A QUARTER-DECK OFFICER BEFORE THE MAST.
As we were somewhat short-handed while we lay in Rio, we received a
small draft of men from a United States sloop of war, whose three
years’ term of service would expire about the time of our arrival in
America.
Under guard of an armed Lieutenant and four midshipmen, they came on
board in the afternoon. They were immediately mustered in the starboard
gangway, that Mr. Bridewell, our First Lieutenant, might take down
their names, and assign them their stations.
They stood in a mute and solemn row; the officer advanced, with his
memorandum-book and pencil.
My casual friend, Shakings, the holder, happened to be by at the time.
Touching my arm, he said, “White-Jacket, this here reminds me of
Sing-Sing, when a draft of fellows in darbies, came on from the State
Prison at Auburn for a change of scene like, you know!”
After taking down four or five names, Mr. Bridewell accosted the next
man, a rather good-looking person, but, from his haggard cheek and
sunken eye, he seemed to have been in the sad habit, all his life, of
sitting up rather late at night; and though all sailors do certainly
keep late hours enough—standing watches at midnight—yet there is no
small difference between keeping late hours at sea and keeping late
hours ashore.
“What’s your name?” asked the officer, of this rather rakish-looking
recruit.
“Mandeville, sir,” said the man, courteously touching his cap. “You
must remember me, sir,” he added, in a low, confidential tone,
strangely dashed with servility; “we sailed together once in the old
Macedonian, sir. I wore an epaulet then; we had the same state-room,
you know, sir. I’m your old chum, Mandeville, sir,” and he again
touched his cap.
“I remember an _officer_ by that name,” said the First Lieutenant,
emphatically, “and I know _you_, fellow. But I know you henceforth for
a common sailor. I can show no favouritism here. If you ever violate
the ship’s rules, you shall be flogged like any other seaman. I place
you in the fore-top; go forward to your duty.”
It seemed this Mandeville had entered the Navy when very young, and had
risen to be a lieutenant, as he said. But brandy had been his bane. One
night, when he had the deck of a line-of-battle ship, in the
Mediterranean, he was seized with a fit of mania-a-potu, and being out
of his senses for the time, went below and turned into his berth,
leaving the deck without a commanding officer. For this unpardonable
offence he was broken.
Having no fortune, and no other profession than the sea, upon his
disgrace he entered the merchant-service as a chief mate; but his love
of strong drink still pursuing him, he was again cashiered at sea, and
degraded before the mast by the Captain. After this, in a state of
intoxication, he re-entered the Navy at Pensacola as a common sailor.
But all these lessons, so biting-bitter to learn, could not cure him of
his sin. He had hardly been a week on board the Neversink, when he was
found intoxicated with smuggled spirits. They lashed him to the
gratings, and ignominiously scourged him under the eye of his old
friend and comrade, the First Lieutenant.
This took place while we lay in port, which reminds me of the
circumstance, that when punishment is about to be inflicted in harbour,
all strangers are ordered ashore; and the sentries at the side have it
in strict charge to waive off all boats drawing near.