_Fal_.
Have you provided me here half a dozen sufficient men?
_Shal_.
Marry have we, sir.
_Fal_.
Let me see them, I beseech you.
_Shal_.
Where's the roll! where's the roll!
Let them appear as I call.
SHAKESPEARE.
As the reader will have a more intimate acquaintance with them
hereafter, I must now enter into some description of the characters of
the captain and officers, with whom our hero was fated to be a shipmate.
To begin with the captain, who has already made his appearance in the
course of these pages:--
Captain M--- was the son of a north-country gentleman--one of the
numerous class still existing in this world, who have inherited large
ideas and small fortunes. As usual, the latter were got rid of much
sooner than the former. The consequence was, that although young
M--- was an only son, it was considered advisable that he should be
brought up to some profession. The naval service was selected by
himself, and approved of by his father, who, although he had no money,
had some interest, that is to say, he had powerful and wealthy
connections, who, for their own sakes, rather than have to support their
young relation, would exert themselves to make him independent.
M--- rose to the rank of post-captain as fast as his friends could wish,
and did credit to their patronage. Having once obtained for him the
highest rank that the profession could offer, until he became an admiral
from seniority, they thought that they had done enough; and had it not
been that Captain M---, by his zeal and abilities, had secured a
personal interest at the Board, he might have languished on half-pay;
but his services were appreciated, and he was too good an officer not to
be employed. His father was dead, and the payment of debts which he had
contracted, and the purchase of an annuity for his mother, had swallowed
up almost all the prize-money which Captain M---, who had been very
successful, had realised; but he was single from choice, and frugal from
habit. His pay, and the interest of the small remains of prize-money in
the funds, were more than adequate to his wants. He was enthusiastic in
his profession, and had the bad taste to prefer a fine ship to a fine
lady.
Having entered the service at a later period than was usual, he had the
advantage of an excellent education, which being naturally of a serious
disposition, and fond of reading, he had very much improved by study.
As an officer he was a perfect master of his profession, both in theory
and practice, and was what is termed afloat, "all for the service."
Indeed, this feeling was so powerful in him, that, like Aaron's rod, it
swallowed up all the rest. If there was any blemish in his character,
it was in this point. Correct himself, he made no allowance for
indiscretion; inflexibly severe, but always just, he in no instance ever
spared himself, nor would he ever be persuaded to spare others. The
rules and regulations of the service, as laid down by the Board of
Admiralty, and the articles of war, were as rigidly observed by him, and
extracted from others, as if they had been added to the Decalogue; and
any deviation or neglect was sure to bring down reprimand or punishment
upon the offender, whether it happened to be the senior lieutenant, or
the smallest boy in the ship's company.
But, with all his severity, so determined was Captain M--- to be just,
that he never would exercise the power without due reflection. On one
occasion, in which the conduct of a sailor had been very offensive, the
first lieutenant observed that summary punishment would have a very
beneficial effect upon the ship's company in general. "Perhaps it
might, Mr H---," replied he; "but it is against a rule which I have
laid down, and from which I never deviate. Irritated as I am at this
moment with the man's conduct, I may perhaps consider it in a more
heinous light than it deserves, and be guilty of too great severity. I
am liable to error,--subject, as others, to be led away by the feelings
of the moment--and have therefore made a compact with myself never to
punish until twenty-four hours after the offence has been committed; and
so repeatedly, when at the time I have settled in my mind the quantum of
punishment that the offender should receive, have I found, upon
reflection, which delay has given time for, reasons to mitigate the
severity, that I wish, for the benefit of the service, that the
Admiralty would give a standing order to that effect."
Such was the character of Captain M---. It hardly need be added, after
the events already narrated of this history, that he was a man of
undaunted bravery. In his person he was tall, and rather slight in
figure. His features were regular, but there was a sternness in his
countenance, and lines of deep thought on his brow, which rendered the
expression unpleasing. It was only when he smiled that you would have
pronounced him handsome; then he was more than handsome, he was
fascinating.
Mr Bully, the first-lieutenant (who was the second-lieutenant in the
ship in the action with the French frigate), was an officer who well
understood his duty. He had the merit of implicitly obeying all orders;
and, considering the well-known fact, that a first lieutenant has always
sufficient cause to be put out of temper at least twenty times during
the twelve hours, he was as good-tempered as a first-lieutenant could
possibly be. He had entered the service when very young, and, being of
humble extraction, had not had any advantage of education. In person he
was short and thick-set, and having suffered severely from the small-pox
during his infancy, was by no means prepossessing in his outward
appearance.
The second-lieutenant, whose name was Price, was a good-looking young
man, who kept his watch and read Shakespeare. He was constantly
attempting to quote his favourite author; but, fortunately for those who
were not fond of quotations, his memory was very defective.
Mr Courtenay, the third-lieutenant, was a little, bilious-looking
personage, who, to use the master's phraseology, was never quite happy
unless he was damned miserable. He was full of misfortunes and
grievances, and always complaining or laughing, at his real or imaginary
disasters; but his complaint would often end in a laugh, or his mirth
terminate in a whine. You never could exactly say whether he was in
joke or in earnest. There was such a serio-comic humour about him that
one side of his countenance would express pleasure, while the other
indicated vexation. There seemed to be a perpetual war, in his
composition, of good-humour _versus_ bile, both of which were most
unaccountably blended in the same temperament.
According to seniority, Mr Pearce, the master, is the next to be
introduced to the reader: in external appearance, a rough, hard-headed
north-countryman; but, with an unpromising exterior, he was a man with
sense and feeling. He had every requisite for his situation: his nerves
were like a chain-cable; he was correct and zealous in his duty; and a
great favourite of the captain's, who was his countryman. He was about
fifty years of age, a married man, with a large family.
The surgeon, whose name was Macallan, was also most deservedly a great
favourite with Captain M---; indeed, there was a friendship between
them, grown out of long acquaintance with each other's worth,
inconsistent with, and unusual, in a service where the almost despotic
power of the superior renders the intimacy of the inferior similar to
the smoothing with your hand the paw of a lion, whose fangs, in a moment
of caprice, may be darted into your flesh. He was a slight-made, spare
man, of about thirty-five years of age, and had graduated and received
his diploma at Edinburgh,--an unusual circumstance at that period,
although the education in the service was so defective, that the medical
officers were generally the best informed in the ship. But he was more
than the above: he was a naturalist, a man of profound research, and
well informed upon most points--of an amiable and gentle disposition,
and a sincere Christian.
It would naturally be inferred that those whose profession it is to
investigate the human frame, and constantly have before their eyes the
truth that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, would be more inclined
than others to acknowledge the infinite wisdom and power. But this is
too often found not to be the case, and it would appear as if the old
scholium, that "too much familiarity breeds contempt," may be found to
act upon the human mind even when in communion with the Deity. With
what awe does the first acquaintance with death impress us! What a
thrill passes through the living, as it bends over the inanimate body,
from which the spirit has departed! The clay that returns to the dust
from which it sprung, the tenement that was lately endued with volition
and life, the frame that exhibited a perfection of mechanism, deriding
all human power, and confounding all human imagination, now an inanimate
mass, rapidly decomposing, and soon to become a heap of corruption.
Strong as the feeling is, how evanescent it becomes, when once
familiarised! It has no longer power over the senses, and the soldier
and sailor pillow themselves on the corpse with perfect indifference, if
not with a jest. So it is with those who are accustomed to post-mortem
arrangements, who wash and lay out the body previous to interment.
Yet, although we acknowledge that habit will remove the first
impressions of awe, how is it that the minute investigation upon which
conviction ought to be founded, should too often have the contrary
effect from that which it should produce? Is it because mystery, the
parent of awe, is in a certain degree removed?
Faith, says the apostle, is the evidence of things not seen. There
would be no merit in believing what is perfectly evident to the senses.
Yet some would argue that the evidence ought to be more clear and
palpable. If so, would not the awe be also removed, and would religion
gain by it? We have enough imparted to convince us that all is right;
and is not that which is hidden or secret purposely intended to produce
that awe, without which the proud mind of man would spurn at infinite
wisdom?
The above digression had nearly caused me to omit that Macallan had one
peculiar failing. His language, from long study, had been borrowed from
books, more than from men and when he entered upon his favourite science
of natural history, his enthusiasm made him more pedantic in his style
and pompous in his phraseology than ever. But who is perfect?
The purser, O'Keefe, was an elderly man, very careful of the pounds,
shillings, and pence. He was affected with an incurable deafness, which
he never thought proper to acknowledge, but catching at a word or two in
the sentence, would frame his answer accordingly, occasioning frequent
mirth to his mess-mates, whom he imagined were laughing with, and not at
him. For the present I shall pass over the rest of the officers, with
the exception of the boatswain, whose character was of a very peculiar
nature.
He was a man who had long been considered as one of the best boatswains
in the service, and had been applied for by Captain M---. He used his
cane with severity, but had always some jest at hand to soften down the
smart of the blow, and was very active in his own person, setting an
example to the men. It had, however, happened, that about a year before
he joined, Mr Hardsett had been induced by his wife to go with her to a
conventicle, which the rising sect of methodists had established at the
port where she resided; and whether it was that his former life smote
his conscience, or that the preacher was unusually powerful, he soon
became one of the most zealous of his converts. He read nothing but his
Bible, which employed all his leisure hours, and he was continually
quoting it in his conversation. But he was not exactly a methodist,
taking the cognomen in the worst or the best interpretation: he was an
enthusiast and a fanatic--notwithstanding which, he contrived that his
duty towards his Maker should not interfere with that of boatswain of
the ship. Captain M--- regretted the man's bigotry: but as he never
tried to make any converts, and did his duty in his situation, the
captain did not attempt to interfere with his religious opinions, the
more so, as he was convinced that Hardsett was sincere.
The _Aspasia_ was but a short time in harbour, for the captain was
anxious to add to the laurels which he had already won: and having
reported the ship ready for sea, received an order to proceed to the
West India station. The frigate was unmoored, the blue-peter hoisted,
and the fore-topsail loosened as the signal for departure: and after
lying a short time with her anchor "short stay apeak," Captain M--- came
on board, the anchor was run up to the bows, and once more the frigate
started, like an armed knight in search of battle and adventure.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and the tenants of the gun-room had
assembled to their repast. "Now all my misery is about to commence,"
cried Courtenay, as he took his seat at the gun-room table, on which the
dinner was smoking in all the variety of pea-soup, Irish stew, and
boiled mutton with caper sauce.
"Indeed!" said the master. "Pray, then, what is it that you have been
grumbling about, ever since you have joined the ship?"
"Psha! they were only petty vexations, but now we are at sea. I shall
be sea-sick. I am always obliged to throw off the accumulation of bile
whenever I go out of harbour."
"I say, doctor," replied Pearce, "can you stop up the leak in that
little gentleman's liver? He's not content to keep a hand-pump going to
get rid of his bile when in harbour, but it seems that he requires the
chain-pumps to be manned when he goes to sea."
"Chain-pumps!" exclaimed Courtenay, shuddering, and drawing back his
head with a grimace at the idea of such a forcible discharge, and then
looking round at his messmates with one of his serio-comic faces.
"Pumps! ay," said Price; "you remember Shakespeare in the `Tempest'--he
says--dear me,--I--"
"Come, Price," said Courtenay, "don't make me sick before my time,--it's
unkind. You don't know what an analogy there is between spouting and
sea-sickness. In both cases you throw up what is nauseous, because your
head or you stomach is too weak to retain it. Spare me, then, a
quotation, my dear fellow, till you see me in the agony of Nature
`aback,' and then one will be of service in assisting her efforts to
`box off.' I say, Billy Pitt, did you stow away the two jars of pickled
cabbage in my cabin?"
We must here break off the conversation to introduce this personage to
the reader. He was a black, who ran away, when quite a lad, from his
master at Barbadoes, and entered on board of a man-of-war. Macallan,
the surgeon, had taken a fancy to him, and he had been his servant for
some years, following him into different ships. He was a very
intelligent and singular character. Macallan had taught him to read and
write, and he was not a little proud of his acquirements. He was
excessively good-humoured, and a general favourite of the officers and
ship's company, who used to amuse themselves with his peculiarities, and
allow him a greater freedom than usual. But Billy's grand _forte_, in
his own opinion, was a lexicographer. He had a small Entick's
dictionary, which he always carried in his jacket-pocket, and nothing
gave him so much pleasure as any one referring to him for the meaning of
a hard word, which, although he could not always explain correctly, he
certainly did most readily. Moreover, he was, as may be supposed, very
fond of interlarding his conversation with high-sounding phraseology,
without much regard as to the context.
Although Billy Pitt was the doctor's servant, Courtenay, who had taken a
great fancy to him, used to employ him as his own, to which, as the
doctor was not a man who required much attendance himself, and was very
good-natured, no objection had been raised.