White Jacket; Or, The World on a Man-of-War

by Herman Melville

  CHAPTER LXXIV.

  THE MAIN-TOP AT NIGHT.

  The whole of our run from Rio to the Line was one delightful yachting,so far as fine weather and the ship's sailing were concerned. It wasespecially pleasant when our quarter-watch lounged in the main-top,diverting ourselves in many agreeable ways. Removed from the immediatepresence of the officers, we there harmlessly enjoyed ourselves, morethan in any other part of the ship. By day, many of us were veryindustrious, making hats or mending our clothes. But by night we becamemore romantically inclined.

  Often Jack Chase, an enthusiastic admirer of sea-scenery, would directour attention to the moonlight on the waves, by fine snatches from hiscatalogue of poets. I shall never forget the lyric air with which, onemorning, at dawn of day, when all the East was flushed with red andgold, he stood leaning against the top-mast shrouds, and stretching hisbold hand over the sea, exclaimed, "Here comes Aurora: top-mates, see!"And, in a liquid, long-lingering tone, he recited the lines,

  "With gentle hand, as seeming oft to pause, The purple curtains of the morn she draws."

  "Commodore Camoens, White-Jacket.--But bear a hand there; we must rigout that stun'-sail boom--the wind is shifting."

  From our lofty perch, of a moonlight night, the frigate itself was aglorious sight. She was going large before the wind, her stun'-sailsset on both sides, so that the canvas on the main-mast and fore-mastpresented the appearance of majestic, tapering pyramids, more than ahundred feet broad at the base, and terminating in the clouds with thelight copestone of the royals. That immense area of snow-white canvassliding along the sea was indeed a magnificent spectacle. The threeshrouded masts looked like the apparitions of three gigantic TurkishEmirs striding over the ocean.

  Nor, at times, was the sound of music wanting, to augment the poetry ofthe scene. The whole band would be assembled on the poop, regaling theofficers, and incidentally ourselves, with their fine old airs. Tothese, some of us would occasionally dance in the _top_, which wasalmost as large as an ordinary sized parlour. When the instrumentalmelody of the band was not to be had, our nightingales mustered theirvoices, and gave us a song.

  Upon these occasions Jack Chase was often called out, and regaled us,in his own free and noble style, with the "_Spanish Ladies_"--afavourite thing with British man-of-war's-men--and many other salt-seaballads and ditties, including,

  "Sir Patrick Spens was the best sailor That ever sailed the sea."

  also,

  "And three times around spun our gallant ship; Three times around spun she; Three times around spun our gallant ship, And she went to the bottom of the sea-- The sea, the sea, the sea, And she went to the bottom of the sea!"

  These songs would be varied by sundry _yarns_ and _twisters_ of thetop-men. And it was at these times that I always endeavoured to drawout the oldest Tritons into narratives of the war-service they hadseen. There were but few of them, it is true, who had been in action;but that only made their narratives the more valuable.

  There was an old negro, who went by the name of Tawney, asheet-anchor-man, whom we often invited into our top of tranquilnights, to hear him discourse. He was a staid and sober seaman, veryintelligent, with a fine, frank bearing, one of the best men in theship, and held in high estimation by every one.

  It seems that, during the last war between England and America, he had,with several others, been "impressed" upon the high seas, out of a NewEngland merchantman. The ship that impressed him was an Englishfrigate, the Macedonian, afterward taken by the Neversink, the ship inwhich we were sailing.

  It was the holy Sabbath, according to Tawney, and, as the Briton boredown on the American--her men at their quarters--Tawney and hiscountrymen, who happened to be stationed at the quarter-deck battery,respectfully accosted the captain--an old man by the name of Cardan--ashe passed them, in his rapid promenade, his spy-glass under his arm.Again they assured him that they were not Englishmen, and that it was amost bitter thing to lift their hands against the flag of that countrywhich harboured the mothers that bore them. They conjured him torelease them from their guns, and allow them to remain neutral duringthe conflict. But when a ship of any nation is running into action, itis no time for argument, small time for justice, and not much time forhumanity. Snatching a pistol from the belt of a boarder standing by,the Captain levelled it at the heads of the three sailors, andcommanded them instantly to their quarters, under penalty of being shoton the spot. So, side by side with his country's foes, Tawney and hiscompanions toiled at the guns, and fought out the fight to the last;with the exception of one of them, who was killed at his post by one ofhis own country's balls.

  At length, having lost her fore and main-top-masts, and her mizzen-masthaving been shot away to the deck, and her fore-yard lying in twopieces on her shattered forecastle, and in a hundred places having been_hulled_ with round shot, the English frigate was reduced to the lastextremity. Captain Cardan ordered his signal quarter-master to strikethe flag.

  Tawney was one of those who, at last, helped pull him on board theNeversink. As he touched the deck, Cardan saluted Decatur, the hostilecommander, and offered his sword; but it was courteously declined.Perhaps the victor remembered the dinner parties that he and theEnglishman had enjoyed together in Norfolk, just previous to thebreaking out of hostilities--and while both were in command of the veryfrigates now crippled on the sea. The Macedonian, it seems, had goneinto Norfolk with dispatches. _Then_ they had laughed and joked overtheir wine, and a wager of a beaver hat was said to have been madebetween them upon the event of the hostile meeting of their ships.

  Gazing upon the heavy batteries before him, Cardan said to Decatur,"This is a seventy-four, not a frigate; no wonder the day is yours!"

  This remark was founded upon the Neversink's superiority in guns. TheNeversink's main-deck-batteries then consisted, as now, oftwenty-four-pounders; the Macedonian's of only eighteens. In all, theNeversink numbered fifty-four guns and four hundred and fifty men; theMacedonian, forty-nine guns and three hundred men; a very greatdisparity, which, united to the other circumstances of this action,deprives the victory of all claims to glory beyond those that might beset up by a river-horse getting the better of a seal.

  But if Tawney spoke truth--and he was a truth-telling man this factseemed counterbalanced by a circumstance he related. When the guns ofthe Englishman were examined, after the engagement, in more than oneinstance the wad was found rammed against the cartridge, withoutintercepting the ball. And though, in a frantic sea-fight, such a thingmight be imputed to hurry and remissness, yet Tawney, a stickler forhis tribe, always ascribed it to quite a different and less honourablecause. But, even granting the cause he assigned to have been the trueone, it does not involve anything inimical to the general valourdisplayed by the British crew. Yet, from all that may be learned fromcandid persons who have been in sea-fights, there can be but littledoubt that on board of all ships, of whatever nation, in time ofaction, no very small number of the men are exceedingly nervous, to saythe least, at the guns; ramming and sponging at a venture. And whatspecial patriotic interest could an impressed man, for instance, takein a fight, into which he had been dragged from the arms of his wife?Or is it to be wondered at that impressed English seamen have notscrupled, in time of war, to cripple the arm that has enslaved them?

  During the same general war which prevailed at and previous to theperiod of the frigate-action here spoken of, a British flag-officer, inwriting to the Admiralty, said, "Everything appears to be quiet in thefleet; but, in preparing for battle last week, several of the guns inthe after part of the ship were found to be spiked;" that is to say,rendered useless. Who had spiked them? The dissatisfied seamen. Is italtogether improbable, then, that the guns to which Tawney referredwere manned by men who purposely refrained from making them tell on thefoe; that, in this one action, the victory America gained was partlywon for her by the sulky insubordination of the enemy himself?

  During this same period of gener
al war, it was frequently the case thatthe guns of English armed ships were found in the mornings with theirbreechings cut over night. This maiming of the guns, and for the timeincapacitating them, was only to be imputed to that secret spirit ofhatred to the service which induced the spiking above referred to. Buteven in cases where no deep-seated dissatisfaction was presumed toprevail among the crew, and where a seaman, in time of action, impelledby pure fear, "shirked from his gun;" it seems but flying in the faceof Him who made such a seaman what he constitutionally was, to sew_coward_ upon his back, and degrade and agonise the already tremblingwretch in numberless other ways. Nor seems it a practice warranted bythe Sermon on the Mount, for the officer of a battery, in time ofbattle, to stand over the men with his drawn sword (as was done in theMacedonian), and run through on the spot the first seaman who showed asemblance of fear. Tawney told me that he distinctly heard this ordergiven by the English Captain to his officers of divisions. Were thesecret history of all sea-fights written, the laurels of sea-heroeswould turn to ashes on their brows.

  And how nationally disgraceful, in every conceivable point of view, isthe IV. of our American Articles of War: "If any person in the Navyshall pusillanimously cry for quarter, he shall suffer death." Thus,with death before his face from the foe, and death behind his back fromhis countrymen, the best valour of a man-of-war's-man can never assumethe merit of a noble spontaneousness. In this, as in every other case,the Articles of War hold out no reward for good conduct, but onlycompel the sailor to fight, like a hired murderer, for his pay, bydigging his grave before his eyes if he hesitates.

  But this Article IV. is open to still graver objections. Courage is themost common and vulgar of the virtues; the only one shared with us bythe beasts of the field; the one most apt, by excess, to run intoviciousness. And since Nature generally takes away with one hand tocounter-balance her gifts with the other, excessive animal courage, inmany cases, only finds room in a character vacated of loftier things.But in a naval officer, animal courage is exalted to the loftiestmerit, and often procures him a distinguished command.

  Hence, if some brainless bravo be Captain of a frigate in action, hemay fight her against invincible odds, and seek to crown himself withthe glory of the shambles, by permitting his hopeless crew to bebutchered before his eyes, while at the same time that crew mustconsent to be slaughtered by the foe, under penalty of being murderedby the law. Look at the engagement between the American frigate Essexwith the two English cruisers, the Phoebe and Cherub, off the Bay ofValparaiso, during the late war. It is admitted on all hands that theAmerican Captain continued to fight his crippled ship against a greatlysuperior force; and when, at last, it became physically impossible thathe could ever be otherwise than vanquished in the end; and when, frompeculiarly unfortunate circumstances, his men merely stood up to theirnearly useless batteries to be dismembered and blown to pieces by theincessant fire of the enemy's long guns. Nor, by thus continuing tofight, did this American frigate, one iota, promote the true interestsof her country. I seek not to underrate any reputation which theAmerican Captain may have gained by this battle. He was a brave man;_that_ no sailor will deny. But the whole world is made up of bravemen. Yet I would not be at all understood as impugning his special goodname. Nevertheless, it is not to be doubted, that if there were anycommon-sense sailors at the guns of the Essex, however valiant they mayhave been, those common-sense sailors must have greatly preferred tostrike their flag, when they saw the day was fairly lost, than postponethat inevitable act till there were few American arms left to assist inhauling it down. Yet had these men, under these circumstances,"pusillanimously cried for quarter," by the IV. Article of War theymight have been legally hung.

  According to the negro, Tawney, when the Captain of theMacedonian--seeing that the Neversink had his vessel completely in herpower--gave the word to strike the flag, one of his officers, a manhated by the seamen for his tyranny, howled out the most terrificremonstrances, swearing that, for his part, he would not give up, butwas for sinking the Macedonian alongside the enemy. Had he beenCaptain, doubtless he would have done so; thereby gaining the name of ahero in this world;--but what would they have called him in the next?

  But as the whole matter of war is a thing that smites common-sense andChristianity in the face; so everything connected with it is utterlyfoolish, unchristian, barbarous, brutal, and savouring of the FeejeeIslands, cannibalism, saltpetre, and the devil.

  It is generally the case in a man-of-war when she strikes her flag thatall discipline is at an end, and the men for a time are ungovernable.This was so on board of the English frigate. The spirit-room was brokenopen, and buckets of grog were passed along the decks, where many ofthe wounded were lying between the guns. These mariners seized thebuckets, and, spite of all remonstrances, gulped down the burningspirits, till, as Tawney said, the blood suddenly spirted out of theirwounds, and they fell dead to the deck.

  The negro had many more stories to tell of this fight; and frequentlyhe would escort me along our main-deck batteries--still mounting thesame guns used in the battle--pointing out their ineffaceableindentations and scars. Coated over with the accumulated paint of morethan thirty years, they were almost invisible to a casual eye; butTawney knew them all by heart; for he had returned home in theNeversink, and had beheld these scars shortly after the engagement.

  One afternoon, I was walking with him along the gun-deck, when hepaused abreast of the main-mast. "This part of the ship," said he, "wecalled the _slaughter-house_ on board the Macedonian. Here the menfell, five and six at a time. An enemy always directs its shot here, inorder to hurl over the mast, if possible. The beams and carlinesoverhead in the Macedonian _slaughter-house_ were spattered with bloodand brains. About the hatchways it looked like a butcher's stall; bitsof human flesh sticking in the ring-bolts. A pig that ran about thedecks escaped unharmed, but his hide was so clotted with blood, fromrooting among the pools of gore, that when the ship struck the sailorshove the animal overboard, swearing that it would be rank cannibalismto eat him."

  Another quadruped, a goat, lost its fore legs in this fight.

  The sailors who were killed--according to the usual custom--wereordered to be thrown overboard as soon as they fell; no doubt, as thenegro said, that the sight of so many corpses lying around might notappall the survivors at the guns. Among other instances, he related thefollowing. A shot entering one of the port-holes, dashed dead twothirds of a gun's crew. The captain of the next gun, dropping hislock-string, which he had just pulled, turned over the heap of bodiesto see who they were; when, perceiving an old messmate, who had sailedwith him in many cruises, he burst into tears, and, taking the corpseup in his arms, and going with it to the side, held it over the water amoment, and eying it, cried, "Oh God! Tom!"--"D----n your prayers overthat thing! overboard with it, and down to your gun!" roared a woundedLieutenant. The order was obeyed, and the heart-stricken sailorreturned to his post.

  Tawney's recitals were enough to snap this man-of-war world's sword inits scabbard. And thinking of all the cruel carnal glory wrought out bynaval heroes in scenes like these, I asked myself whether, indeed, thatwas a glorious coffin in which Lord Nelson was entombed--a coffinpresented to him, during life, by Captain Hallowell; it had been dugout of the main-most of the French line-of-battle ship L'Orient, which,burning up with British fire, destroyed hundreds of Frenchmen at thebattle of the Nile.

  Peace to Lord Nelson where he sleeps in his mouldering mast! but ratherwould I be urned in the trunk of some green tree, and even in deathhave the vital sap circulating round me, giving of my dead body to theliving foliage that shaded my peaceful tomb.