Shortly after the Christmas debauch, mentioned in the preceding
chapter, news was brought to the admiral that nine French
frigates were cruising on the Spanish coast: immediately, all was
excitement, bustle, preparation through the fleet. The _Hannibal_
and _Northumberland_, both seventy-four gun ships, the _Cæsar_ of
eighty guns, called by the sailors the Old Bull-dog, a gun brig, and
some others, I forget the names, and the _Macedonian_, were ordered
to sail in pursuit of the French. This formidable force dropped
down the river, every man composing it eagerly desiring to meet the
enemy. The enterprise however, was unsuccessful; after cruising in
vain for several days, the admiral signalled the fleet to return.
Before reaching port we fell in with a Scotch ship from Greenock,
in a most perilous condition; her masts and rudder were gone, while
her numerous leaks were fast gaining on the labors of the already
exhausted crew at the pumps. Finding it utterly impossible to save
the vessel, we took off the crew; and thus our cruise, though
defeated in its main design, proved the means of rescuing several
poor wretches from a watery grave. It is a question worthy of
consideration, whether this was not a really higher result than if
we had found and beaten the French, and had returned in a crippled
state, leaving some hundreds killed and wounded. Humanity would
answer, yea.
So far as the effects of this cruise concerned our own little
frigate, they were really quite serious. We were reefing topsails
one night, at sea, when the sailing-master, Mr. Lewis, in a fit of
ill-humor, threatened to flog some of the men. The captain overheard
him. Feeling himself hurt by this assumption of his own prerogative,
he told Mr. Lewis that he was captain in the ship, and it was his
business to flog the men. Sharp words followed; the captain was
exasperated; he ordered the sailing-master to be put in irons. Here,
however, he exceeded his own power, for, though he might place
the common sailor in irons, he might not do so by an officer with
impunity. Accordingly, when we reached Lisbon, a court-martial sat on
the case, which resulted in their both being broken or cashiered.
This was a hard blow for Lord Fitzroy, and he obviously felt it
most keenly. It also cut off my expectations of being elevated to
the quarter deck; for, although I had never received any direct
encouragement from his Lordship, yet I had always nourished the hope
that ultimately he would keep the promise he made to my mother,
and do something for my advancement. Now, however, my hopes were
destroyed. I was doomed to the forecastle for life.
Lord Fitzroy was succeeded by Captain Carson. He however, was soon
removed to make way for Captain Waldegrave, who proved to be far more
severe than Fitzroy. He and Lieutenant Hope were kindred spirits:
cruelty seemed to be their delight, for at the presence of culprits
tied to the gratings, a gleam of savage animation stole over their
faces. Punishment was now an almost every-day scene; even the boys
were not permitted to escape. A lad was appointed boatswain over
them, and they were consigned to the care of Mr. Hope, who took
especial delight in seeing them flogged. What a mean, dastardly
spirit for a British officer! How utterly contemptible he appears
engaged in whipping a few helpless sailor boys! Yet thus he did
constantly appear, causing them to be flogged for every trifling
offence. One poor little fellow, unable to tolerate the thought of
the lash, hid himself in the cable tier for several days. He was
discovered, only to be most shamefully punished.
These severities filled our crew with discouragement. A sailor
dreads the dishonor of the lash. Some, urged by a nice sense of
honor, have preferred death to its endurance. I have heard of one
man who actually loaded himself with shot and deliberately walked
overboard. Among our ship’s company the effects of these severe
measures showed themselves in frequent desertions, notwithstanding
the great risk run by such a bold measure; for, if taken, they were
sure to meet with a fearful retribution. Still, many preferred the
chance of freedom; some ran off when on shore with the boats, others
dropped overboard in the night, and either swam on shore or were
drowned. Many others were kept from running away by the strength of
their attachment to their old messmates and by the hope of better
days. Of those who escaped, some were retaken by the Portuguese,
who delighted to hunt them up for a small sum of money. Two of my
messmates, named Robert Bell and James Stokes, were taken in this
manner. I felt greatly affected at losing their company, for they
were pleasant fellows. I felt a peculiar attachment to poor Stokes;
he had taught me many things which appertain to seamanship, and had
cared for my interests with the faithfulness of a parent. O how
anxiously did I desire they might not be detected, because I knew,
if they were, that they were doomed men. But they were taken by a
band of armed Portuguese; barefooted, desponding, broken in spirit,
they were brought on board, only to be put in irons immediately. By a
fortunate chance they escaped with _fifty_ lashes, instead of being
flogged through the fleet.
We had another man who escaped, named Richard Suttonwood; he was very
profane, and was much in the habit of using the word “bloody;” hence
he was nicknamed “Bloody Dick” by his shipmates. Well, Dick ran off.
He succeeded in getting on board an English brig in the merchant
service. But how chop-fallen was poor Dick when he found that this
brig was laden with powder for his own frigate! Resolving to make the
best of the matter, he said nothing of his relation to our frigate,
but as soon as the brig dropped alongside of the _Macedonian_, he
came on board and surrendered himself; by this means he escaped
being flogged, as it was usual to pardon a runaway who voluntarily
returned to his duty. The crew were all delighted at his return, as
he was quite popular among them for his lively disposition and his
talents as a comic singer, which last gift is highly prized in a man
of war. So joyous were we all at his escape from punishment, that we
insisted on his giving a concert, which went off well. Seated on a
gun surrounded by scores of the men, he sung a variety of favorite
songs, amid the plaudits and _encores_ of his rough auditors.
By such means as these, sailors contrive to keep up their spirits
amidst constant causes of depression and misery. One is a good
singer, another can spin tough forecastle yarns, while a third can
crack a joke with sufficient point to call out roars of laughter. But
for these interludes, life in a man of war, with severe officers,
would be absolutely intolerable; mutiny or desertion would mark the
voyages of every such ship. Hence, officers in general highly value
your jolly, merry-making, don’t-care sort of seamen. They know the
effect of their influence in keeping away discontented thought from
the minds of a ship’s company. One of these official favorites paid
our frigate a visit while we lay in Lisbon. We had just finished
breakfast, when a number of our men were seen running in high glee
towards the main hatchway. Wondering what was going forward, I
watched their proceedings with a curious eye. The cause of their joy
soon appeared in the person of a short, round-faced, merry-looking
tar, who descended the hatchway amid cries of “Hurrah! here’s happy
Jack!” As soon as the jovial little man had set his foot on the berth
deck, he began a specimen of his vocal powers. The voice of song was
as triumphant on board the _Macedonian_, as it was in days of yore
in the halls of Ossian. Every voice was hushed, all work was brought
to a standstill, while the crew gathered round their favorite,
in groups, to listen to his unequalled performances. Happy Jack
succeeded, while his visit lasted, in communicating his own joyous
feelings to our people, and they parted from him at night with deep
regret.
A casual visitor in a man of war, beholding the song, the dance, the
revelry of the crew, might judge them to be happy. But I know that
these things are often resorted to, because they feel miserable,
just to drive away dull care. They do it on the same principle as
the slave population in the South, to drown in sensual gratification
the voice of misery that groans in the inner man--that lives within,
speaking of the indignity offered to its high nature by the chain
that eats beyond the flesh--discoursing of the rights of man, of
liberty on the free hills of a happier clime: while amidst the gayest
negro dance, not a heart among the laughing gang but would beat with
high emotions and seize the boon with indescribable avidity, should
it be offered its freedom on the spot. So in a man of war, where
severe discipline prevails, though cheerfulness smiles at times, it
is only the forced merriment of minds ill at ease; minds that would
gladly escape the thraldom of the hated service to which they are
bound.
Nor is this forced submission to circumstances universal. There are
individuals who cannot be reached by these pleasantries; in spite of
everything, their spirits will writhe under the gripe of merciless
authority. We had a melancholy instance of this species of mind on
board our frigate. His name was Hill, the ward-room steward. This
man came on board with a resolute purpose to give satisfaction, if
possible, to his superiors. He tried his utmost in vain. He was still
scolded and cursed, until his condition seemed unendurable. One
morning a boy entered the after ward-room, when the first object that
met his astonished eye was the body of the steward, all ghastly and
bleeding. He had cut his throat, and lay weltering in his gore. The
surgeon was called, who pronounced him to be yet alive. The wound was
sewed up, the poor sufferer carried to the hospital-ship, which was
in attendance on the fleet, where he recovered, to be returned to
his former ship, though in another and worse capacity, that of common
sailor.
We had on board a colored man whose name was Nugent, who possessed
a remarkably fine person, was very intelligent, exceedingly polite
in his manners, and easy in his address. He soon grew weary of the
caprices of our officers, and ran away. He was taken, however, in
rather a curious manner. The officers frequently walked the deck with
their spy-glasses. As one of them was spending a few leisure moments
in looking at the surrounding shipping, what should appear within
the field of his glass, but the person of the fugitive Nugent on the
deck of an American vessel! Upon this, a boat was despatched, which
soon returned with the crestfallen deserter, who was unceremoniously
thrown into irons. By some fortunate chance, however, he escaped a
flogging.
Of course, my situation was as unpleasant as that of any other
person on board. I could not witness the discomfort and ill-usage
of others, without trembling for my own back. I, too, had thoughts
of running away, as opportunities frequently offered themselves.
But, being ignorant of the Portuguese language, I wisely concluded
that my condition among them, if I got clear, would, in respect to
my present state, bear about the same analogy as the fire does to
the frying-pan. My little adventures on shore gave me full assurance
of this fact. I remember going ashore on Good Friday. Like good
Catholics, the Portuguese had the masts of their vessels crossed,
with effigies of the traitor Judas hanging very significantly at
their jib-booms. On shore, they were exhibiting the blasphemous
mimicry of the solemn scene of the crucifixion. One was bearing
the cross, another a sponge, a third the vinegar. The streets were
crowded with images of the saints, to which all reverently bowed.
Woe betide that sacrilegious wretch who refused this tribute to
their darling images. He _was_ sure of being knocked down; he was
_not_ sure of getting home alive. I was fain to yield my knees to
save my skull; so for the time I was as good a Catholic as any of
them, at least in the matter of bowing and crossing: it was done,
however, with true Protestant mental reservation, and with a sincere
determination to prefer my man-of-war’s life to a life in Portugal.
On another occasion, some of our officers took me on shore to help
them attend to some purchases. After following them a considerable
distance, they gave me a small commission to execute, with directions
to return to the ship as soon as it was attended to. This was no
easy task, however: they had conducted me to a strange part of the
city, and I knew scarcely a word of Portuguese. There I stood, then,
surrounded only by foreigners, who neither understood my language
nor I theirs. All I knew of my destination was, that our boat lay
near the Fish-market; so, for Fish-market I inquired. Speaking in
English, I asked the first man I met to direct me. He looked at me
with the empty stare of an idiot, and passed on. To the next, I said,
partly in broken Portuguese and partly in my own tongue, “John,”
(they call everybody John, whose true name they do not know,) “do
show me the fish-market.” He could not understand me; so, shrugging
his shoulders, he said, “No entender Englis,” and passed on. I asked
several others, but invariably received a shrug of the shoulder, a
shake of the head, and a “no entender Englis,” for an answer. I grew
desperate, and began to feel as if I had lost myself, when, to my
unutterable satisfaction, I saw an English soldier. I ran up to him
and said, “Good luck to you; do tell me where the fish-market is,
for these stupid Portuguese, bad luck to them, can’t understand a
word I say; but it is all, no entender Englis.” My countryman laughed
at seeing my English temper ruffled, and placed me in the way of
reaching the fish-market. I hurried thither, when, to my chagrin, the
boats were all gone. Here, then, was another difficulty; for, though
there were plenty of Portuguese boatmen, they could not understand
which ship I wished to reach. Here, however, my fingers did what my
tongue refused; our ship had its mainmast out, so, holding up two
fingers and pointing to the mast, they at last comprehended me and
conveyed me on board. Coming alongside, I gave them what I thought
was right; but they and I differed in opinion on that point; they
demanded more, with considerable bluster, but the sentry shouted,
“Shove off there!” and pointed his musket at them. Whether they
thought a reasonable fee, and a timely retreat, better than a contest
which might give them the taste of a musket-ball, I cannot determine;
at all events, I know that boat never left ship faster than theirs,
when they beheld the gleam of the sentry’s musket flashing in their
dark faces.
Just after this adventure, I came very near being flogged, to my
no small alarm. Happening on shore with two more of the officers’
servants, named Yates and Skinner, we stayed so late, the ship’s
boats had all gone off. Finding the boats gone, we strayed back into
the city; night came on, and our return until morning was impossible.
We had to wander about the city all night, in constant fear of
being apprehended by the Portuguese as deserters. To prevent this
no very desirable result, my comrades made me a midshipman; for the
satisfactory reason, that if an officer was supposed to be in our
company, no one would trouble us. The summary process by which I was
inducted into my new station, was by means of a stripe carefully
marked on my collar with a piece of chalk, to imitate the silver
lace on a middy’s coat. Thus exalted, I marched my company about
Lisbon until dawn, when I again found myself the self-same Samuel
Leech, servant to the surgeon of H. M. frigate _Macedonian_, that
I was the previous evening, with this additional fact, however, I
was now liable to be flogged. So, in the true spirit of a _Jeremy
Sneak_, we went on board, where, with due ceremony, we were parted
for separate examinations. What tale my fellow-wanderers invented, I
know not; for my own part, I told the truth of the matter, excepting
that I suppressed that part of it which related to my transformation
into an officer. Luckily for us all, one of the party was the first
lieutenant’s servant; if he flogged one, he must flog the whole. To
save the back of his own boy, he let us all escape.
We were now ordered on another cruise. Being in want of men, we
resorted to the press-gang which was made up of our most loyal men,
armed to the teeth; by their aid we obtained our full numbers. Among
them were a few Americans; they were taken without respect to their
protections, which were often taken from them and destroyed. Some
were released through the influence of the American consul; others,
less fortunate, were carried to sea, to their no small chagrin.[4]
The duties of the press-gang completed, we once more weighed anchor,
and were soon careering before the gales of the bay of Biscay. Our
reception in this proverbially stormy bay was by no means a civil
one. We met with an extraordinarily severe gale, in which we came
very near foundering. We had just finished dinner, when a tremendous
sea broke over us, pouring down the hatchway, sweeping the galley of
all its half-cooked contents, then being prepared for the officers’
dinner, and covering the berth deck with a perfect flood. It seemed
as if old Neptune really intended that wave to sink us to Davy Jones’
locker. As the water rolled from side to side within, and the rude
waves without beat against her, our good ship trembled from stem
to stern, and seemed like a human being gasping for breath in a
struggle with death. The women (there were several on board) set up
a shriek, a thing they had never done before; some of the men turned
pale; others cursed and tried to say witty things; the officers
started; orders ran along the ship to man the chain-pumps, and to cut
holes through the berth deck to let the water into the hold. These
orders being rapidly obeyed, the ship was freed from her danger. The
confusion of the moment was followed by laughing and pleasantries.
That gale was long spoken of as one of great danger.
It is strange that sailors, who see so much peril, should treat
religion with such neglect as it is usual for them to do. When danger
is imminent, they send up a cry for help; when it is past, they
rarely return a grateful thank-offering. Yet how truly and eloquently
has the Psalmist shown, in the 107th Psalm, what should be the moral
effect of the wonders of the deep. What but a deep-rooted spiritual
perversity prevents such an effect?
The next incident that disturbed the monotony of our sea-life, was of
a melancholy character. We had been giving chase to two West Indiamen
the whole of one Sabbath afternoon; at night it blew so hard we
had to reef top-sails; when a poor fellow, named John Thomson, was
knocked from the yard. In falling, he struck some part of the ship,
and the wave which opened to receive him, never disclosed his form
again. He was a pressed man, an American by birth, greatly beloved
by his messmates, by whom his death was as severely felt as when a
member of a family dies on shore. His loss created a dull and gloomy
atmosphere throughout the ship: it was several days before the hands
regained their wonted elasticity of mind and appearance.
My recollections of this cruise are very feeble and indistinct,
owing to a severe injury which confined me to my hammock nearly
the whole period. The accident which ended in a severe illness had
its origin in the following manner. The duty of cleaning knives,
plates, dish-covers, &c., for the ward-room, devolved alternately on
the boys employed in the ward-room. Having finished this task, one
day, in my regular turn, the ward-room steward, a little hot-headed
Malay, came to me at dinner-time to inquire for the knives. Not
recollecting for the moment, I made no reply; when he angrily pushed
me over a sack of bread. In falling my head came in contact with
the corner of a locker. Feeling much pain, and the blood flowing
freely, I went to Mr. Marsh, the surgeon’s mate, who dressed it,
and bade me take care of it. Probably it would have healed speedily
but for the freak of a sailor a few days after, while holy-stoning
the decks. By holy-stoning, I mean cleaning them with stones, which
are used for this purpose in men of war. These stones are, some of
them, large, with a ring at each end with a rope attached, by which
it is pulled backwards and forwards on the wet decks. These large
stones are called holy bibles; the smaller hand ones are also called
holy-stones, or prayer-books, their shape being something like a
book. After the decks are well rubbed with these stones, they are
wiped dry with swabs made of rope-yarns. By this means the utmost
cleanliness is preserved in the ship. It was customary in our ship,
during this scrubbing process, for the boys to wash themselves in
a large tub provided for the purpose on the main deck. The men
delighted in sousing us with water during this operation. After
being wounded, as just mentioned, I endeavored to avoid their briny
libations; but one morning, one of the sailors, seeing my anxiety,
crept slily up behind me, and emptied a pail of water directly
over my head. That night I began both to look and to feel sick. My
messmates said I was sea-sick, and laughed at me. Feeling violent
pains in my head, ears and neck, I felt relieved when it was time
to turn in. The next morning, being rather behind my usual time in
waiting upon the surgeon, he began to scold me. I told him I was
unwell. He felt my pulse, examined my tongue, and excused me. Growing
worse, my messmates got down my hammock. I entered it very sick; my
head and face swelling very large, and my eyes so sunken I could
scarcely see.
I remained in this sad situation several weeks, carefully attended by
the surgeon, and watched by the men as tenderly as their rough hands
could perform the office of nurse. My destiny was considered as being
sealed, both by the crew and by myself. I was much troubled at the
thought of dying: it seemed dark and dreary to enter the valley of
the shadow of death without the presence of a Saviour. To relieve my
feelings, I frequently repeated the Lord’s prayer, taught me by my
indulgent mother in my earlier and brighter years. But my mind was
dark and disconsolate; there were none among that kind-hearted but
profligate crew to point my soul to its proper rest.
While lying in this state, my life hanging in a doubtful balance, one
of the crew, named Black Tom, an African, was taken sick. His hammock
was hung up in the sick bay, a part of the main deck appropriated to
hospital purposes. Poor Tom, having a constitution already undermined
by former excesses, soon fell under the attack of disease. He was
then sewed up in his hammock, with some shot at his feet: at sundown
the ship’s bell pealed a melancholy note, the ship was “hove to,”
all hands mustered on deck, but myself; and, amid the most profound
silence, the body of the departed sailor was laid upon the grating
and launched into the great deep, the resting-place of many a bold
head. A plunge, a sudden opening in the water, followed by an equally
sudden return of the disparted waves, and Black Tom was gone forever
from his shipmates! In a few moments the yards were braced round, and
our frigate was cutting her way again through the wide ocean waste.
It seemed to me that she was soon destined to heave to again, that I
might also be consigned to an ocean grave. But in this I was happily
disappointed. By the blessing of a watchful Providence, the aid of
a sound constitution, assisted by the skill of our surgeon and the
kindness of my shipmates, I was at last able to leave my hammock.
Shortly after our return to Lisbon, I was pronounced fit for duty,
and the surgeon having obtained another boy, I was placed on the
quarter deck, in the capacity of messenger, or errand boy for the
captain and his officers.
With my return to active life, came my exposure to hardships, and,
what I dreaded still more, to punishment. Some of the boys were to be
punished on the main deck; the rest were ordered forward to witness
it, as usual. Being so far aft that I could not hear the summons,
as a matter of course, I remained at my post. The hawk-eye of the
lieutenant missed me, and in a rage he ordered me to be sent for to
receive a flogging for my absence. Excuse was vain; for, such was the
fiendish temper of this brutal officer, he only wanted the shadow of
a reason for dragging the poor helpless boys of his charge to the
grating. While I stood in trembling expectation of being degraded
by the hated cat, a summons from the captain providentially called
off our _brave_ boy-flogger, and I escaped. The _offence_ was never
mentioned afterwards. The reader can easily perceive how such a
constant exposure to the lash must embitter a seaman’s life.
Already, since the _Macedonian_ had been in commission, had she
changed captains twice. Why it so happened, it is not in my power
to explain; but while at Lisbon, after the cruise last mentioned,
our present captain was superseded by Captain John S. Carden. His
arrival excited a transitory hope of a brighter lot, as he was an
older man than the others, and, as we vainly trusted, a kinder one.
Here, however, we were mistaken; he was like all the rest, the same
heartless, unfeeling lover of whip discipline. At first the men under
sentence tried their powers at flattery with the grave old man; but
he was too experienced a sea-dog to be cajoled by a long-faced sailor
under sentence: when, therefore, they told him he was a kind-hearted
_fatherly_ gentleman, he only replied by a most provoking laugh, and
by saying they were a set of very undutiful sons.
Captain Carden was mercilessly severe in punishing theft. He would
on no account forgive any man for this crime, but would flog the
thief almost to death. Of this, we soon had a cruel instance. A
midshipman named Gale, a most rascally, unprincipled fellow, found
his pocket handkerchief in possession of one of the crew. He charged
the man with stealing it. It was in vain that the poor wretch
asserted that he found it under his hammock. He was reported as a
thief; a court-martial sat upon him, and returned the shamefully
disproportionate sentence of three hundred lashes through the fleet,
and one year’s imprisonment! Any of my shipmates who are living, will
certify to the truth of this statement, brutal and improbable as it
may appear.
Nor was that sentence a dead letter; the unhappy man endured it to
the letter. Fifty were laid on alongside of the _Macedonian_, in
conformity with a common practice of inflicting the most strokes
at the first ship, in order that the gory back of the criminal may
strike the more terror into the crews of the other ships. This poor
tortured man bore two hundred and twenty, and was pronounced by the
attending surgeon unfit to receive the rest. Galled, bruised, and
agonized as he was, he besought him to suffer the infliction of the
remaining eighty, that he might not be called to pass through the
degrading scene again; but this prayer was denied! He was brought on
board, and when his wounds were healed, the captain, Shylock-like,
determined to have the whole pound of flesh, ordered him to receive
the remainder.
But for my desire to present the reader with a true exhibition of
life on board a British man of war, it would be my choice to suppress
these disgusting details of cruelty and punishment. But this is
impossible; I must either draw a false picture or describe them. I
choose the latter, in the hope that giving publicity to these facts
will exert a favorable influence on the already improving discipline
of ships of war.
The case of our ship’s drummer will illustrate the hopelessness of
our situation under such officers as commanded our ship; it will
show that implicit, uncomplaining submission was our only resource.
This drummer, being seized up for some petty offence, demanded, what
no captain can refuse, to be tried by a court-martial; in the hope,
probably, of escaping altogether. The officers laughed among each
other, and when, a few days afterwards, the poor, affrighted man
offered to withdraw the demand and take six dozen lashes, they coolly
remarked, “The drummer is sick of his bargain.” He would have been
a wiser man had he never made it; for the court-martial sentenced
him to receive two hundred lashes through the fleet:--a punishment
ostensibly for his first offence, but really for his insolence (?) in
demanding a trial by court-martial. Such was the administration of
justice (?) on board the _Macedonian_.
“Why did not your crew rise in resistance to such cruelty?” is a
question which has often been proposed to me, when relating these
facts to my American friends. To talk of mutiny on shore is an easy
matter; but to excite it on shipboard is to rush on to certain death.
Let it be known that a man has dared to breathe the idea, and he is
sure to swing at the yard-arm. Some of our men once saw six mutineers
hanging at the yard-arm at once, in a ship whose crew exhibited
the incipient beginnings of mutiny. Let mutiny be successful, the
government will employ its whole force, if needful, in hunting
down the mutineers; their blood, to the last drop, is the terrible
retribution it demands for this offence. That demand is sure to be
met, as was the case with the crew of the _Hermione_[5] frigate, and
with the crew of the ill-fated _Bounty_, whose history is imprinted
on the memory of the whole civilized world. With such tragedies
flitting before our eyes, who need ask why we did not resist?
Just before we left Lisbon for another cruise, my position was
once more changed by my appointment to the post of servant to the
sailing-master; whose boy, for some offence or other, was flogged and
turned away. Here, too, the captain procured a fine band, composed
of Frenchmen, Italians and Germans, taken by the Portuguese from a
French vessel. These musicians consented to serve, on condition of
being excused from fighting, and on a pledge of exemption from being
flogged. They used to play to the captain during his dinner hour;
the party to be amused usually consisting of the captain and one
or two invited guests from the ward-room; except on Sundays, when
he chose to honor the ward-room with his august presence. The band
then played for the ward-room. They also played on deck whenever we
entered or left a port. On the whole, their presence was an advantage
to the crew, since their spirit-stirring strains served to spread
an occasional cheerful influence over them. Soon after they came on
board, we had orders to proceed to sea again on another cruise.
[Illustration: (Decorative Separator)]