Before we sought the decks of the _Macedonian_ we paid a short
visit to Wanstead, where we met with very pleasant reception, very
hospitable entertainment, very affectionate adieus. Returning to
London, we hired a boat and sailed down the Thames, on whose bosom
reposed the commerce of the world, to Gravesend, where we spent the
night. The next morning I experienced a new gratification, which
was nothing less than being arrayed in a complete suit of sailor
apparel; a tarpaulin hat, round blue jacket and wide pantaloons.
Never did young knight swell with loftier emotion when donning for
the first time his iron dress, than I did when in sea dress I trod
the streets of Gravesend. This had always been my highest ambition.
The gaudily dressed soldier never had charms for me; but a sailor,
how nice he looked! Well, here I stood, at last, in the often coveted
dress; it was the first luxury connected with my life at sea. Pity
that each successive step had not yielded me equal delight. But it
was mine to learn that anticipation and reality were not born twins;
that in fact there are scarcely any two existences so essentially
different in their characteristics. That I should not lack the means
of comfort, my good mother purchased me a chest of clothing, and, as
her last token of maternal care, presented me with a Bible, a prayer
book, and, strangely inconsistent companions, a pack of cards! Thus
equipped, we once more hired a boat and descended the river two miles
below Gravesend, where lay the _Macedonian_, in graceful majesty on
the sparkling waters.
The first guest we met on board was _disappointment_. From the
promises of Lord Fitzroy, we very strangely supposed that he felt
my importance nearly as much as did my mother or father. Judge then
how we felt, when we learned that no one knew anything in particular
about my veritable self; yet, as his Lordship was absent, they said
I might remain on board until his return. This was rather a damper
on my spirits, but flattering myself that all would be right on
his return, I soon rallied again, and, aided by the presence of my
mother, passed a very agreeable day.
Towards night, my mother left me; it scarcely need be said, she wept
when we parted. What mother would not? She did weep, she strained me
to her heart, and impressed affection’s purest kiss upon my cheek.
How like a dream that moment fled! Now, she held me in her arms; a
moment after, she was seated in the light boat and gliding along the
turbid Thames, on her homeward way. I leaned over the taffrail and
gazed on the departing boat, and when it disappeared, I turned away
and wept.
The morning after my arrival, I was put into a “mess.” The crew of
a man of war is divided into little communities of about eight,
called _messes_. These eat and drink together, and are, as it were,
so many families. The mess to which I was introduced, was composed
of your genuine, weather-beaten, old tars. But for one of its
members, it would have suited me very well; this one, a real gruff
old “bull-dog,” named Hudson, took into his head to hate me at first
sight. He treated me with so much abuse and unkindness, that my
messmates soon advised me to change my mess, a privilege which is
wisely allowed, and which tends very much to the good fellowship of a
ship’s crew; for if there are disagreeable men among them, they can
in this way be got rid of; it is no unfrequent case to find a few,
who have been spurned from all the messes in the ship, obliged to
mess by themselves.
This unkindness from the brutal Hudson rather chilled my enthusiasm.
The crew, too, by some means had an impression that my mother had
brought me on board to get rid of me, and therefore bestowed their
bitterest curses on her in the most profuse manner imaginable.
Swearing I had heard before, but never such as I heard there. Nor
was this all; in performing the work assigned me, which consisted in
helping the seamen take in provisions, powder, shot, etc., I felt
the insults and tyranny of the midshipmen. These little minions of
power ordered and drove me round like a dog, nor did I and the other
boys dare interpose a word. They were _officers_; their word was our
law, and woe betide the presumptuous boy that dared refuse implicit
obedience.
These things reminded me of what had been said to me of the hardships
of sea life in a man of war. I began to wish myself back in my
father’s house at Bladen. This, however, was impossible, and to add
to my discouragement they told me I was entered on the ship’s books
for life. Dreary prospect! I felt more than half disposed, as I went
to my tasks, to use the language of the Irishman, as sung by my
shipmates. Tempted and beguiled while intoxicated, he had enlisted
for a soldier, but found the sergeant at the _recruiting office_ and
the sergeant on the _drill-field_ very different personages. He is
hence made to say,
“It was early next morning to drill I was sent,
And its och to my soul! I began to lament;
Cannot you be aisy and let me alone?
Don’t you see I’ve got arms, legs, and feet of my own?”
But although somewhat grieved with my first experience of sailor
life, I secretly struggled against my feelings, and with the most
philosophic desperation resolved to make the best of my condition.
We were kept busily at work every day until the ship’s stores were
all on board, and our frigate was ready for sea. Then two hundred
more men, draughted from receiving ships, came on board, to complete
the number of our crew, which, after this addition, numbered full
three hundred men. The jocularity, pleasantry, humor and good feeling
that now prevailed on board our frigate, somewhat softened the
unpleasantness of my lot, and cultivated a feeling of reconciliation
to my circumstances. Various little friendships, which sprang up
between me and my shipmates, threw a gleam of gladness across my
path; a habit of attention, respect and obedience in a short time
secured me universal good will. I began to be tolerably satisfied.
Many boys complain of ill usage at sea. I know they are subjected to
it in many instances; yet, in most cases, they owe it to their own
boldness. A boy on shipboard, who is habitually saucy, will be kicked
and cuffed by all with whom he has to do; he will be made miserable.
The reason is, I imagine, that sailors, being treated as inferiors
themselves, love to find opportunity to act the _superior_ over some
one. They do this over the boys, and if they find a saucy, insolent
one, they show him no mercy. Permit me, then, to advise boys who go
to sea, to be civil and obliging to all; they will be amply repaid
for the effort it may cost them to make the trial, especially if they
gain the reputation, as I did, of being among the best boys in the
ship.
A vessel of war contains a little community of human beings,
isolated, for the time being, from the rest of mankind. This
community is governed by laws peculiar to itself; it is arranged and
divided in a manner suitable to its circumstances. Hence, when its
members first come together, each one is assigned his respective
station and duty. For every task, from getting up the anchor to
unbending the sails, aloft and below, at the mess-tub or in the
hammock, each task has its man, and each man his place. A ship
contains a set of human machinery, in which every man is a wheel, a
band, or a crank, all moving with wonderful regularity and precision
to the will of its machinist--the all-powerful captain.
The men are distributed in all parts of the vessel; those in the
tops are called fore-top-men, main-top-men, and mizzen-top-men,
with two captains to each top, one for each watch. These top-men
have to loose, take in, reef and furl the sails aloft, such as
the top-gallant sails, top-sails, top-gallant royal, and top-sail
studding-sails. Others are called forecastle men, waisters, and the
after-guard; these have to loose, tend, and furl the courses, that
is, the fore-sail, the main-sail and lower studding-sails; they
also have to set the jib, flying-jib, and spanker; the after-guard
have a special charge to coil up all ropes in the after part of
the ship. Others are called _scavengers_; these, as their not very
attractive name imports, have to sweep and pick up the dirt that
may chance to gather through the day, and throw it overboard.
Then come the boys, who are mostly employed as servants to the
officers. Our captain had a steward and a boy; these acted as his
domestic servants in his large and stately cabin, which, to meet
the ideas of landsmen, may be called his house. The lieutenants,
purser, surgeon, and sailing-master, had each a boy; they, together
with the two lieutenants of marines, who were waited upon by two
marines, form what is called the ward-room officers. The ward-room
is a large cabin, (I mean large for a ship, of course,) below the
captain’s, where they all mess together; aft of this cabin is a
smaller one, which serves as a species of store-room. Besides
these accommodations, every ward-room officer has his state-room,
containing his cot, wash-stand, writing-desk, clothes, etc. The
gunner, boatswain, and some others, are also allowed a boy; and a
man and boy are appointed to be the servants of a certain number of
midshipmen.
Another arrangement is that of forming the ship’s company into
watches. The captain, first lieutenant, surgeon, purser, boatswain,
gunner, carpenter, armorer, together with the stewards and boys, are
excused from belonging to them, but are liable to be called out to
take in sail; some of the last mentioned are called _idlers_. All
others are in watches, called the larboard and starboard watches.
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.”
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 John Bull’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-side
and 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 frigate
_Macedonian_: 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 in _irons_ all 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 was affixed 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 whip MEN on 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 the MAN. 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 the _Macedonian_, 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 more under 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 the _Macedonian_, Mr. Scott. He abhorred
flogging. Once, when a poor marine was under sentence, he plead
hard and successfully with 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 on the 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, the _Macedonian_ was 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 we
anchored. 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 themselves
_gentlemen_--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 courageous under
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, my _Lord_.”
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, gloating on 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. The
_worst_ species 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-respect gone, 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 is REVENGE. 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; _voluntary_ subordination 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 a _kind_ officer. 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 frigate _Philadelphia_. 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 the
_acme_ of sensual bliss; while many fancy that swearing and 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 needed among
sailors; and I am glad to know that much has been accomplished among
them already. From what I _know_ of 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.
[Illustration: (Decorative Separator)]