THE GREAT MASSACRE OF THE BEARDS.
The preceding chapter fitly paves the way for the present, wherein it
sadly befalls White-Jacket to chronicle a calamitous event, which
filled the Neversink with long lamentations, that echo through all her
decks and tops. After dwelling upon our redundant locks and
thrice-noble beards, fain would I cease, and let the sequel remain
undisclosed, but truth and fidelity forbid.
As I now deviously hover and lingeringly skirmish about the frontiers
of this melancholy recital, a feeling of sadness comes over me that I
cannot withstand. Such a heartless massacre of hair! Such a
Bartholomew’s Day and Sicilian Vespers of assassinated beards! Ah! who
would believe it! With intuitive sympathy I feel of my own brown beard
while I write, and thank my kind stars that each precious hair is for
ever beyond the reach of the ruthless barbers of a man-of-war!
It needs that this sad and most serious matter should be faithfully
detailed. Throughout the cruise, many of the officers had expressed
their abhorrence of the impunity with which the most extensive
plantations of hair were cultivated under their very noses; and they
frowned upon every beard with even greater dislike. They said it was
unseamanlike; not _ship-shape;_ in short, it was disgraceful to the
Navy. But as Captain Claret said nothing, and as the officers, of
themselves, had no authority to preach a crusade against whiskerandoes,
the Old Guard on the forecastle still complacently stroked their
beards, and the sweet youths of the After-guard still lovingly threaded
their fingers through their curls.
Perhaps the Captain’s generosity in thus far permitting our beards
sprung from the fact that he himself wore a small speck of a beard upon
his own imperial cheek; which if rumour said true, was to hide
something, as Plutarch relates of the Emperor Adrian. But, to do him
justice—as I always have done—the Captain’s beard did not exceed the
limits prescribed by the Navy Department.
According to a then recent ordinance at Washington, the beards of both
officers and seamen were to be accurately laid out and surveyed, and on
no account must come lower than the mouth, so as to correspond with the
Army standard—a regulation directly opposed to the theocratical law
laid down in the nineteenth chapter and twenty-seventh verse of
Leviticus, where it is expressly ordained, “_Thou shalt not mar the
corners of thy beard_.” But legislators do not always square their
statutes by those of the Bible.
At last, when we had crossed the Northern Tropic, and were standing up
to our guns at evening quarters, and when the setting sun, streaming in
at the port-holes, lit up every hair, till to an observer on the
quarter-deck, the two long, even lines of beards seemed one dense
grove; in that evil hour it must have been, that a cruel thought
entered into the heart of our Captain.
A pretty set of savages, thought he, am I taking home to America;
people will think them all catamounts and Turks. Besides, now that I
think of it, it’s against the law. It will never do. They must be
shaven and shorn—that’s flat.
There is no knowing, indeed, whether these were the very words in which
the Captain meditated that night; for it is yet a mooted point among
metaphysicians, whether we think in words or whether we think in
thoughts. But something like the above must have been the Captain’s
cogitations. At any rate, that very evening the ship’s company were
astounded by an extraordinary announcement made at the main-hatch-way
of the gun-deck, by the Boat-swain’s mate there stationed. He was
afterwards discovered to have been tipsy at the time.
“D’ye hear there, fore and aft? All you that have hair on your heads,
shave them off; and all you that have beards, trim ’em small!”
Shave off our Christian heads! And then, placing them between our
knees, trim small our worshipped beards! The Captain was mad.
But directly the Boatswain came rushing to the hatchway, and, after
soundly rating his tipsy mate, thundered forth a true version of the
order that had issued from the quarter-deck. As amended, it ran thus:
“D’ye hear there, fore and aft? All you that have long hair, cut it
short; and all you that have large whiskers, trim them down, according
to the Navy regulations.”
This was an amendment, to be sure; but what barbarity, after all! What!
not thirty days’ run from home, and lose our magnificent
homeward-bounders! The homeward-bounders we had been cultivating so
long! Lose them at one fell swoop? Were the vile barbers of the
gun-deck to reap our long, nodding harvests, and expose our innocent
chins to the chill air of the Yankee coast! And our viny locks! were
they also to be shorn? Was a grand sheep-shearing, such as they
annually have at Nantucket, to take place; and our ignoble barbers to
carry off the fleece?
Captain Claret! in cutting our beards and our hair, you cut us the
unkindest cut of all! Were we going into action, Captain Claret—going
to fight the foe with our hearts of flame and our arms of steel, then
would we gladly offer up our beards to the terrific God of War, and
_that_ we would account but a wise precaution against having them
tweaked by the foe. _Then_, Captain Claret, you would but be imitating
the example of Alexander, who had his Macedonians all shaven, that in
the hour of battle their beards might not be handles to the Persians.
But _now_, Captain Claret! when after our long, long cruise, we are
returning to our homes, tenderly stroking the fine tassels on our
chins; and thinking of father or mother, or sister or brother, or
daughter or son; to cut off our beards now—the very beards that were
frosted white off the pitch of Patagonia—_this_ is too bitterly bad,
Captain Claret! and, by Heaven, we will not submit. Train your guns
inboard, let the marines fix their bayonets, let the officers draw
their swords; we _will not_ let our beards be reaped—the last insult
inflicted upon a vanquished foe in the East!
Where are you, sheet-anchor-men! Captains of the tops! gunner’s mates!
mariners, all! Muster round the capstan your venerable beards, and
while you braid them together in token of brotherhood, cross hands and
swear that we will enact over again the mutiny of the Nore, and sooner
perish than yield up a hair!
The excitement was intense throughout that whole evening. Groups of
tens and twenties were scattered about all the decks, discussing the
mandate, and inveighing against its barbarous author. The long area of
the gun-deck was something like a populous street of brokers, when some
terrible commercial tidings have newly arrived. One and all, they
resolved not to succumb, and every man swore to stand by his beard and
his neighbour.
Twenty-four hours after—at the next evening quarters—the Captain’s eye
was observed to wander along the men at their guns—not a beard was
shaven!
When the drum beat the retreat, the Boatswain—now attended by all four
of his mates, to give additional solemnity to the announcement—repeated
the previous day’s order, and concluded by saying, that twenty-four
hours would be given for all to acquiesce.
But the second day passed, and at quarters, untouched, every beard
bristled on its chin. Forthwith Captain Claret summoned the midshipmen,
who, receiving his orders, hurried to the various divisions of the
guns, and communicated them to the Lieutenants respectively stationed
over divisions.
The officer commanding mine turned upon us, and said, “Men, if tomorrow
night I find any of you with long hair, or whiskers of a standard
violating the Navy regulations, the names of such offenders shall be
put down on the report.”
The affair had now assumed a most serious aspect. The Captain was in
earnest. The excitement increased ten-fold; and a great many of the
older seamen, exasperated to the uttermost, talked about _knocking of
duty_ till the obnoxious mandate was revoked. I thought it impossible
that they would seriously think of such a folly; but there is no
knowing what man-of-war’s-men will sometimes do, under
provocation—witness Parker and the Nore.
That same night, when the first watch was set, the men in a body drove
the two boatswain’s mates from their stations at the fore and main
hatchways, and unshipped the ladders; thus cutting off all
communication between the gun and spar decks, forward of the main-mast.
Mad Jack had the trumpet; and no sooner was this incipient mutiny
reported to him, than he jumped right down among the mob, and
fearlessly mingling with them, exclaimed, “What do you mean, men? don’t
be fools! This is no way to get what you want. Turn to, my lads, turn
to! Boatswain’s mate, ship that ladder! So! up you tumble, now, my
hearties! away you go!”
His gallant, off-handed, confident manner, recognising no attempt at
mutiny, operated upon the sailors like magic.
They _tumbled up_, as commanded; and for the rest of that night
contented themselves with privately fulminating their displeasure
against the Captain, and publicly emblazoning every anchor-button on
the coat of admired Mad jack.
Captain Claret happened to be taking a nap in his cabin at the moment
of the disturbance; and it was quelled so soon that he knew nothing of
it till it was officially reported to him. It was afterward rumoured
through the ship that he reprimanded Mad Jack for acting as he did. He
maintained that he should at once have summoned the marines, and
charged upon the “mutineers.” But if the sayings imputed to the Captain
were true, he nevertheless refrained from subsequently noticing the
disturbance, or attempting to seek out and punish the ringleaders. This
was but wise; for there are times when even the most potent governor
must wink at transgression in order to preserve the laws inviolate for
the future. And great care is to be taken, by timely management, to
avert an incontestable act of mutiny, and so prevent men from being
roused, by their own consciousness of transgression, into all the fury
of an unbounded insurrection. _Then_ for the time, both soldiers and
sailors are irresistible; as even the valour of Caesar was made to
know, and the prudence of Germanicus, when their legions rebelled. And
not all the concessions of Earl Spencer, as First lord of the
Admiralty, nor the threats and entreaties of Lord Bridport, the Admiral
of the Fleet—no, nor his gracious Majesty’s plenary pardon in
prospective, could prevail upon the Spithead mutineers (when at last
fairly lashed up to the mark) to succumb, until deserted by their own
mess-mates, and a handful was left in the breach.
Therefore, Mad Jack! you did right, and no one else could have
acquitted himself better. By your crafty simplicity, good-natured
daring, and off-handed air (as if nothing was happening) you perhaps
quelled a very serious affair in the bud, and prevented the disgrace to
the American Navy of a tragical mutiny, growing out of whiskers,
soap-suds, and razors. Think of it, if future historians should devote
a long chapter to the great _Rebellion of the Beards_ on board the
United States ship Neversink. Why, through all time thereafter, barbers
would cut down their spiralised poles, and substitute miniature
main-masts for the emblems of their calling.
And here is ample scope for some pregnant instruction, how that events
of vast magnitude in our man-of-war world may originate in the pettiest
of trifles. But that is an old theme; we waive it, and proceed.
On the morning following, though it was not a regular shaving day, the
gun-deck barbers were observed to have their shops open, their
match-tub accommodations in readiness, and their razors displayed. With
their brushes, raising a mighty lather in their tin pots, they stood
eyeing the passing throng of seamen, silently inviting them to walk in
and be served. In addition to their usual implements, they now
flourished at intervals a huge pair of sheep-shears, by way of more
forcibly reminding the men of the edict which that day must be obeyed,
or woe betide them.
For some hours the seamen paced to and fro in no very good humour,
vowing not to sacrifice a hair. Beforehand, they denounced that man who
should abase himself by compliance. But habituation to discipline is
magical; and ere long an old forecastle-man was discovered elevated
upon a match-tub, while, with a malicious grin, his barber—a fellow
who, from his merciless rasping, was called Blue-Skin—seized him by his
long beard, and at one fell stroke cut it off and tossed it out of the
port-hole behind him. This forecastle-man was ever afterwards known by
a significant title—in the main equivalent to that name of reproach
fastened upon that Athenian who, in Alexander’s time, previous to which
all the Greeks sported beards, first submitted to the deprivation of
his own. But, spite of all the contempt hurled on our forecastle-man,
so prudent an example was soon followed; presently all the barbers were
busy.
Sad sight! at which any one but a barber or a Tartar would have wept!
Beards three years old; _goatees_ that would have graced a Chamois of
the Alps; _imperials_ that Count D’Orsay would have envied; and
_love-curls_ and man-of-war ringlets that would have measured, inch for
inch, with the longest tresses of The Fair One with the Golden
Locks—all went by the board! Captain Claret! how can you rest in your
hammock! by this brown beard which now waves from my chin—the
illustrious successor to that first, young, vigorous beard I yielded to
your tyranny—by this manly beard, I swear, it was barbarous!
My noble captain, Jack Chase, was indignant. Not even all the special
favours he had received from Captain Claret, and the plenary pardon
extended to him for his desertion into the Peruvian service, could
restrain the expression of his feelings. But in his cooler moments,
Jack was a wise man; he at last deemed it but wisdom to succumb.
When he went to the barber he almost drew tears from his eyes. Seating
himself mournfully on the match-tub, he looked sideways, and said to
the barber, who was _slithering_ his sheep-shears in readiness to
begin: “My friend, I trust your scissors are consecrated. Let them not
touch this beard if they have yet to be dipped in holy water; beards
are sacred things, barber. Have you no feeling for beards, my friend?
think of it;” and mournfully he laid his deep-dyed, russet cheek upon
his hand. “Two summers have gone by since my chin has been reaped. I
was in Coquimbo then, on the Spanish Main; and when the husband-man was
sowing his Autumnal grain on the Vega, I started this blessed beard;
and when the vine-dressers were trimming their vines in the vineyards,
I first trimmed it to the sound of a flute. Ah! barber, have you no
heart? This beard has been caressed by the snow-white hand of the
lovely Tomasita of Tombez—the Castilian belle of all lower Peru. Think
of _that_, barber! I have worn it as an officer on the quarter-deck of
a Peruvian man-of-war. I have sported it at brilliant fandangoes in
Lima. I have been alow and aloft with it at sea. Yea, barber! it has
streamed like an Admiral’s pennant at the mast-head of this same
gallant frigate, the Neversink! Oh! barber, barber! it stabs me to the
heart.—Talk not of hauling down your ensigns and standards when
vanquished—what is _that_, barber! to striking the flag that Nature
herself has nailed to the mast!”
Here noble Jack’s feelings overcame him: he dropped from the animated
attitude into which his enthusiasm had momentarily transported him; his
proud head sunk upon his chest, and his long, sad beard almost grazed
the deck.
“Ay! trail your beards in grief and dishonour, oh crew of the
Neversink!” sighed Jack. “Barber, come closer—now, tell me, my friend,
have you obtained absolution for this deed you are about to commit? You
have not? Then, barber, I will absolve you; your hands shall be washed
of this sin; it is not you, but another; and though you are about to
shear off my manhood, yet, barber, I freely forgive you; kneel, kneel,
barber! that I may bless you, in token that I cherish no malice!”
So when this barber, who was the only tender-hearted one of his tribe,
had kneeled, been absolved, and then blessed, Jack gave up his beard
into his hands, and the barber, clipping it off with a sigh, held it
high aloft, and, parodying the style of the boatswain’s mates, cried
aloud, “D’ye hear, fore and aft? This is the beard of our matchless
Jack Chase, the noble captain of this frigate’s main-top!”