CHAPTER XVI.
GENERAL TRAINING IN A MAN-OF-WAR.
To a quiet, contemplative character, averse to uproar, undue exerciseof his bodily members, and all kind of useless confusion, nothing canbe more distressing than a proceeding in all men-of-war called"_general quarters_." And well may it be so called, since it amounts toa general drawing and quartering of all the parties concerned.
As the specific object for which a man-of-war is built and put intocommission is to fight and fire off cannon, it is, of course, deemedindispensable that the crew should be duly instructed in the art andmystery involved. Hence these "general quarters," which is a musteringof all hands to their stations at the guns on the several decks, and asort of sham-fight with an imaginary foe.
The summons is given by the ship's drummer, who strikes a peculiarbeat--short, broken, rolling, shuffling--like the sound made by themarch into battle of iron-heeled grenadiers. It is a regular tune, witha fine song composed to it; the words of the chorus, being mostartistically arranged, may give some idea of the air:
"Hearts of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men, We always are ready, steady, boys, steady, To fight and to conquer, again and again."
In warm weather this pastime at the guns is exceedingly unpleasant, tosay the least, and throws a quiet man into a violent passion andperspiration. For one, I ever abominated it.
I have a heart like Julius Caesar, and upon occasions would fight likeCaius Marcius Coriolanus. If my beloved and for ever glorious countryshould be ever in jeopardy from invaders, let Congress put me on awar-horse, in the van-guard, and _then_ see how I will acquit myself.But to toil and sweat in a fictitious encounter; to squander theprecious breath of my precious body in a ridiculous fight of shams andpretensions; to hurry about the decks, pretending to carry the killedand wounded below; to be told that I must consider the ship blowing up,in order to exercise myself in presence of mind, and prepare for a realexplosion; all this I despise, as beneath a true tar and man of valour.
These were my sentiments at the time, and these remain my sentimentsstill; but as, while on board the frigate, my liberty of thought didnot extend to liberty of expression, I was obliged to keep thesesentiments to myself; though, indeed, I had some thoughts of addressinga letter, marked _Private and Confidential_, to his Honour theCommodore, on the subject.
My station at the batteries was at one of the thirty-two-poundcarronades, on the starboard side of the quarter-deck.[1]
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[Footnote-1] For the benefit of a Quaker reader here and there, a wordor two in explanation of a carronade may not be amiss. The carronade isa gun comparatively short and light for its calibre. A carronadethrowing a thirty-two-pound shot weighs considerably less than along-gun only throwing a twenty-four-pound shot. It further differsfrom a long-gun, in working with a joint and bolt underneath, insteadof the short arms or _trunnions_ at the sides. Its _carriage_,likewise, is quite different from that of a long-gun, having a sort ofsliding apparatus, something like an extension dining-table; the gooseon it, however, is a tough one, and villainously stuffed with mostindigestible dumplings. Point-blank, the range of a carronade does notexceed one hundred and fifty yards, much less than the range of along-gun. When of large calibre, however, it throws within that limit,Paixhan shot, all manner of shells and combustibles, with great effect,being a very destructive engine at close quarters. This piece is nowvery generally found mounted in the batteries of the English andAmerican navies. The quarter-deck armaments of most modern frigateswholly consist of carronades. The name is derived from the village ofCarron, in Scotland, at whose celebrated founderies this iron Attilawas first cast.
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I did not fancy this station at all; for it is well known on shipboardthat, in time of action, the quarter-deck is one of the most dangerousposts of a man-of-war. The reason is, that the officers of the highestrank are there stationed; and the enemy have an ungentlemanly way oftarget-shooting at their buttons. If we should chance to engage a ship,then, who could tell but some bungling small-arm marks-man in theenemy's tops might put a bullet through _me_ instead of the Commodore?If they hit _him_, no doubt he would not feel it much, for he was usedto that sort of thing, and, indeed, had a bullet in him already.Whereas, _I_ was altogether unaccustomed to having blue pills playinground my head in such an indiscriminate way. Besides, ours was aflag-ship; and every one knows what a peculiarly dangerous predicamentthe quarter-deck of Nelson's flag-ship was in at the battle ofTrafalgar; how the lofty tops of the enemy were full of soldiers,peppering away at the English Admiral and his officers. Many a poorsailor, at the guns of that quarter-deck, must have received a bulletintended for some wearer of an epaulet.
By candidly confessing my feelings on this subject, I do by no meansinvalidate my claims to being held a man of prodigious valour. I merelystate my invincible repugnance to being shot for somebody else. If I amshot, be it with the express understanding in the shooter that I am theidentical person intended so to be served. That Thracian who, with hiscompliments, sent an arrow into the King of Macedon, superscribed "_forPhilip's right eye_," set a fine example to all warriors. The hurried,hasty, indiscriminate, reckless, abandoned manner in which both sailorsand soldiers nowadays fight is really painful to any serious-minded,methodical old gentleman, especially if he chance to have systematizedhis mind as an accountant. There is little or no skill and braveryabout it. Two parties, armed with lead and old iron, envelop themselvesin a cloud of smoke, and pitch their lead and old iron about in alldirections. If you happen to be in the way, you are hit; possibly,killed; if not, you escape. In sea-actions, if by good or bad luck, asthe case may be, a round shot, fired at random through the smoke,happens to send overboard your fore-mast, another to unship yourrudder, there you lie crippled, pretty much at the mercy of your foe:who, accordingly, pronounces himself victor, though that honourproperly belongs to the Law of Gravitation operating on the enemy'sballs in the smoke. Instead of tossing this old lead and iron into theair, therefore, it would be much better amicably to toss up a copperand let heads win.
The carronade at which I was stationed was known as "Gun No. 5," on theFirst Lieutenant's quarter-bill. Among our gun's crew, however, it wasknown as _Black Bet_. This name was bestowed by the captain of thegun--a fine negro--in honour of his sweetheart, a coloured lady ofPhiladelphia. Of Black Bet I was rammer-and-sponger; and ram and spongeI did, like a good fellow. I have no doubt that, had I and my gun beenat the battle of the Nile, we would mutually have immortalisedourselves; the ramming-pole would have been hung up in WestminsterAbbey; and I, ennobled by the king, besides receiving the illustrioushonour of an autograph letter from his majesty through the perfumedright hand of his private secretary.
But it was terrible work to help run in and out of the porthole thatamazing mass of metal, especially as the thing must be clone in atrice. Then, at the summons of a horrid, rasping rattle, swayed by theCaptain in person, we were made to rush from our guns, seize pikes andpistols, and repel an imaginary army of boarders, who, by a fiction ofthe officers, were supposed to be assailing all sides of the ship atonce. After cutting and slashing at them a while, we jumped back to ourguns, and again went to jerking our elbows.
Meantime, a loud cry is heard of "Fire! fire! fire!" in the fore-top;and a regular engine, worked by a set of Bowery-boy tars, is forthwithset to playing streams of water aloft. And now it is "Fire! fire!fire!" on the main-deck; and the entire ship is in as great a commotionas if a whole city ward were in a blaze.
Are our officers of the Navy utterly unacquainted with the laws of goodhealth? Do they not know that this violent exercise, taking place justafter a hearty dinner, as it generally does, is eminently calculated tobreed the dyspepsia? There was no satisfaction in dining; the flavourof every mouthful was destroyed by the thought that the next moment thecannonading drum might be beating to quarters.
Such a sea-martinet was our Captain, that sometimes we were roused fromour hammocks at night; when a scene would
ensue that it is not in thepower of pen and ink to describe. Five hundred men spring to theirfeet, dress themselves, take up their bedding, and run to the nettingsand stow it; then he to their stations--each man jostling hisneighbour--some alow, some aloft; some this way, some that; and in lessthan five minutes the frigate is ready for action, and still as thegrave; almost every man precisely where he would be were an enemyactually about to be engaged. The Gunner, like a Cornwall miner in acave, is burrowing down in the magazine under the Ward-room, which islighted by battle-lanterns, placed behind glazed glass bull's-eyesinserted in the bulkhead. The Powder-monkeys, or boys, who fetch andcarry cartridges, are scampering to and fro among the guns; and the_first and second loaders_ stand ready to receive their supplies.
These _Powder-monkeys_, as they are called, enact a curious part intime of action. The entrance to the magazine on the berth-deck, wherethey procure their food for the guns, is guarded by a woollen screen;and a gunner's mate, standing behind it, thrusts out the cartridgesthrough a small arm-hole in this screen. The enemy's shot (perhaps redhot) are flying in all directions; and to protect their cartridges, thepowder-monkeys hurriedly wrap them up in their jackets; and with allhaste scramble up the ladders to their respective guns, likeeating-house waiters hurrying along with hot cakes for breakfast.
At _general quarters_ the shot-boxes are uncovered; showing thegrape-shot--aptly so called, for they precisely resemble bunches of thefruit; though, to receive a bunch of iron grapes in the abdomen wouldbe but a sorry dessert; and also showing the canister-shot--old iron ofvarious sorts, packed in a tin case, like a tea-caddy.
Imagine some midnight craft sailing down on her enemy thus; twenty-fourpounders levelled, matches lighted, and each captain of his gun at hispost!
But if verily going into action, then would the Neversink have madestill further preparations; for however alike in some things, there isalways a vast difference--if you sound them--between a reality and asham. Not to speak of the pale sternness of the men at their guns atsuch a juncture, and the choked thoughts at their hearts, the shipitself would here and there present a far different appearance.Something like that of an extensive mansion preparing for a grandentertainment, when folding-doors are withdrawn, chambers convertedinto drawing-rooms, and every inch of available space thrown into onecontinuous whole. For previous to an action, every bulk-head in aman-of-war is knocked down; great guns are run out of the Commodore'sparlour windows; nothing separates the ward-room officers' quartersfrom those of the men, but an en-sign used for a curtain. The sailors'mess-chests are tumbled down into the hold; and the hospital cots--ofwhich all men-of-war carry a large supply--are dragged forth from thesail-room, and piled near at hand to receive the wounded;amputation-tables are ranged in the _cock-pit_ or in the _tiers_,whereon to carve the bodies of the maimed. The yards are slung inchains; fire-screens distributed here and there: hillocks ofcannon-balls piled between the guns; shot-plugs suspended within easyreach from the beams; and solid masses of wads, big as Dutch cheeses,braced to the cheeks of the gun-carriages.
No small difference, also, would be visible in the wardrobe of bothofficers and men. The officers generally fight as dandies dance,namely, in silk stockings; inasmuch as, in case of being wounded in theleg, the silk-hose can be more easily drawn off by the Surgeon; cottonsticks, and works into the wound. An economical captain, while takingcare to case his legs in silk, might yet see fit to save his best suit,and fight in his old clothes. For, besides that an old garment mightmuch better be cut to pieces than a new one, it must be a mightydisagreeable thing to die in a stiff, tight-breasted coat, not yetworked easy under the arm-pits. At such times, a man should feel free,unencumbered, and perfectly at his ease in point of straps andsuspenders. No ill-will concerning his tailor should intrude upon histhoughts of eternity. Seneca understood this, when he chose to dienaked in a bath. And men-of-war's men understand it, also; for most ofthem, in battle, strip to the waist-bands; wearing nothing but a pairof duck trowsers, and a handkerchief round their head.
A captain combining a heedful patriotism with economy would probably"bend" his old topsails before going into battle, instead of exposinghis best canvas to be riddled to pieces; for it is generally the casethat the enemy's shot flies high. Unless allowance is made for it inpointing the tube, at long-gun distance, the slightest roll of theship, at the time of firing, would send a shot, meant for the hull,high over the top-gallant yards.
But besides these differences between a sham-fight at _generalquarters_ and a real cannonading, the aspect of the ship, at thebeating of the retreat, would, in the latter case, be very dissimilarto the neatness and uniformity in the former.
_Then_ our bulwarks might look like the walls of the houses in WestBroadway in New York, after being broken into and burned out by theNegro Mob. Our stout masts and yards might be lying about decks, liketree boughs after a tornado in a piece of woodland; our dangling ropes,cut and sundered in all directions, would be bleeding tar at everyyard; and strew with jagged splinters from our wounded planks, thegun-deck might resemble a carpenter's shop. _Then_, when all was over,and all hands would be piped to take down the hammocks from the exposednettings (where they play the part of the cotton bales at New Orleans),we might find bits of broken shot, iron bolts and bullets in ourblankets. And, while smeared with blood like butchers, the surgeon andhis mates would be amputating arms and legs on the berth-deck, anunderling of the carpenter's gang would be new-legging and arming thebroken chairs and tables in the Commodore's cabin; while the rest ofhis _squad_ would be _splicing_ and _fishing_ the shattered masts andyards. The scupper-holes having discharged the last rivulet of blood,the decks would be washed down; and the galley-cooks would be goingfore and aft, sprinkling them with hot vinegar, to take out theshambles' smell from the planks; which, unless some such means areemployed, often create a highly offensive effluvia for weeks after afight.
_Then_, upon mustering the men, and calling the quarter-bills by thelight of a battle-lantern, many a wounded seaman with his arm in asling, would answer for some poor shipmate who could never more makeanswer for himself:
"Tom Brown?"
"Killed, sir."
"Jack Jewel?"
"Killed, sir."
"Joe Hardy?"
"Killed, sir."
And opposite all these poor fellows' names, down would go on thequarter-bills the bloody marks of red ink--a murderer's fluid, fitlyused on these occasions.