DIVERSITIES IN DISCIPLINE.
It was our fortune in the Leander to change captains very frequently;
and, as most of the plans of those officers were dissimilar, the
perplexity which such variations produced is not to be described.
Fortunately, however, there is so much uniformity in the routine
of naval discipline, that, in spite of any variety in the systems
established by a succession of commanding officers, things do somehow
contrive to run on to their final purpose pretty well. It is true
the interests of the service often suffer for a time, and in a small
degree; but public-spirited and vigilant officers know well how to
extract lasting profit even from the unsettled, revolutionary state of
affairs which is apt to occur at these periods. On the other hand, it
is at these times also that the class called skulkers most easily shirk
their duty, while those who really like their business, are even at the
time more certain of being favourably noticed than at any other moment;
because it becomes obvious, that, without them, things would not go
on at all. Although the variety of methods, therefore, introduced by
different captains in succession, is apt to distract and unhinge the
discipline, it likewise teaches much that is useful—at least to those
who are on the alert, and who wish to improve.
I was too young and inexperienced, at that time, to profit by these
repeated changes, as I might have done had I been duly aware that there
were so many advantages to be found in observing their effects. And it
is chiefly on this account that I mention the circumstance just now,
in order to recommend young men to avoid the very common practice, on
board ship, of despising all the plans introduced by the new officer,
and lauding to the skies the practices of the captain who has gone.
It is not such an easy affair, let me tell them, as they suppose, to
regulate the internal affairs of a ship—and, however clever they may
fancy themselves, they will find their best interest in trying, upon
these occasions, not so much to discover points of censure, as to
discover, and impress on their memory, topics of practical utility,
hints for the solution of future difficulties, and methods of turning
their own resources to professional account.
Even at this distance of time, and although most of the officers I
am now speaking of have long since been dead and gone, I still feel
that it would be a sort of disrespectful liberty in me, and perhaps
not very useful, to point out, with any minuteness of detail, those
particular points in their modes of management which struck me as
being faulty at the time, or which now seem worthy of commendation. I
shall merely mention a trait of character by which two of them were
contradistinguished from each other; and I do so the more readily, as
the example seems to contain a lesson nearly as applicable, perhaps,
to domestic matters, as to those of a stern profession like the navy.
Whenever one of these commanding officers came on board the ship, after
an absence of a day or two, and likewise when he made his periodical
round of the decks after breakfast, his constant habit was to cast
his eye about him, in order to discover what was wrong—to detect the
smallest thing that was out of its place—in a word, to find as many
grounds for censure as possible. This constituted, in his opinion, the
best preventive to neglect, on the part of those under his command; and
he acted in this crusty way on principle.
The attention of the other officer, on the contrary, appeared to
be directed chiefly to those points which he could approve of. For
instance, he would stop as he went along, from time to time, and say
to the first lieutenant, “Now, these ropes are very nicely arranged;
this mode of stowing the men’s bags and mess kids is just as I wish to
see it.” While the officer first described would not only pass by these
well-arranged things, which had cost hours of labour to put in order,
quite unnoticed, but would not be easy till his eye had caught hold of
some casual omission, which afforded an opening for disapprobation. One
of these captains would remark to the first lieutenant, as he walked
along, “How white and clean you have got the decks to-day! I think you
must have been at them all the morning, to have got them into such
order.” The other, in similar circumstances, but eager to find fault,
would say, even if the decks were as white and clean as drifted snow—“I
wish to Heaven, sir, you would teach these sweepers to clear away that
bundle of shakings!” pointing to a bit of rope yarn, not half an inch
long, left under the truck of a gun.
It seemed, in short, as if nothing was more vexatious to one of these
officers, than to discover things so correct as to afford him no good
opportunity for finding fault; while to the other, the necessity of
censuring really appeared a punishment to himself. Under the one,
accordingly, we all worked with cheerfulness, from a conviction that
nothing we did in a proper way would miss approbation. But our duty
under the other, being performed in fear, seldom went on with much
spirit. We had no personal satisfaction in doing things correctly,
from the certainty of getting no commendation. The great chance, also,
of being censured, even in those cases where we had laboured most
industriously to merit approbation, broke the spring of all generous
exertion, and, by teaching us to anticipate blame, as a matter of
course, defeated the very purpose of punishment when it fell upon us.
The case being quite hopeless, the chastisement seldom conduced either
to the amendment of an offender, or to the prevention of offences.
But what seemed the oddest thing of all was, that these men were both
as kind-hearted as could be, or, if there were any difference, the
fault-finder was the better natured, and in matters not professional
the more indulgent of the two. The line of conduct I have described
was purely a matter of official system, not at all of feeling. Yet,
as it then appeared, and still appears to me, nothing could be more
completely erroneous than the snarling method of the one, or more
decidedly calculated to do good, than the approving style of the other.
It has, in fact, always appeared to me an absurdity, to make any real
distinction between public and private matters in these respects. Nor
is there the smallest reason why the same principle of civility, or
consideration, or by whatever name that quality be called by which
the feelings of others are consulted, should not modify professional
intercourse quite as much as it does that of the freest society,
without any risk that the requisite strictness of discipline would be
hurt by an attention to good manners.
This desire of discovering that things are right, accompanied by a
sincere wish to express that approbation, are habits which, in almost
every situation in life, have the best possible effects in practice.
They are vastly more agreeable certainly to the superior himself,
whether he be the colonel of a regiment, the captain of a ship, or the
head of a house; for the mere act of approving, seldom fails to put a
man’s thoughts into that pleasant train which predisposes him to be
habitually pleased, and this frame of mind alone, essentially helps the
propagation of a similar cheerfulness amongst all those who are about
him. It requires, indeed, but a very little experience of soldiers or
sailors, children, servants, or any other kind of dependents, or even
of companions and superiors, to shew that this good-humour, on the part
of those whom we wish to influence, is the best possible coadjutor to
our schemes of management, whatever these may be.
The approving system is also, beyond all others, the most stimulating
and agreeable for the inferior to work under. Instead of depressing and
humiliating him, it has a constant tendency to make him think well of
himself, so long as he is usefully employed; and as soon as this point
is gained, but seldom before, he will be in a right frame of mind to
think well of others, and to look with hearty zeal to the execution
of his duty. All the burdens of labour are then lightened, by the
conviction that they are well directed; and, instead of his severest
tasks being distasteful, they may often, under the cheering eye of a
superior who shews himself anxious to commend what is right, become the
most substantial pleasures of his life.
I need scarcely dwell longer on this subject, by shewing that another
material advantage of the approving practice consists in the greater
certainty and better quality of the work done by willing hands,
compared to that which is crushed out of people by force. No man
understood this distinction better than Lord Nelson, who acted upon
it uniformly,—with what wonderful success we all know. Some one was
discussing this question with him one day, and pointing out the eminent
success which had attended the opposite plan, followed by another great
officer, Lord St. Vincent:—
“Very true,” said Lord Nelson; “but, in cases where he used a hatchet,
I took a penknife.”
After all, however, it is but too true, that, adopt what course we will
of commendations or other rewards, we must still call in punishments
to our assistance, from time to time. But there can be little doubt
that any well-regulated system of cheerfulness, and just approbation
of what is right, followed not from caprice, but as an express duty,
gives into our hands the means of correcting things which are wrong,
with greater effect, and at a much less cost of suffering, than if our
general habit were that of always finding fault. For it is obvious,
that when affairs are carried on upon the cheerful principle above
described, the mere act of withholding praise becomes a sharp censure
in itself—and this alone is sufficient to recommend its use. It doubles
the work done, by quickening the hands of the labourers—doubles the
happiness of all parties, both high and low—and it may also be said to
double our means of punishing with effect; for it superadds a class of
chastisements, dependent solely upon the interruption of favours, not
upon the infliction of actual pain. The practical application of these
rules to the ordinary course of naval discipline I shall probably have
frequent opportunities of shewing.
In the mean time, I shall merely remark, that in every situation in
life, perhaps without any exception, much of our happiness or misery,
as well as much of our success in the world, depends less upon the
circumstances about us, than upon the manner in which, as a matter of
habit and principle, we choose to view them. In almost every case there
is something to approve of, quite as distinct, if we wish to see it, as
there is of censure, though it may not otherwise be so conspicuous. It
will, of course, very often be quite necessary to reprobate, without
any sort of qualification, what passes before us; still, without in the
smallest degree compromising our sense of what is wrong, there will
always be a way—if there be a will—of expressing such sentiments that
shall not be unsuitable to the golden precept which recommends us to
take a cheerful view of things.
There is one practical maxim, trite, indeed, though too little acted
upon, but which bears so directly on this subject, that I wish
exceedingly to urge it upon the notice of my young friends, from its
being calculated to prove of much use to them in the business, as well
as the true pleasures of life. In dealing with other men—no matter what
their rank or station may be—we should consider not so much what they
deserve at our hands, as what course is most suitable for us to follow.
“My lord,” says Polonius to Hamlet, in speaking of the poor players, “I
will use them according to their desert.”
“Odd’s bodikin, man, much better!” is the answer of the judicious and
kind-hearted prince. “Use every man after his desert, and who shall
’scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity: the less
they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.”
Most people, however, reverse this beautiful maxim, which breathes the
very soul of practical charity, and study to behave to others in a
manner suitable to the desert of those persons, while they leave out of
the question entirely the propriety and dignity of their own conduct,
as if that were a minor, and not the primary consideration! Does not
this occur every time we lose our temper? At all events, the maxim
applies with peculiar force on board ship, where the character and
conduct of every officer are daily and hourly exposed to the searching
scrutiny of a great number of persons who have often little else to do
but watch the behaviour of one another.
It may safely be asserted, indeed, that in no instance whatsoever
can we exercise any permanent or useful influence over the opinions,
feelings, or conduct of others, unless in our intercourse with them we
demean ourselves in a manner suitable to our own station; and this,
in fact, which, in the long run, is the measure of all efficient
authority, is also the principal circumstance which gives one man
the ascendency over another, his equal in talents and information,
and whose opportunities are alike. It is probably to the same class
of things that one man owes his transcendent popularity and success
in society, while another, equally gifted, and enjoying similar
opportunities, is shunned or neglected. If we hear a person constantly
finding fault—however much reason he may have on his side—we take no
pleasure in his company. We soon discover, that if there be two things
presented to his view, one which may be made the subject of praise,
the other of censure, he will catch at the disagreeable point, and
dwell upon it, to the exclusion of that which is agreeable, although
the circumstances may not be such as to have required him to express
any comparative opinion at all. And as the taste for finding fault
unfortunately extends to every thing, small as well as great, constant
food is sure to be furnished, at every turn, to supply this disparaging
appetite. If the sky be bright and clear, the growler reminds you that
the streets are dirty under foot;—if the company be well selected,
the dinner good, the music choice, and all things gay and cheerful,
he forces upon your attention the closeness of the rooms, the awkward
dress of one of the party, or the want of tune in one of the strings of
the harp. In speaking of the qualities of a friend, your true snarler
is certain to pick out the faults, to dash the merits; and even when
talking of himself, he dwells with a morbid pleasure on his want of
success in society, his losses in fortune, and his scanty hopes of
doing any better in future. The sunshine of day is pale moonlight
to such a man. If he sees a Sir Joshua, it is sure to be faded;—the
composition and execution he takes care not to look at. If he hears of
a great warrior or statesman, whose exploits have won the applause of
the whole world, he qualifies the admiration by reference to some early
failure of the great man. In short, when we find ourselves in such a
person’s company, we feel certain that the bad side of every thing will
inevitably be exposed to us. And what is the result? Do we not shun
him? And if we should have the means of introducing him to others, or
of putting him into a situation to benefit himself and the public, are
we not shy of trusting him with a degree of power which he appears
determined shall not be productive of good?
The truth is, that by an involuntary process of the mind, we come to
judge of others, not nearly so much by direct examination as by means
of the reflected light which is sent back from the objects surrounding
them. If we observe, therefore, that a man’s general taste is to find
fault rather than to be pleased, we inevitably form the conclusion that
he is really not worth pleasing; and as he is not likely to gratify
others, we keep him, as much as we can, out of the way of those we
esteem.
In very many cases, however, probably in most cases, this temper
is merely a habit, and may, at bottom, often be quite unsuitable
to the real character. So much so, that if the opposite practice,
from whatever motive, be adopted by the same person, even where the
disposition may fundamentally not be good, the result will often be a
thousand times more amiable and useful, not only to the party himself,
but to all those with whom he has any dealings; and his companionship
will then be courted, instead of being shunned, as it had been before.
In the free and open world of busy life, men are generally made so
fully sensible, sooner or later, of the truth of these maxims, that few
of the growling tribe are ever known to advance far in life. But on
board ship, where the distinctions of rank are strongly marked, and the
measure of each man’s authority exactly determined by established laws
and usages, officers are frequently much too slow to discover that the
principles above adverted to are applicable to their own case; and thus
they sometimes fling away advantages of the highest price, which lie
easily within their reach, and adopt instead the cold, stern, and often
inefficient operations of mere technical discipline.
This very technical discipline, indeed, like any other machinery, is
admirable if well worked, but useless if its powers are misapplied. It
is not the mere elastic force of the steam that gives impulse to the
engine, but a due regulation of that elasticity. So it is with the use
of that mysterious, I had almost said magical sort of power, by which
the operations of moral discipline are carried on, especially at sea,
where the different component parts of the machine are so closely
fitted to one another, and made to act in such uniform order, that no
one part can go far wrong without deranging the whole.
I would fain, however, avoid narrowing the principle to any walk
of life, though its operation may be more obvious afloat than on
shore. And any young person, just setting out in the world, whatever
his profession be, will do well to recollect, that his own eventual
success, as well as happiness in the mean time, will mainly depend upon
his resolute determination to acquire the habit of being pleased with
what he meets, rather than of being sharp-sighted in the discovery of
what is disagreeable. I may add, that there is little or no danger of
the habit recommended degenerating into duplicity; for, in order to its
being either useful in the long run, or even agreeable at the moment,
its practice, like every thing else that is good, must be guided
throughout by sterling principle.