CHAPTER XV.
A SALT-JUNK CLUB IN A MAN-OF-WAR, WITH A NOTICE TO QUIT.
It was about the period of the Cologne-water excitement that myself-conceit was not a little wounded, and my sense of delicacyaltogether shocked, by a polite hint received from the cook of the messto which I happened to belong. To understand the matter, it is needfulto enter into preliminaries.
The common seamen in a large frigate are divided into some thirty orforty messes, put down on the purser's books as _Mess_ No. 1, _Mess_No. 2, _Mess_ No. 3, etc. The members of each mess club, their rationsof provisions, and breakfast, dine, and sup together in allottedintervals between the guns on the main-deck. In undeviating rotation,the members of each mess (excepting the petty-officers) take their turnin performing the functions of cook and steward. And for the timebeing, all the affairs of the club are subject to their inspection andcontrol.
It is the cook's business, also, to have an eye to the generalinterests of his mess; to see that, when the aggregated allowances ofbeef, bread, etc., are served out by one of the master's mates, themess over which he presides receives its full share, without stint orsubtraction. Upon the berth-deck he has a chest, in which to keep hispots, pans, spoons, and small stores of sugar, molasses, tea, and flour.
But though entitled a cook, strictly speaking, the head of the mess isno cook at all; for the cooking for the crew is all done by a high andmighty functionary, officially called the "_ship's cook_," assisted byseveral deputies. In our frigate, this personage was a dignifiedcoloured gentleman, whom the men dubbed "_Old Coffee;_" and hisassistants, negroes also, went by the poetical appellations of"_Sunshine_," "_Rose-water_," and "_May-day_."
Now the _ship's cooking_ required very little science, though oldCoffee often assured us that he had graduated at the New York AstorHouse, under the immediate eye of the celebrated Coleman and Stetson.All he had to do was, in the first place, to keep bright and clean thethree huge coppers, or caldrons, in which many hundred pounds of beefwere daily boiled. To this end, Rose-water, Sunshine, and May-day everymorning sprang into their respective apartments, stripped to the waist,and well provided with bits of soap-stone and sand. By exercising thesein a very vigorous manner, they threw themselves into a violentperspiration, and put a fine polish upon the interior of the coppers.
Sunshine was the bard of the trio; and while all three would be busilyemployed clattering their soap-stones against the metal, he wouldexhilarate them with some remarkable St. Domingo melodies; one of whichwas the following:
"Oh! I los' my shoe in an old canoe, Johnio! come Winum so! Oh! I los' my boot in a pilot-boat, Johnio! come Winum so! Den rub-a-dub de copper, oh! Oh! copper rub-a-dub-a-oh!"
When I listened to these jolly Africans, thus making gleeful their toilby their cheering songs, I could not help murmuring against thatimmemorial rule of men-of-war, which forbids the sailors to sing out,as in merchant-vessels, when pulling ropes, or occupied at any othership's duty. Your only music, at such times, is the shrill pipe of theboatswain's mate, which is almost worse than no music at all. And ifthe boatswain's mate is not by, you must pull the ropes, like convicts,in profound silence; or else endeavour to impart unity to the exertionsof all hands, by singing out mechanically, _one_, _two_, _three_, andthen pulling all together.
Now, when Sunshine, Rose-water, and May-day have so polished the ship'scoppers, that a white kid glove might be drawn along the inside andshow no stain, they leap out of their holes, and the water is poured infor the coffee. And the coffee being boiled, and decanted off inbucketfuls, the cooks of the messes march up with their salt beef fordinner, strung upon strings and tallied with labels; all of which areplunged together into the self-same coppers, and there boiled. When,upon the beef being fished out with a huge pitch-fork, the water forthe evening's tea is poured in; which, consequently possesses a flavournot unlike that of shank-soup.
From this it will be seen, that, so far as cooking is concerned, a"_cook of the mess_" has very little to do; merely carrying hisprovisions to and from the grand democratic cookery. Still, in somethings, his office involves many annoyances. Twice a week butter andcheese are served out--so much to each man--and the mess-cook has thesole charge of these delicacies. The great difficulty consists in socatering for the mess, touching these luxuries, as to satisfy all. Someguzzlers are for devouring the butter at a meal, and finishing off withthe cheese the same day; others contend for saving it up against_Banyan Day_, when there is nothing but beef and bread; and others,again, are for taking a very small bit of butter and cheese, by way ofdessert, to each and every meal through the week. All this gives riseto endless disputes, debates, and altercations.
Sometimes, with his mess-cloth--a square of painted canvas--set out ondeck between the guns, garnished with pots, and pans, and _kids_, yousee the mess-cook seated on a matchtub at its head, his trowser legsrolled up and arms bared, presiding over the convivial party.
"Now, men, you can't have any butter to-day. I'm saving it up forto-morrow. You don't know the value of butter, men. You, Jim, take yourhoof off the cloth! Devil take me, if some of you chaps haven't no moremanners than so many swines! Quick, men, quick; bear a hand, and'_scoff_' (eat) away.--I've got my to-morrow's _duff_ to make yet, andsome of you fellows keep _scoffing_ as if I had nothing to do but sitstill here on this here tub here, and look on. There, there, men,you've all had enough: so sail away out of this, and let me clear upthe wreck."
In this strain would one of the periodical cooks of mess No. 15 talk tous. He was a tall, resolute fellow, who had once been a brakeman on arailroad, and he kept us all pretty straight; from his fiat there wasno appeal.
But it was not thus when the turn came to others among us. Then it was_look out for squalls_. The business of dining became a bore, anddigestion was seriously impaired by the unamiable discourse we had overour _salt horse_.
I sometimes thought that the junks of lean pork--which were boiled intheir own bristles, and looked gaunt and grim, like pickled chins ofhalf-famished, unwashed Cossacks--had something to do with creating thebristling bitterness at times prevailing in our mess. The men tore offthe tough hide from their pork, as if they were Indians scalpingChristians.
Some cursed the cook for a rogue, who kept from us our butter andcheese, in order to make away with it himself in an underhand manner;selling it at a premium to other messes, and thus accumulating aprincely fortune at our expense. Others anthematised him for hisslovenliness, casting hypercritical glances into their pots and pans,and scraping them with their knives. Then he would be railed at for hismiserable "duffs," and other shortcoming preparations.
Marking all this from the beginning, I, White-Jacket, was sorelytroubled with the idea, that, in the course of time, my own turn wouldcome round to undergo the same objurgations. How to escape, I knew not.However, when the dreaded period arrived, I received the keys of office(the keys of the mess-chest) with a resigned temper, and offered up adevout ejaculation for fortitude under the trial. I resolved, pleaseHeaven, to approve myself an unexceptionable caterer, and the mostimpartial of stewards.
The first day there was "_duff_" to make--a business which devolvedupon the mess-cooks, though the boiling of it pertained to Old Coffeeand his deputies. I made up my mind to lay myself out on that _duff_;to centre all my energies upon it; to put the very soul of art into it,and achieve an unrivalled _duff_--a _duff_ that should put out ofconceit all other _duffs_, and for ever make my administrationmemorable.
From the proper functionary the flour was obtained, and the raisins;the beef-fat, or "_slush_," from Old Coffee; and the requisite supplyof water from the scuttle-butt. I then went among the various cooks, tocompare their receipts for making "duffs:" and having well weighed themall, and gathered from each a choice item to make an original receiptof my own, with due deliberation and solemnity I proceeded to business.Placing the component parts in a tin pan, I kneaded them together foran hour, entirely reckless as to pulmonary considerations, t
ouching theruinous expenditure of breath; and having decanted the semi-liquiddough into a canvas-bag, secured the muzzle, tied on the tally, anddelivered it to Rose-water, who dropped the precious bag into thecoppers, along with a score or two of others.
Eight bells had struck. The boatswain and his mates had piped the handsto dinner; my mess-cloth was set out, and my messmates were assembled,knife in hand, all ready to precipitate themselves upon the devoted_duff_: Waiting at the grand cookery till my turn came, I received thebag of pudding, and gallanting it into the mess, proceeded to loosenthe string.
It was an anxious, I may say, a fearful moment. My hands trembled;every eye was upon me; my reputation and credit were at stake. Slowly Iundressed the _duff_, dandling it upon my knee, much as a nurse does ababy about bed-time. The excitement increased, as I curled down the bagfrom the pudding; it became intense, when at last I plumped it into thepan, held up to receive it by an eager hand. Bim! it fell like a manshot down in a riot. Distraction! It was harder than a sinner's heart;yea, tough as the cock that crowed on the morn that Peter told a lie.
"Gentlemen of the mess, for heaven's sake! permit me one word. I havedone my duty by that duff--I have----"
But they beat down my excuses with a storm of criminations. One presentproposed that the fatal pudding should be tied round my neck, like amill-stone, and myself pushed overboard. No use, no use; I had failed;ever after, that duff lay heavy at my stomach and my heart.
After this, I grew desperate; despised popularity; returned scorn forscorn; till at length my week expired, and in the duff-bag Itransferred the keys of office to the next man on the roll.
Somehow, there had never been a very cordial feeling between this messand me; all along they had nourished a prejudice against my whitejacket. They must have harbored the silly fancy that in it I gavemyself airs, and wore it in order to look consequential; perhaps, as acloak to cover pilferings of tit-bits from the mess. But to out withthe plain truth, they themselves were not a very irreproachable set.Considering the sequel I am coming to, this avowal may be deemed sheermalice; but for all that, I cannot avoid speaking my mind.
After my week of office, the mess gradually changed their behaviour tome; they cut me to the heart; they became cold and reserved; seldom ornever addressed me at meal-times without invidious allusions to my_duff_, and also to my jacket, and its dripping in wet weather upon themess-cloth. However, I had no idea that anything serious, on theirpart, was brewing; but alas! so it turned out.
We were assembled at supper one evening when I noticed certain winksand silent hints tipped to the cook, who presided. He was a little,oily fellow, who had once kept an oyster-cellar ashore; he bore me agrudge. Looking down on the mess-cloth, he observed that some fellowsnever knew when their room was better than their company. This being amaxim of indiscriminate application, of course I silently assented toit, as any other reasonable man would have done. But this remark wasfollowed up by another, to the effect that, not only did some fellowsnever know when their room was better than their company, but theypersisted in staying when their company wasn't wanted; and by so doingdisturbed the serenity of society at large. But this, also, was ageneral observation that could not be gainsaid. A long and ominouspause ensued; during which I perceived every eye upon me, and my whitejacket; while the cook went on to enlarge upon the disagreeableness ofa perpetually damp garment in the mess, especially when that garmentwas white. This was coming nearer home.
Yes, they were going to black-ball me; but I resolved to sit it out alittle longer; never dreaming that my moralist would proceed toextremities, while all hands were present. But bethinking him that bygoing this roundabout way he would never get at his object, he went offon another tack; apprising me, in substance, that he was instructed bythe whole mess, then and there assembled, to give me warning to seekout another club, as they did not longer fancy the society either ofmyself or my jacket.
I was shocked. Such a want of tact and delicacy! Common proprietysuggested that a point-blank intimation of that nature should beconveyed in a private interview; or, still better, by note. Iimmediately rose, tucked my jacket about me, bowed, and departed.
And now, to do myself justice, I must add that, the next day, I wasreceived with open arms by a glorious set of fellows--Mess No.1!--numbering, among the rest, my noble Captain Jack Chase.
This mess was principally composed of the headmost men of the gun-deck;and, out of a pardonable self-conceit, they called themselves the"_Forty-two-pounder Club;_" meaning that they were, one and all,fellows of large intellectual and corporeal calibre. Their mess-clothwas well located. On their starboard hand was Mess No. 2, embracingsundry rare jokers and high livers, who waxed gay and epicurean overtheir salt fare, and were known as the "_Society for the Destruction ofBeef and Pork_." On the larboard hand was Mess No. 31, made up entirelyof fore-top-men, a dashing, blaze-away set of men-of-war's-men, whocalled themselves the "_Cape Horn Snorters and Neversink Invincibles_."Opposite, was one of the marine messes, mustering the aristocracy ofthe marine corps--the two corporals, the drummer and fifer, and somesix or eight rather gentlemanly privates, native-born Americans, whohad served in the Seminole campaigns of Florida; and they now enlivenedtheir salt fare with stories of wild ambushes in the Everglades; andone of them related a surprising tale of his hand-to-hand encounterwith Osceola, the Indian chief, whom he fought one morning fromdaybreak till breakfast time. This slashing private also boasted thathe could take a chip from between your teeth at twenty paces; heoffered to bet any amount on it; and as he could get no one to hold thechip, his boast remained for ever good.
Besides many other attractions which the _Forty-two-pounder Club_furnished, it had this one special advantage, that, owing to therebeing so many _petty officers_ in it, all the members of the mess wereexempt from doing duty as cooks and stewards. A fellow called _asteady-cook_, attended to that business during the entire cruise. Hewas a long, lank, pallid varlet, going by the name of Shanks. In verywarm weather this Shanks would sit at the foot of the mess-cloth,fanning himself with the front flap of his frock or shirt, which heinelegantly wore over his trousers. Jack Chase, the President of theClub, frequently remonstrated against this breach of good manners; butthe _steady-cook_ had somehow contracted the habit, and it provedincurable.
For a time, Jack Chase, out of a polite nervousness touching myself, asa newly-elected member of the club, would frequently endeavour toexcuse to me the vulgarity of Shanks. One day he wound up his remarksby the philosophic reflection--"But, White-Jacket, my dear fellow, whatcan you expect of him? Our real misfortune is, that our noble clubshould be obliged to dine with its cook."
There were several of these _steady-cooks_ on board; men of no mark orconsideration whatever in the ship; lost to all noble promptings;sighing for no worlds to conquer, and perfectly contented with mixingtheir _duff's_, and spreading their mess-cloths, and mustering theirpots and pans together three times every day for a three years' cruise.They were very seldom to be seen on the spar-deck, but kept below outof sight.