at seeing a human head, with a pair of hands beneath it, nailed to a pole! They had just been taken from the body of a barber, who, when in the act of shaving a gentleman, was seized with a sudden desire to possess a beautiful watch, which glittered in his pocket; to gain this brilliant bauble, the wretched man cut his victim’s throat. He was arrested, his hands were cut off, then his head, and both were fastened to the pole as I have described them. Upon inquiry, I ascertained that this was the ordinary method of punishing murder in Portugal; a striking evidence that civilization had not fully completed its great work among them. Civilization humanizes the feelings of society, throwing a veil of refinement and mercy over even the sterner acts of justice; at any rate, it never tolerates such barbarism as I saw at Lisbon.
While in port we experienced a change of officers by no means agreeable to the crew. Mr. Scott, our first lieutenant, an amiable man, decidedly hostile to the practice of flogging, left us; for what cause, we could not ascertain. His successor, Mr. Hope, though bearing a very pleasant name, was an entirely different person, in manners and conduct, from his predecessor. He was harsh, severe, and fond of seeing the men flogged. Of course, floggings became more frequent than before; for, although a lieutenant cannot flog upon his own authority, yet, such is the influence he exerts over a captain, that he has the utmost opportunity to gratify a thirst for punishment. It may appear strange to the reader that any gentleman—and all officers of the navy consider themselvesgentlemen—should possess such a thirst; yet such was the case with Mr. Hope. Nor was his a solitary example; many a man, who, on shore, in presence of ladies of fashion, appeared too gentle to harm an enemy, too kind to injure an insect, was strangely metamorphosed into a genuine unprincipled tyrant, upon assuming command in a man of war.
We had already witnessed a number of punishments, especially at sea: in port, the officers were more condescending, lest their men should desert; but at sea, when this was impossible, they flogged without mercy. Cases of offence which occurred while in the harbor, were looked up; sometimes a half dozen were flogged at once; every man trembled lest he should be a victim; the ship’s crew were made wretched; a sword seemed impending over every head. Who, in such a case, could be happy? Not even a sailor, with all his habitual thoughtlessness. Yet it is said we must flog, to maintain discipline among sailors. Pshaw! Flogging may be needful to awe a slave writhing under a sense of unmerited wrong, but never should a lash fall on a freeman’s back, especially if he holds the safety and honor of his country in his keeping.
Poor old Bob Hammond! Never was man more reckless than this honest-hearted Irishman; never was sailor more courageousunder punishment. For being drunk he received four dozen lashes; he bore the infliction with profound silence, uttering neither groan nor sigh; neither casting one imploring look at his tormentors. On being taken down, he applied himself most lustily to his bottle, and before night was drunk again. Rushing to the quarter deck, with a madness peculiar to a phrensied drunkard, he ran up against the captain with such force that he nearly knocked him down. With a boldness that seemed to strike the great man dumb, Bob hiccupped and said,
“Halloo, Billy, my boy, is that you? You are young and foolish; just fit for the launch. You are like a young lion—all your sorrows are to come.”
The captain was excessively proud; even his officers scarcely dared walk the quarter deck on the same side with him. He never allowed himself to be addressed but by his title of “my Lord.” Should a sailor, through design or forgetfulness, reply to a command, “Yes, sir,” the lordly man would look at him with a glance full of dignity, and sternly reply, “What, sir?” This, of course, would put the offender in mind to correct himself by saying, “Yes, myLord.” Judge then of his surprise, indignation, nay, of his lordly horror, when poor old drunken Bob Hammond called him “Billy, my boy!” Doubtless it stirred up his nobility within him, for, with a voice of thunder, he exclaimed, “Put this man in irons!” It was done. The next morning, his back yet sore, poor Bob received five dozen more strokes of the hated cat-o’-nine-tails. Most heroically was it borne. No sound escaped him; the most profound silence was observed by all, broken only by the dead sound of the whip, as it fell every few moments on the wounded back. The scene was sickening in the extreme. Let me throw a veil over its details, simply remarking that it is questionable which of the two appears to the best advantage; poor drunken Bob, suffering degrading torture with heroic firmness, or my Lord Fitzroy, gloatingon the scene with the appetite of a vulture! Let the reader decide for himself.
These statements may at first sight appear incredible. It may be asked how a man could endure whippings which would destroy an ox or a horse. This is a very natural question, and but for the consciousness I feel of being supported in my statements by the universal testimony of old men-of-war’s-men, I should hesitate to publish them. Theworstspecies of this odious torture, however, remains to be described—flogging through the fleet.
This punishment is never inflicted without due trial and sentence by a court-martial, for some aggravated offence. After the offender is thus sentenced, and the day arrives appointed by his judges for its execution, the unhappy wretch is conducted into the ship’s launch—a large boat—which has been previously rigged up with poles and grating, to which he is seized up; he is attended by the ship’s surgeon, whose duty it is to decide when the power of nature’s endurance has been taxed to its utmost. A boat from every ship in the fleet is also present, each carrying one or two officers and two marines fully armed. These boats are connected by tow lines to the launch.
These preparations made, the crew of the victim’s ship are ordered to man the rigging, while the boatswain commences the tragedy. When he has administered one, two or three dozen lashes, according to the number of ships in the fleet, the prisoner’s shirt is thrown over his gory back; the boatswain returns on board, the hands are piped down, the drummer beats a mournful melody, called the rogue’s march, and the melancholy procession moves on. Arriving at the side of another ship, the brutal scene is repeated, until every crew in the fleet has witnessed it, and from one to three hundred lashes have lacerated the back of the broken-spirited tar to a bleeding pulp. He is then placed under the surgeon’s care, to be fitted for duty—a ruined man—broken in spirit! all sense of self-respectgone, forever gone! If he survive, it is only to be like his own brave bark, when winds and waves conspire to dash her on the pitiless strand, a wretched, hopeless wreck; a living, walking shadow of his former self. Shameful blot! most foul and disgraceful stain on the humanity of England! How long before this worse than barbarism will disappear before the mild influences of civilization and Christianity?
No plea of necessity can be successfully urged in behalf of whipping men; for, if subordination or faithful adhesion to orders is expected to follow such terrible examples, I know, from my acquaintance with the sufferers themselves, that the expectation is vain. One of two results always follows. The victim either lives on, a lone, dark-minded, broken-spirited man, despising himself and hating every one, because he thinks every one hates him; or he lives with one fearful, unyielding purpose; a purpose on which he feeds and nourishes his galled mind, as food affords life and energy to his physical constitution—that purpose isREVENGE. I have heard them swear—and the wild flashing eye, the darkly frowning brow, told how firm was that intent—that if ever they should be in battle, they would shoot their officers. I have seen them rejoice over the misfortunes of their persecutors, but more especially at their death. That it has frequently led to mutiny, is well verified. I have known such severity to result in actual murder. While we lay at Lisbon, a sergeant of marines, on board a seventy-four, made himself obnoxious by repeated acts of tyranny. Two marines determined upon his death. One night, unperceived by any, they seized him, hurried him to the gangway, and pitched him overboard. The tide was running strong; the man was drowned! But for themselves his fate would have remained a secret until the great day of judgment; it was discovered by an officer, who accidentally overheard them congratulating each other on their achievement. He betrayed them. A court-martial sentenced them. They were placed on deck with halters on their necks. Two guns were fired,and, when the smoke cleared away, two men were seen dangling from the foreyard-arm. Only one day previous, a letter had brought a discharge from the service for one of them. Poor fellow! it came too late. He was fated to a summary discharge from all service, in a manner appalling and repulsive to every finer human feeling.
Such are the actual consequences of severity of discipline on board men of war. Punishment leads to revenge; revenge to punishment. What is intended to cure, only aggravates the disease; the evil enlarges under the remedy;voluntarysubordination ceases; gloom overspreads the crew; fear fills the breasts of the officers; the ship becomes a miniature of the house of fiends. While, on the other hand, mild regulations, enforced without an appeal to brute force, are easily carried into operation. The sailor has a warm heart; show him personal kindness, treat him as a man, he will then be a man; he will do anything for akindofficer. He will peril his life for him; nay, he will cheerfully rush between him and danger. This was done at Tripoli, when the brave James[3]offered his own arm to receive the fell stroke of a Turkish scimitar, aimed at the life of the bold Decatur, on board the frigatePhiladelphia. Let naval officers, let all ship-masters, once fairly test the effect of kind treatment, and I am sure they will never desire to return to severity; unless, indeed, they are tyrants at heart, in which case, the sooner they lose their commands the better for their country; for no tyrant is truly brave or trustworthy. Cowardice and meanness lie curled up in the heart of every tyrant. He is too despicable, too unsafe to be trusted with the responsibilities of a naval command. Such, at least, is the opinion of an old sailor.
One of the greatest enemies to order and happiness in ships of war is drunkenness. To be drunk is considered by almost every sailor as theacmeof sensual bliss; while many fancy that swearingand drinking are necessary accomplishments in a genuine man-of-war’s-man. Hence it almost universally prevails. In our ship the men would get drunk, in defiance of every restriction. Were it not for the moral and physical ruin which follows its use, one might laugh at the various contrivances adopted to elude the vigilance of officers in their efforts to procure rum. Some of our men who belonged to the boats’ crews provided themselves with bladders; if left ashore by their officers a few moments, they would slip into the first grocery, fill their bladders, and return with the spoil. Once by the ship’s side, the favorable moment was seized to pass the interdicted bladders into the port-holes, to some watchful shipmate, by whom it was carefully secreted, to be drunk at the first opportunity. The liberty to go on shore, which is always granted while in port, was sure to be abused for drunken purposes. The Sabbath was also a day of sensuality. True, we sometimes had the semblance of religious services, when the men were summoned aft to hear the captain read the morning service from the church prayer-book; but usually it was observed more as a day of revelry than of worship. But at Christmas our ship presented a scene such as I had never imagined. The men were permitted to have their “full swing.” Drunkenness ruled the ship. Nearly every man, with most of the officers, was in a state of beastly intoxication at night. Here, some were fighting, but were so insensibly drunk, they hardly knew whether they struck the guns or their opponents; yonder, a party were singing libidinous or bacchanalian songs, while all were laughing, cursing, swearing or hallooing; confusion reigned in glorious triumph; it was the very chaos of humanity. Had we been at sea, a sudden gale of wind must have proved our destruction; had we been exposed to a sudden attack from an enemy’s vessel, we should have fallen an easy prey to the victor; just as the poor Hessians, at Trenton, fell before the well-timed blow of the sage Washington, during the war of the revolution.
Of all places, the labors of temperance men are most neededamong sailors; and I am glad to know that much has been accomplished among them already. From what Iknowof the sufferings and difficulties growing out of intemperance at sea, I most heartily desire to see a temperance flag floating at the mast-head of every ship in the world. When this is seen, sailors will be a happier class than ever they have yet been, from the time when the cautious Phenicians crept timidly round the shores of the Mediterranean, to the present day of bold and fearless navigation.