CHAPTER XLVI.
THE COMMODORE ON THE POOP, AND ONE OF "THE PEOPLE" UNDER THE HANDS OFTHE SURGEON.
A day or two after the publication of Lemsford's "Songs of the Sirens,"a sad accident befell a mess-mate of mine, one of the captains of themizzen-top. He was a fine little Scot, who, from the premature loss ofthe hair on the top of his head, always went by the name of _Baldy_.This baldness was no doubt, in great part, attributable to the samecause that early thins the locks of most man-of-war's-men--namely, thehard, unyielding, and ponderous man-of-war and navy-regulationtarpaulin hat, which, when new, is stiff enough to sit upon, andindeed, in lieu of his thumb, sometimes serves the common sailor for abench.
Now, there is nothing upon which the Commodore of a squadron moreprides himself than upon the celerity with which his men can handle thesails, and go through with all the evolutions pertaining thereto. Thisis especially manifested in harbour, when other vessels of his squadronare near, and perhaps the armed ships of rival nations.
Upon these occasions, surrounded by his post-captain sa-traps--each ofwhom in his own floating island is king--the Commodore domineers overall--emperor of the whole oaken archipelago; yea, magisterial andmagnificent as the Sultan of the Isles of Sooloo.
But, even as so potent an emperor and Caesar to boot as the great Donof Germany, Charles the Fifth, was used to divert himself in his dotageby watching the gyrations of the springs and cogs of a long row ofclocks, even so does an elderly Commodore while away his leisure inharbour, by what is called "_exercising guns_," and also "_exercisingyards and sails;_" causing the various spars of all the ships under hiscommand to be "braced," "topped," and "cock billed" in concert, whilethe Commodore himself sits, something like King Canute, on an arm-cheston the poop of his flag-ship.
But far more regal than any descendant of Charlemagne, more haughtythan any Mogul of the East, and almost mysterious and voiceless in hisauthority as the Great Spirit of the Five Nations, the Commodore deignsnot to verbalise his commands; they are imparted by signal.
And as for old Charles the Fifth, again, the gay-pranked, colouredsuits of cards were invented, to while away his dotage, even so,doubtless, must these pretty little signals of blue and red spotted_bunting_ have been devised to cheer the old age of all Commodores.
By the Commodore's side stands the signal-midshipman, with a sea-greenbag swung on his shoulder (as a sportsman bears his game-bag), thesignal-book in one hand, and the signal spy-glass in the other. As thissignal-book contains the Masonic signs and tokens of the navy, andwould there-fore be invaluable to an enemy, its binding is alwaysbordered with lead, so as to insure its sinking in case the ship shouldbe captured. Not the only book this, that might appropriately be boundin lead, though there be many where the author, and not the bookbinder,furnishes the metal.
As White-Jacket understands it, these signals consist ofvariously-coloured flags, each standing for a certain number. Say thereare ten flags, representing the cardinal numbers--the red flag, No. 1;the blue flag, No. 2; the green flag, No. 3, and so forth; then, bymounting the blue flag over the red, that would stand for No. 21: ifthe green flag were set underneath, it would then stand for 213. Howeasy, then, by endless transpositions, to multiply the various numbersthat may be exhibited at the mizzen-peak, even by only three or four ofthese flags.
To each number a particular meaning is applied. No. 100, for instance,may mean, "_Beat to quarters_." No. 150, "_All hands to grog_." No.2000, "_Strike top-gallant-yards_." No. 2110, "_See anything towindward?_" No. 2800, "_No_."
And as every man-of-war is furnished with a signal-book, where allthese things are set down in order, therefore, though two Americanfrigates--almost perfect strangers to each other--came from theopposite Poles, yet at a distance of more than a mile they could carryon a very liberal conversation in the air.
When several men-of-war of one nation lie at anchor in one port,forming a wide circle round their lord and master, the flag-ship, it isa very interesting sight to see them all obeying the Commodore'sorders, who meanwhile never opens his lips.
Thus was it with us in Rio, and hereby hangs the story of my poormessmate Bally.
One morning, in obedience to a signal from our flag-ship, the variousvessels belonging to the American squadron then in harboursimultaneously loosened their sails to dry. In the evening, the signalwas set to furl them. Upon such occasions, great rivalry exists betweenthe First Lieutenants of the different ships; they vie with each otherwho shall first have his sails stowed on the yards. And this rivalry isshared between all the officers of each vessel, who are respectivelyplaced over the different top-men; so that the main-mast is alleagerness to vanquish the fore-mast, and the mizzen-mast to vanquishthem both. Stimulated by the shouts of their officers, the sailorsthroughout the squadron exert themselves to the utmost.
"Aloft, topmen! lay out! furl!" cried the First Lieutenant of theNeversink.
At the word the men sprang into the rigging, and on all three mastswere soon climbing about the yards, in reckless haste, to execute theirorders.
Now, in furling top-sails or courses, the point of honour, and thehardest work, is in the _bunt_, or middle of the yard; this postbelongs to the first captain of the top.
"What are you 'bout there, mizzen-top-men?" roared the FirstLieutenant, through his trumpet. "D----n you, you are clumsy as Russianbears! don't you see the main--top-men are nearly off the yard? Bear ahand, bear a hand, or I'll stop your grog all round! You, Baldy! areyou going to sleep there in the bunt?"
While this was being said, poor Baldy--his hat off, his face streamingwith perspiration--was frantically exerting himself, piling up theponderous folds of canvas in the middle of the yard; ever and anonglancing at victorious Jack Chase, hard at work at themain-top-sail-yard before him.
At last, the sail being well piled up, Baldy jumped with both feet intothe _bunt_, holding on with one hand to the chain "_tie_," and in thatmanner was violently treading down the canvas, to pack it close.
"D----n you, Baldy, why don't you move, you crawling caterpillar;"roared the First Lieutenant.
Baldy brought his whole weight to bear on the rebellious sail, and inhis frenzied heedlessness let go his hold on the _tie_.
"You, Baldy! are you afraid of falling?" cried the First Lieutenant.
At that moment, with all his force, Baldy jumped down upon the sail;the _bunt gasket_ parted; and a dark form dropped through the air.Lighting upon the _top-rim_, it rolled off; and the next instant, witha horrid crash of all his bones, Baldy came, like a thunderbolt, uponthe deck.
Aboard of most large men-of-war there is a stout oaken platform, aboutfour feet square, on each side of the quarter-deck. You ascend to it bythree or four steps; on top, it is railed in at the sides, withhorizontal brass bars. It is called _the Horse Block;_ and there theofficer of the deck usually stands, in giving his orders at sea.
It was one of these horse blocks, now unoccupied, that broke poorBaldy's fall. He fell lengthwise across the brass bars, bending theminto elbows, and crushing the whole oaken platform, steps and all,right down to the deck in a thousand splinters.
He was picked up for dead, and carried below to the surgeon. His bonesseemed like those of a man broken on the wheel, and no one thought hewould survive the night. But with the surgeon's skillful treatment hesoon promised recovery. Surgeon Cuticle devoted all his science to thiscase.
A curious frame-work of wood was made for the maimed man; and placed inthis, with all his limbs stretched out, Baldy lay flat on the floor ofthe Sick-bay, for many weeks. Upon our arrival home, he was able tohobble ashore on crutches; but from a hale, hearty man, with bronzedcheeks, he was become a mere dislocated skeleton, white as foam; butere this, perhaps, his broken bones are healed and whole in the lastrepose of the man-of-war's-man.
Not many days after Baldy's accident in furling sails--in this samefrenzied manner, under the stimulus of a shouting officer--a seamanfell from the main-royal-yard of an English line-of-battle ship nearus, and buried
his ankle-bones in the deck, leaving two indentationsthere, as if scooped out by a carpenter's gouge.
The royal-yard forms a cross with the mast, and falling from that loftycross in a line-of-battle ship is almost like falling from the cross ofSt. Paul's; almost like falling as Lucifer from the well-spring ofmorning down to the Phlegethon of night.
In some cases, a man, hurled thus from a yard, has fallen upon his ownshipmates in the tops, and dragged them down with him to the samedestruction with himself.
Hardly ever will you hear of a man-of-war returning home after acruise, without the loss of some of her crew from aloft, whereassimilar accidents in the merchant service--considering the much greaternumber of men employed in it--are comparatively few.
Why mince the matter? The death of most of these man-of-war's-men liesat the door of the souls of those officers, who, while safely standingon deck themselves, scruple not to sacrifice an immortal man or two, inorder to show off the excelling discipline of the ship. And thus do_the people_ of the gun-deck suffer, that the Commodore on the poop maybe glorified.
White Jacket; Or, The World on a Man-of-War Page 49
