THEATRICALS IN A MAN-OF-WAR.
The Neversink had summered out her last Christmas on the Equator; she
was now destined to winter out the Fourth of July not very far from the
frigid latitudes of Cape Horn.
It is sometimes the custom in the American Navy to celebrate this
national holiday by doubling the allowance of spirits to the men; that
is, if the ship happen to be lying in harbour. The effects of this
patriotic plan may be easily imagined: the whole ship is converted into
a dram-shop; and the intoxicated sailors reel about, on all three
decks, singing, howling, and fighting. This is the time that, owing to
the relaxed discipline of the ship, old and almost forgotten quarrels
are revived, under the stimulus of drink; and, fencing themselves up
between the guns—so as to be sure of a clear space with at least three
walls—the combatants, two and two, fight out their hate, cribbed and
cabined like soldiers duelling in a sentry-box. In a word, scenes ensue
which would not for a single instant be tolerated by the officers upon
any other occasion. This is the time that the most venerable of
quarter-gunners and quarter-masters, together with the smallest
apprentice boys, and men never known to have been previously
intoxicated during the cruise—this is the time that they all roll
together in the same muddy trough of drunkenness.
In emulation of the potentates of the Middle Ages, some Captains
augment the din by authorising a grand jail-delivery of all the
prisoners who, on that auspicious Fourth of the month, may happen to be
confined in the ship’s prison—“_the brig_.”
But from scenes like these the Neversink was happily delivered. Besides
that she was now approaching a most perilous part of the ocean—which
would have made it madness to intoxicate the sailors—her complete
destitution of _grog_, even for ordinary consumption, was an obstacle
altogether insuperable, even had the Captain felt disposed to indulge
his man-of-war’s-men by the most copious libations.
For several days previous to the advent of the holiday, frequent
conferences were held on the gun-deck touching the melancholy prospects
before the ship.
“Too bad—too bad!” cried a top-man, “Think of it, shipmates—a Fourth of
July without grog!”
“I’ll hoist the Commodore’s pennant at half-mast that day,” sighed the
signal-quarter-master.
“And I’ll turn my best uniform jacket wrong side out, to keep company
with the pennant, old Ensign,” sympathetically responded an
after-guard’s-man.
“Ay, do!” cried a forecastle-man. “I could almost pipe my eye to think
on’t.”
“No grog on de day dat tried men’s souls!” blubbered Sunshine, the
galley-cook.
“Who would be a _Jankee_ now?” roared a Hollander of the fore-top, more
Dutch than sour-crout.
“Is this the _riglar_ fruits of liberty?” touchingly inquired an Irish
waister of an old Spanish sheet-anchor-man.
You will generally observe that, of all Americans, your foreign-born
citizens are the most patriotic—especially toward the Fourth of July.
But how could Captain Claret, the father of his crew, behold the grief
of his ocean children with indifference? He could not. Three days
before the anniversary—it still continuing very pleasant weather for
these latitudes—it was publicly announced that free permission was
given to the sailors to get up any sort of theatricals they desired,
wherewith to honour the Fourth.
Now, some weeks prior to the Neversink’s sailing from home—nearly three
years before the time here spoken of—some of the seamen had clubbed
together, and made up a considerable purse, for the purpose of
purchasing a theatrical outfit having in view to diversify the monotony
of lying in foreign harbours for weeks together, by an occasional
display on the boards—though if ever there w-as a continual theatre in
the world, playing by night and by day, and without intervals between
the acts, a man-of-war is that theatre, and her planks are the _boards_
indeed.
The sailors who originated this scheme had served in other American
frigates, where the privilege of having theatricals was allowed to the
crew. What was their chagrin, then, when, upon making an application to
the Captain, in a Peruvian harbour, for permission to present the
much-admired drama of “_The Ruffian Boy_,” under the Captain’s personal
patronage, that dignitary assured them that there were already enough
_ruffian boys_ on board, without conjuring up any more from the
green-room.
The theatrical outfit, therefore, was stowed down in the bottom of the
sailors’ bags, who little anticipated _then_ that it would ever be
dragged out while Captain Claret had the sway.
But immediately upon the announcement that the embargo was removed,
vigorous preparations were at once commenced to celebrate the Fourth
with unwonted spirit. The half-deck was set apart for the theatre, and
the signal-quarter-master was commanded to loan his flags to decorate
it in the most patriotic style.
As the stage-struck portion of the crew had frequently during the
cruise rehearsed portions of various plays, to while away the tedium of
the night-watches, they needed no long time now to perfect themselves
in their parts.
Accordingly, on the very next morning after the indulgence had been
granted by the Captain, the following written placard, presenting a
broadside of staring capitals, was found tacked against the main-mast
on the gun-deck. It was as if a Drury-Lane bill had been posted upon
the London Monument.
CAPE HORN THEATRE. * * * * * * * *
_Grand Celebration of the Fourth of July_. DAY
PERFORMANCE. UNCOMMON ATTRACTION. THE OLD WAGON PAID
OFF! JACK CHASE. . . . PERCY ROYAL-MAST. STARS OF
THE FIRST MAGNITUDE. _For this time only_. THE TRUE
YANKEE SAILOR. The managers of the Cape Horn Theatre
beg leave to inform the inhabitants of the Pacific
and Southern Oceans that, on the afternoon of the
Fourth of July, 184—, they will have the honour to
present the admired drama of
THE OLD WAGON PAID OFF! Commodore Bougee . . . .
_Tom Brown, of the Fore-top_. Captain Spy-glass . .
. . _Ned Brace, of the After-Guard_. Commodore’s
Cockswain. . . _Joe Bunk, of the Launch_. Old Luff .
. . . . . . _Quarter-master Coffin._ Mayor . .
. . . . . . _Seafull, of the Forecastle_. PERCY
ROYAL-MAST . . . . JACK CHASE. Mrs. Lovelorn .
. . . . _Long-locks, of the After-Guard_. Toddy
Moll . . . . . . _Frank Jones_. Gin and Sugar
Sall. . . . _Dick Dash_.
Sailors, Mariners, Bar-keepers, Crimps, Aldermen, Police-officer’s,
Soldiers, Landsmen generally. * * * * * * * * Long
live the Commodore! :: Admission Free. * * * * * *
* * To conclude with the much-admired song by Dibdin, altered to
suit all American Tars, entitled
THE TRUE YANKEE SAILOR. True Yankee Sailor (in
costume), Patrick Flinegan, Captain of the Head.
Performance to commence with “Hail Columbia,” by the Brass Band.
Ensign rises at three bells, P.M. No sailor permitted to enter in
his shirt-sleeves. Good order is expected to be maintained. The
Master-at-arms and Ship’s Corporals to be in attendance to keep the
peace.
At the earnest entreaties of the seamen, Lemsford, the gun-deck poet,
had been prevailed upon to draw up this bill. And upon this one
occasion his literary abilities were far from being underrated, even by
the least intellectual person on board. Nor must it be omitted that,
before the bill was placarded, Captain Claret, enacting the part of
censor and grand chamberlain ran over a manuscript copy of “_The Old
Wagon Paid Off_,” to see whether it contained anything calculated to
breed disaffection against lawful authority among the crew. He objected
to some parts, but in the end let them all pass.
The morning of The Fourth—most anxiously awaited—dawned clear and fair.
The breeze was steady; the air bracing cold; and one and all the
sailors anticipated a gleeful afternoon. And thus was falsified the
prophecies of certain old growlers averse to theatricals, who had
predicted a gale of wind that would squash all the arrangements of the
green-room.
As the men whose regular turns, at the time of the performance, would
come round to be stationed in the tops, and at the various halyards and
running ropes about the spar-deck, could not be permitted to partake in
the celebration, there accordingly ensued, during the morning, many
amusing scenes of tars who were anxious to procure substitutes at their
posts. Through the day, many anxious glances were cast to windward; but
the weather still promised fair.
At last _the people_ were piped to dinner; two bells struck; and soon
after, all who could be spared from their stations hurried to the
half-deck. The capstan bars were placed on shot-boxes, as at prayers on
Sundays, furnishing seats for the audience, while a low stage, rigged
by the carpenter’s gang, was built at one end of the open space. The
curtain was composed of a large ensign, and the bulwarks round about
were draperied with the flags of all nations. The ten or twelve members
of the brass band were ranged in a row at the foot of the stage, their
polished instruments in their hands, while the consequential Captain of
the Band himself was elevated upon a gun carriage.
At three bells precisely a group of ward-room officers emerged from the
after-hatchway, and seated themselves upon camp-stools, in a central
position, with the stars and stripes for a canopy. _That_ was the royal
box. The sailors looked round for the Commodore but neither Commodore
nor Captain honored _the people_ with their presence.
At the call of a bugle the band struck up _Hail Columbia_, the whole
audience keeping time, as at Drury Lane, when _God Save The King_ is
played after a great national victory.
At the discharge of a marine’s musket the curtain rose, and four
sailors, in the picturesque garb of Maltese mariners, staggered on the
stage in a feigned state of intoxication. The truthfulness of the
representation was much heightened by the roll of the ship.
“The Commodore,” “Old Luff,” “The Mayor,” and “Gin and Sugar Sall,”
were played to admiration, and received great applause. But at the
first appearance of that universal favourite, Jack Chase, in the
chivalric character of _Percy Royal-Mast_, the whole audience
simultaneously rose to their feet, and greeted hire with three hearty
cheers, that almost took the main-top-sail aback.
Matchless Jack, _in full fig_, bowed again and again, with true
quarter-deck grace and self possession; and when five or six untwisted
strands of rope and bunches of oakum were thrown to him, as substitutes
for bouquets, he took them one by one, and gallantly hung them from the
buttons of his jacket.
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!—go on! go on!—stop hollering—hurrah!—go
on!—stop hollering—hurrah!” was now heard on all sides, till at last,
seeing no end to the enthusiasm of his ardent admirers, Matchless Jack
stepped forward, and, with his lips moving in pantomime, plunged into
the thick of the part. Silence soon followed, but was fifty times
broken by uncontrollable bursts of applause. At length, when that
heart-thrilling scene came on, where Percy Royal-Mast rescues fifteen
oppressed sailors from the watch-house, in the teeth of a posse of
constables, the audience leaped to their feet, overturned the capstan
bars, and to a man hurled their hats on the stage in a delirium of
delight. Ah Jack, that was a ten-stroke indeed!
The commotion was now terrific; all discipline seemed gone for ever;
the Lieutenants ran in among the men, the Captain darted from his
cabin, and the Commodore nervously questioned the armed sentry at his
door as to what the deuce _the people_ were about. In the midst of all
this, the trumpet of the officer-of-the-deck, commanding the
top-gallant sails to be taken in, was almost completely drowned. A
black squall was coming down on the weather-bow, and the boat-swain’s
mates bellowed themselves hoarse at the main-hatchway. There is no
knowing what would have ensued, had not the bass drum suddenly been
heard, calling all hands to quarters, a summons not to be withstood.
The sailors pricked their ears at it, as horses at the sound of a
cracking whip, and confusedly stumbled up the ladders to their
stations. The next moment all was silent but the wind, howling like a
thousand devils in the cordage.
“Stand by to reef all three top-sails!—settle away the halyards!—haul
out—so: make fast!—aloft, top-men! and reef away!”
Thus, in storm and tempest terminated that day’s theatricals. But the
sailors never recovered from the disappointment of not having the
“_True Yankee Sailor_” sung by the Irish Captain of the Head.
And here White-jacket must moralize a bit. The unwonted spectacle of
the row of gun-room officers mingling with “the people” in applauding a
mere seaman like Jack Chase, filled me at the time with the most
pleasurable emotions. It is a sweet thing, thought I, to see these
officers confess a human brotherhood with us, after all; a sweet thing
to mark their cordial appreciation of the manly merits of my matchless
Jack. Ah! they are noble fellows all round, and I do not know but I
have wronged them sometimes in my thoughts.
Nor was it without similar pleasurable feelings that I witnessed the
temporary rupture of the ship’s stern discipline, consequent upon the
tumult of the theatricals. I thought to myself, this now is as it
should be. It is good to shake off, now and then, this iron yoke round
our necks. And after having once permitted us sailors to be a little
noisy, in a harmless way—somewhat merrily turbulent—the officers
cannot, with any good grace, be so excessively stern and unyielding as
before. I began to think a man-of-war a man-of-peace-and-good-will,
after all. But, alas! disappointment came.
Next morning the same old scene was enacted at the gang-way. And
beholding the row of uncompromising-looking-officers there assembled
with the Captain, to witness punishment—the same officers who had been
so cheerfully disposed over night—an old sailor touched my shoulder and
said, “See, White-Jacket, all round they have _shipped their
quarter-deck faces again_. But this is the way.”
I afterward learned that this was an old man-of-war’s-man’s phrase,
expressive of the facility with which a sea-officer falls back upon all
the severity of his dignity, after a temporary suspension of it.