A MAN-OF-WAR BUTTON DIVIDES TWO BROTHERS.
The conduct of Mandeville, in claiming the acquaintance of the First
Lieutenant under such disreputable circumstances was strongly
contrasted by the behaviour of another person on board, placed for a
time in a somewhat similar situation.
Among the genteel youths of the after-guard was a lad of about sixteen,
a very handsome young fellow, with starry eyes, curly hair of a golden
colour, and a bright, sunshiny complexion: he must have been the son of
some goldsmith. He was one of the few sailors—not in the main-top—whom
I used to single out for occasional conversation. After several
friendly interviews he became quite frank, and communicated certain
portions of his history. There is some charm in the sea, which induces
most persons to be very communicative concerning themselves.
We had lain in Rio but a day, when I observed that this lad—whom I
shall here call Frank—wore an unwonted expression of sadness, mixed
with apprehension. I questioned him as to the cause, but he chose to
conceal it. Not three days after, he abruptly accosted me on the
gun-deck, where I happened to be taking a promenade.
“I can’t keep it to myself any more,” he said; “I must have a
confidant, or I shall go mad!”
“What is the matter?” said I, in alarm.
“Matter enough—look at this!” and he handed me a torn half sheet of an
old New York _Herald_, putting his finger upon a particular word in a
particular paragraph. It was the announcement of the sailing from the
Brooklyn Navy-yard of a United States store ship, with provisions for
the squadron in Rio. It was upon a particular name, in the list of
officers and midshipmen, that Frank’s fingers was placed.
“That is my own brother,” said he; “he must have got a reefer’s warrant
since I left home. Now, White-Jacket, what’s to be done? I have
calculated that the store ship may be expected here every day; my
brother will then see me—he an officer and I a miserable sailor that
any moment may be flogged at the gangway, before his very eyes.
Heavens! White-Jacket, what shall I do? Would you run? Do you think
there is any chance to desert? I won’t see him, by Heaven, with this
sailor’s frock on, and he with the anchor button!”
“Why, Frank,” said I, “I do not really see sufficient cause for this
fit you are in. Your brother is an of officer—very good; and you are
nothing but a sailor—but that is no disgrace. If he comes on board
here, go up to him, and take him by the hand; believe me, he will be
glad enough to see you!”
Frank started from his desponding attitude, and fixing his eyes full
upon mine, with clasped hands exclaimed, “White-Jacket, I have been
from home nearly three years; in that time I have never heard one word
from my family, and, though God knows how I love them, yet I swear to
you, that though my brother can tell me whether my sisters are still
alive, yet, rather than accost him in this _lined-frock_, I would go
ten centuries without hearing one syllable from home?”
Amazed at his earnestness, and hardly able to account for it
altogether, I stood silent a moment; then said, “Why, Frank, this
midshipman is your own brother, you say; now, do you really think that
your own flesh and blood is going to give himself airs over you, simply
because he sports large brass buttons on his coat? Never believe it. If
he does, he can be no brother, and ought to be hanged—that’s all!”
“Don’t say that again,” said Frank, resentfully; “my brother is a
noble-hearted fellow; I love him as I do myself. You don’t understand
me, White-Jacket; don’t you see, that when my brother arrives, he must
consort more or less with our chuckle-headed reefers on board here?
There’s that namby-pamby Miss Nancy of a white-face, Stribbles, who,
the other day, when Mad Jack’s back was turned, ordered me to hand him
the spy-glass, as if he were a Commodore. Do you suppose, now, I want
my brother to see me a lackey abroad here? By Heaven it is enough to
drive one distracted! What’s to be done?” he cried, fiercely.
Much more passed between us, but all my philosophy was in vain, and at
last Frank departed, his head hanging down in despondency.
For several days after, whenever the quarter-master reported a sail
entering the harbour, Frank was foremost in the rigging to observe it.
At length, one afternoon, a vessel drawing near was reported to be the
long-expected store ship. I looked round for Frank on the spar-deck,
but he was nowhere to be seen. He must have been below, gazing out of a
port-hole. The vessel was hailed from our poop, and came to anchor
within a biscuit’s toss of our batteries.
That evening I heard that Frank had ineffectually endeavoured to get
removed from his place as an oarsman in the First-Cutter—a boat which,
from its size, is generally employed with the launch in carrying
ship-stores. When I thought that, the very next day, perhaps, this boat
would be plying between the store ship and our frigate, I was at no
loss to account for Frank’s attempts to get rid of his oar, and felt
heartily grieved at their failure.
Next morning the bugler called away the First-Cutter’s crew, and Frank
entered the boat with his hat slouched over his eyes. Upon his return,
I was all eagerness to learn what had happened, and, as the
communication of his feelings was a grateful relief, he poured his
whole story into my ear.
It seemed that, with his comrades, he mounted the store ship’s side,
and hurried forward to the forecastle. Then, turning anxiously toward
the quarter-deck, he spied two midshipmen leaning against the bulwarks,
conversing. One was the officer of his boat—was the other his brother?
No; he was too tall—too large. Thank Heaven! it was not him. And
perhaps his brother had not sailed from home, after all; there might
have been some mistake. But suddenly the strange midshipman laughed
aloud, and that laugh Frank had heard a thousand times before. It was a
free, hearty laugh—a brother’s laugh; but it carried a pang to the
heart of poor Frank.
He was now ordered down to the main-deck to assist in removing the
stores. The boat being loaded, he was ordered into her, when, looking
toward the gangway, he perceived the two midshipmen lounging upon each
side of it, so that no one could pass them without brushing their
persons. But again pulling his hat over his eyes, Frank, darting
between them, gained his oar. “How my heart thumped,” he said, “when I
actually, felt him so near me; but I wouldn’t look at him—no! I’d have
died first!”
To Frank’s great relief, the store ship at last moved further up the
bay, and it fortunately happened that he saw no more of his brother
while in Rio; and while there, he never in any way made himself known
to him.