MATTHEW PERRY AS A MAN.
THE active life of Matthew Perry spanned the greater part of our
national history “before the war.” He lived to see the United States
grow from four to thirty-two millions of people, and the stars in her
flag from fifteen to thirty-one. He sailed in many seas, visited all the
nations of Christendom, saw most of the races of the earth, and all
flags except that of the stars and bars. He saw the rise and fall of
many types of naval architecture. He was familiar with the problems of
armor and ordnance, resistance and penetration, and had studied those
questions in the science of war, which are not yet settled. He had made
himself conversant with the arts auxiliary to his profession, and was
one of the foremost naval men of his generation. His personal importance
was far beyond his rank. He died fully abreast of his age, and looked
far beyond it. Had he lived until the opening of “the war,” he would
have been fully prepared, by alertness of mind, for the needs of the
hour, and would doubtless have held high rank. He was called to rest
from his labors before feeling the benumbing effects of old age. As it
was, his influence was clearly traceable in the navy, and younger
officers carried out his ideas into practice, when opportunity came. Had
the United States, at the opening of the rebellion possessed a
respectable modern navy, such as Perry labored for, the great southern
ports could have been at once sealed; and that foreign aid, without
which the Confederacy could not have lived six months, would have been
made null. Indeed, with a first-class navy, the slave-holder’s
conspiracy could never have been hatched. As it was, the navy kept off
foreign intervention.
Despite the long and brilliant succession of services rendered his
country, Matthew Perry never received either rank or reward beyond those
of an ordinary captain.
The rank of admiral was provided for in the Act of Congress of November
15th, 1776, and the title of admiral was conceded to Paul Jones in the
correspondence of the State Department. Yet although the original law,
creating the American navy, allowed the rank of captains in three grades
of commodore, vice-admiral and admiral, there was no legal title higher
than captain in the United States navy until 1862; until Farragut
hoisted his flag at the main peak of the _Hartford_ August 13th, 1862,
as senior rear-admiral; becoming, July 25th, 1866, admiral. In
compliment to his services Charles Stewart was commissioned senior
flag-officer, and at the time of Perry’s death, Stewart was senior to
himself. Yet if the title of admiral, prior to Farragut, belongs to any
American officer by virtue of largeness of fleets commanded, by
responsibility of position, or by results achieved, surely we may speak
as the Japanese did of “Admiral Perry.”
With most of his subordinate officers, Perry’s relations were of the
pleasantest nature compatible with his own high sense of duty and
discipline. If he erred, it was usually in the right direction.
Professor Henry Coppée, who was a young officer in the Mexican war,
writes, from memory, in 1882:—
“He (Perry) was a blunt, yet dignified man, heavy and not
graceful, something of a martinet; a duty man all over, held
somewhat in awe by the junior officers, and having little to do
with them; seriously courteous to others. The ship seemed to
have a sense of importance because he was on board.”
The same gentleman relates that once, upon going on board the flag-ship,
the midshipmen, with the intent of playing a practical joke, told him to
go to Commodore Perry and talk with him. They expected to see the
landsman gruffly repelled. The tables were turned, when the would-be
jokers saw “the old man” kindly welcome the young officer and engage in
genial conversation with him. “I remember,” adds Dr. Coppée, “years
afterwards when I heard of what he accomplished in Japan, saying to
myself, ‘Well, he is just the man of whom I should have expected it
all.’”
He had both the qualities necessary for war and for peaceful victory.
Though his conquests in war and in peace, in science and in diplomacy,
were great, the victory over himself was first, greatest and most
lasting. He always kept his word and spoke the truth.
“The Commodore was not a genial man socially. His strong characteristics
were self-reliance, earnestness of purpose and untiring industry, which
gave such impetus to his schemes as to attract and carry with them the
support of others long after they had passed out of his own hands. It
was the magnetic power of these qualities in the character of the man
that enlisted the services of others in behalf of his purposes, and not
any special amenities of manner or sympathies of temperament, that drew
them lovingly toward him. And yet, under this austere exterior, which
seemed intent only upon the performance of cold duty, as duty, he had a
kind and gentle nature that in domestic life was an ornament to him.
Never afraid of responsibility in matters of official duty, he was ever
on the alert to seek employment when others hesitated. He was bluff,
positive and stern on duty, and a terror to the ignorant and lazy, but
the faithful ones who performed their duties with intelligence and zeal
held him in the highest estimation, for they knew his kindness and
consideration of them.”[44]
He was not inclined to allow nonsense and cruel practical jokes among
the midshipmen, and could easily see when a verdant newcomer was being
imposed upon, or an old officer’s personal feelings hurt by thoughtless
youth. The father of a certain captain in the Mexican war, whose record
was highly honorable, was reputed to have handled the razor for a
livelihood. The young officers knowing or hearing of this, delighted
occasionally to slip fragments of combs, old razors, etc., under his
cabin door. Perry, angry at this, treated him with marked consideration.
He was far from being entirely deficient in humor, and often enjoyed fun
at the right time. At home, amid his children and friends, he enjoyed
making his children laugh. Being a fair player on the flute, he was an
adept in those lively tunes which kept the children in gleeful mood.
Even on the quarter-deck and in the cabin, he was merry enough _after_
his object had been attained. The usual tenor of his life was that of
expectancy and alertness to attain a purpose. Hence, the tense set of
his mind only occasionally relaxed to allow mirth. Captain Odell says,
“He was not a very jolly or joking man, but pleasant and agreeable in
his manners, and respected by all who had intercourse with him.” The
moral element of character, which is usually associated with habitual
seriousness in men who aspire to be founders, educators or leaders, was
very marked in Matthew Perry.
The impressions of a young person or subordinate officer, will, of
course, differ from those formed in later life, and from other points of
view. We give a few of both kinds:—
“His many excellent qualities of heart and head were encased in
a rough exterior. ‘I remember,’ says a daughter of Captain
Adams, ‘when I was a little girl at Sharon Springs, being
impressed by a singular directness of purpose in the man. I used
to like to watch him go into the crowded drawing-room. He would
stand at the door, survey the tangled scene, find his objective
point, and march straight to it over and through the confusion
of ladies, children and furniture, never stopping till he
reached there. He was a man of great personal bravery, as were
all the Perrys, of undoubted courage and gallantry, bluff in his
manners, but most hearty and warm in feelings, and with that
genuine kindness which impresses at the moment and leaves its
mark on the memory. Children instinctively liked the big and
bluff hero. As a friend he was most true and constant, and his
friendship was always to be relied on.’”
“Such was the vein and character of the man, that the impression
he made on my mind and affections was such as to make me
desirous of following him to the cannon’s mouth, or wherever the
fortunes of peace or war should appoint our steps.”[45]
“He was an intense navy man, always had the honor of the navy at
heart, and lost no opportunity to impress this feeling upon the
officers of his command.”[46]
“I have no unfavorable recollections of Commodore Perry. On the
contrary, I think he was one of the greatest of our naval
commanders. He had brains, courage, industry and rare powers of
judging character, and I believe he would not have spared his
own son had he been a delinquent. He seemed to have no favorites
but those who did their duty.”[47]
“I consider that Commodore Matthew C. Perry was one of the
finest officers we ever had in our navy—far superior to his
brother Oliver. He had not much ideality about him, but he had a
solid matter-of-fact way of doing things which pleased me
mightily. He was one of the last links connecting the old navy
with the new.”[48]
He seemed never idle for one moment of his life. When abroad, off duty
he was remembering those at home. He brought back birds, monkeys, pets
and curiosities for the children. He collected shells in great
quantities, and was especially careful to get rare and characteristic
specimens. With these, on his return home, he would enrich the museums
at Newport, Brooklyn, New York and other places.
As he never knew when to stop work, there were, of course, some under
his command who did not like him or his ways.
In the matter of _pecuniary responsibility_, Perry was excessively
sensitive, with a hatred of debt bordering on the morbid. This feeling
was partly because of his high ideal of what a naval officer ought to
be, and partly because he feared to do injustice to the humblest
creditor. He believed a naval officer, as a servant of the United States
Government, ought to be as chivalrous, as honest, as just and lovely in
character to a bootblack or a washerwoman as to a jewelled lady or a
titled nobleman. His manly independence began when a boy, and never
degenerated as he approached old age, despite the annoyances from the
law-suits brought upon him by his devotion to duty regardless of
personal consequences. He refused to accept the suggestion of assistance
from any individual, believing it was the Government’s business to
shield him.
In reply to an allusion, by a friend, when harassed by the lawsuit, to
the pecuniary assistance he might expect from a relative by marriage, he
replied, “I would dig a hole in the earth and bury myself in it, before
I would seek such assistance.”
He had a great horror of debt, of officers contracting debts without
considering their inability to pay them. He often lectured and warned
young officers about this important matter.
Under date of Nov. 16th, 1841, we find a long letter from him to Captain
Gregory of the _North Carolina_ concerning midshipmen’s debts. He blames
not so much “the boys” as Mr. D. (the purser), who indulged them, for “a
practice utterly at variance with official rectitude and propriety, and
alike ruinous to the prospects of the young officer.” He insists that
the middies must be kept to their duties and studies, and their
propensity to visit shore and engage in unsuitable expenses be
restrained.
In ordinary social life, and in council, Perry appeared at some
disadvantage. He often hesitated for the proper word, and could not
express himself with more than the average readiness of men who are not
trained conversers or public speakers. With the pen, however, he wrought
his purpose with ease and power. His voluminous correspondence in the
navy archives and in the cabinets of friends, show Matthew Perry a
master of English style. A faulty sentence, a slip in grammar, a
misspelling, is exceedingly rare in his manuscript. From boyhood he
studied Addison and other masters of English prose. In his younger days
especially, he exercised himself in reproducing with the pen what he had
read in print. He thus early gained a perspicuous, flowing style, to
which every page of his book on the Japan Expedition bears witness. Like
Cæsar, he wrote his commentaries in the third person. Perry himself is
the author of that classic in American exploration and diplomacy. Others
furnished preface, introduction, index, and notes, but Matthew Perry
wrote the narrative.[49]
He rarely wrote his name in full, his autograph in early life being
Matthew C. Perry; and later, almost invariably, M. C. Perry. In this he
affected the style neither of the fathers of the navy nor of the
republic, who abbreviated the first name and added a colon.
It was the belief of Matthew Perry that the Bible contained the will of
God to man, and furnished a manual of human duty. It was his fixed habit
to peruse this word of God daily. On every long cruise he began the
reading of the whole Bible in course.
Rear-Admiral Almy says: One pleasant Sunday afternoon in the month of
April, 1845, and on the way home by way of the West Indies, I was
officer of the deck of the frigate _Macedonian_, sailing along quietly
in a smooth sea in the tropics, nearing the land and a port. The
Commodore came upon deck, and towards me where I was standing, and
remarked: “I have just finished the Bible. I have read it through from
Genesis to Revelation. I make it a point to read it through every
cruise. It is certainly a remarkable book, a most wonderful book.” As he
uttered these words, the look-out aloft cried “Land O!” which diverted
his attention, perhaps, or he would have continued with further remarks.
“Perry,” writes another rear-admiral, “was a man of most exemplary
habits, though not perhaps a communicant of any church, and upright, and
full of pride of country and profession, with no patience or
consideration for officers who felt otherwise.”
Keenly enjoying the elements of worship in divine service, he was also a
student of the Book of Common Prayer. His own private copy of this
manual of devotion was well marked, showing his personal appreciation of
its literary and spiritual merits. Often, in the absence of a chaplain,
he read service himself. Of the burial service, he says it is “the
English language in its noblest form.”
He enjoyed good preaching, but never liked the sermon to be too long.
“The unskilled speaker,” says the Japanese proverb, “is long-winded.”
The parson was encouraged not to tire his hearers, or to cultivate the
gift of continuance to the wearing of the auditor’s flesh. In flagrant
cases, the Commodore usually made it a point to clear his usually
healthy throat so audibly that the hint was taken by the chaplain. In
his endeavor to be fair to both speaker and hearers, Perry had little
patience with either Jack Tar or Shoulder Straps who shirked the duty of
punctuality, or shocked propriety by making exit precede benediction.
When leave was taken, during sermon, with noise or confusion, the
unlucky wight usually heard of it afterwards. While at the Brooklyn Navy
Yard, Perry had the old chapel refurnished, secured a volunteer choir,
and a piano, and so gave his personal encouragement, that the room was
on most occasions taxed beyond its capacity with willing worshippers.
When in 1842, the ships fitted out at the yard were supplied with bibles
at the cost of the government, Perry wrote of his gratification: “The
mere cost of these books, fifty cents each, is nothing to the moral
effect which such an order will have in advancing the character of the
service.”
Perry manifested a reverence for the Lord’s Day which was sincere and
profound. He habitually kept Sunday as a day of rest and worship, for
himself and his men. Only under the dire pressure of necessity, would he
allow labor or battle to take place on that day. In the presence of
Africans, Mexicans and Japanese, of equals, or of races reckoned
inferior to our own, Perry was never ashamed or afraid to exemplify his
creed in this matter, or to deviate from the settled customs of his New
England ancestry. Japan to-day now owns and honors the day kept sacred
by the American commodore and squadron on their entrance in Yedo Bay.
With chaplains, the clerical members of the naval households, Perry’s
relations were those of sympathy, cordiality and appreciation. About the
opening of the century, chaplains were ranked as officers, and divine
service was made part of the routine of ship life on Sundays. The
average moral and intellectual grade of the men who drew pay, and were
rated as “chaplains” in the United States Navy, was not very high until
1825, when a new epoch began under the Honorable Samuel L. Southard.
This worthy Secretary of the Navy established the rule that none but
accredited ministers of the gospel, in cordial relations with some
ecclesiastical body, should be appointed naval chaplains. From this time
onward, with rare exceptions, those holding sacred office on board
American men-of-war have adorned and dignified their calling. Until the
time of Perry’s death, there had been about eighty chaplains
commissioned. With such men as Charles E. Stewart, Walter Colton, George
Jones, Edmund C. Bittenger, Fitch W. Taylor, Orville Dewey, and Mason
Noble,—whose literary fruits and fragrant memories still remain—Perry
always entertained the highest respect, and often manifested personal
regard. For those, however, in whom the clerical predominated over the
human, and mercenary greed over unselfish love of duty, or who made
pretensions to sacerdotal authority over intellectual freedom, or whose
characters fell below their professions, the feelings of the bluff
sailor were those of undisguised contempt.
We note the attitude of Perry toward the great enterprise founded on the
commission given by Jesus Christ to His apostles to make disciples of
all nations. Naval men, as a rule, do not heartily sympathize with
Christian missionaries. The causes of this alienation or indifference
are not far to seek, nor do they reflect much credit upon the naval
profession. Apart from moral considerations, the man of the deck, bred
in routine and precedent is not apt to take a wide view on any subject
that lies beyond his moral horizon. Nor does his association with the
men of his own race at the ports, in club or hong, tend to enlarge his
view. Nor, on the other hand, does the naval man always meet the shining
types of missionary character. Despite these facts, there are in the
navy of the United States many noble spirits, gentlemen of culture and
private morals, who are hearty friends of the American missionary.
Helpful and sympathetic with all who adorn a noble and unselfish
calling, they judge with charity those less brilliant in record or
winsome in person. Perry’s attitude was ever that of kindly sympathy
with the true missionary. With the very few who degraded their calling,
or to those who expected any honor beyond that which their private
character commanded, he was cool or even contemptuous. He had met and
personally honored many men and women who, in Africa, Greece, the
Turkish Empire, and China, make the American name so fragrant abroad. In
the ripeness of his experience, he took genuine pleasure in penning
these words: “Though a sailor from boyhood, yet I may be permitted to
feel some interest in the work of enlightening heathenism, and imparting
a knowledge of that revealed truth of God, which I fully believe
advances man’s progress here, and gives him his only safe ground of hope
for hereafter.[50] To Christianize a strange people, the first important
step should be to gain their confidence and respect by means practically
honest, and in every way consistent with the precepts of our holy
religion.” Of the Japanese people, he wrote: “Despite prejudice, their
past history and wrongs, they will in time listen with patience and
respectful attention to the teachings of our missionaries,” for they
are, as he considered, “in most respects, a refined and rational
people.”
How grandly Perry’s prophecy has been fulfilled, all may see in
Christian Japan of the year 1887.
-----
[44] Silas Bent, U. S. N.
[45] Rear-Admiral Joshua R. Sands, U. S. N.
[46] Rear-Admiral John Almy, U. S. N.
[47] Engineer John Follansbee.
[48] D. D. Porter, Admiral U. S. Navy.
[49] Rev. Dr. Vinton’s Oration at Perry Statue, Newport, Oct. 2nd, 1868.
Letters of Dr. Robert Tomes and John Hone, New York Times, October 1868.
[50] Paper read before the American Geographical Society, March 6th,
1856.