A MAN-OF-WAR FULL AS A NUT.
It was necessary to supply the lost cooper’s place; accordingly, word
was passed for all who belonged to that calling to muster at the
main-mast, in order that one of them might be selected. Thirteen men
obeyed the summons—a circumstance illustrative of the fact that many
good handicrafts-men are lost to their trades and the world by serving
in men-of-war. Indeed, from a frigate’s crew might he culled out men of
all callings and vocations, from a backslidden parson to a broken-down
comedian. The Navy is the asylum for the perverse, the home of the
unfortunate. Here the sons of adversity meet the children of calamity,
and here the children of calamity meet the offspring of sin. Bankrupt
brokers, boot-blacks, blacklegs, and blacksmiths here assemble
together; and cast-away tinkers, watch-makers, quill-drivers, cobblers,
doctors, farmers, and lawyers compare past experiences and talk of old
times. Wrecked on a desert shore, a man-of-war’s crew could quickly
found an Alexandria by themselves, and fill it with all the things
which go to make up a capital.
Frequently, at one and the same time, you see every trade in operation
on the gun-deck—coopering, carpentering, tailoring, tinkering,
blacksmithing, rope-making, preaching, gambling, and fortune-telling.
In truth, a man-of-war is a city afloat, with long avenues set out with
guns instead of trees, and numerous shady lanes, courts, and by-ways.
The quarter-deck is a grand square, park, or parade ground, with a
great Pittsfield elm, in the shape of the main-mast, at one end, and
fronted at the other by the palace of the Commodore’s cabin.
Or, rather, a man-of-war is a lofty, walled, and garrisoned town, like
Quebec, where the thoroughfares and mostly ramparts, and peaceable
citizens meet armed sentries at every corner.
Or it is like the lodging-houses in Paris, turned upside down; the
first floor, or deck, being rented by a lord; the second, by a select
club of gentlemen; the third, by crowds of artisans; and the fourth, by
a whole rabble of common people.
For even thus is it in a frigate, where the commander has a whole cabin
to himself and the spar-deck, the lieutenants their ward-room
underneath, and the mass of sailors swing their hammocks under all.
And with its long rows of port-hole casements, each revealing the
muzzle of a cannon, a man-of-war resembles a three-story house in a
suspicions part of the town, with a basement of indefinite depth, and
ugly-looking fellows gazing out at the windows.