CHAPTER XLIX.
RUMOURS OF A WAR, AND HOW THEY WERE RECEIVED BY THE POPULATION OF THENEVERSINK.
While lying in the harbour of Callao, in Peru, certain rumours had cometo us touching a war with England, growing out of the long-vexedNortheastern Boundary Question. In Rio these rumours were increased;and the probability of hostilities induced our Commodore to authorizeproceedings that closely brought home to every man on board theNeversink his liability at any time to be killed at his gun.
Among other things, a number of men were detailed to pass up the rustycannon-balls from the shot-lockers in the hold, and scrape them cleanfor service. The Commodore was a very neat gentleman, and would notfire a dirty shot into his foe.
It was an interesting occasion for a tranquil observer; nor was italtogether neglected. Not to recite the precise remarks made by theseamen while pitching the shot up the hatchway from hand to hand, likeschoolboys playing ball ashore, it will be enough to say that, from thegeneral drift of their discourse--jocular as it was--it was manifestthat, almost to a man, they abhorred the idea of going into action.
And why should they desire a war? Would their wages be raised? Not acent. The prize-money, though, ought to have been an inducement. But ofall the "rewards of virtue," prize-money is the most uncertain; andthis the man-of-war's-man knows. What, then, has he to expect from war?What but harder work, and harder usage than in peace; a wooden leg orarm; mortal wounds, and death? Enough, however, that by far themajority of the common sailors of the Neversink were plainly concernedat the prospect of war, and were plainly averse to it.
But with the officers of the quarter-deck it was just the reverse. Noneof them, to be sure, in my hearing at least, verbally expressed theirgratification; but it was unavoidably betrayed by the increasedcheerfulness of their demeanour toward each other, their frequentfraternal conferences, and their unwonted animation for several claysin issuing their orders. The voice of Mad Jack--always a belfry tohear--now resounded like that famous bell of England, Great Tom ofOxford. As for Selvagee, he wore his sword with a jaunty air, and hisservant daily polished the blade.
But why this contrast between the forecastle and the quarter-deck,between the man-of-war's-man and his officer? Because, though war wouldequally jeopardize the lives of both, yet, while it held out to thesailor no promise of promotion, and what is called _glory_, thesethings fired the breast of his officers.
It is no pleasing task, nor a thankful one, to dive into the souls ofsome men; but there are occasions when, to bring up the mud from thebottom, reveals to us on what soundings we are, on what coast we adjoin.
How were these officers to gain glory? How but by a distinguishedslaughtering of their fellow-men. How were they to be promoted? How butover the buried heads of killed comrades and mess-mates.
This hostile contrast between the feelings with which the common seamenand the officers of the Neversink looked forward to this more thanpossible war, is one of many instances that might be quoted to show theantagonism of their interests, the incurable antagonism in which theydwell. But can men, whose interests are diverse, ever hope to livetogether in a harmony uncoerced? Can the brotherhood of the race ofmankind ever hope to prevail in a man-of-war, where one man's bane isalmost another's blessing? By abolishing the scourge, shall we do awaytyranny; _that_ tyranny which must ever prevail, where of twoessentially antagonistic classes in perpetual contact, one isimmeasurably the stronger? Surely it seems all but impossible. And asthe very object of a man-of-war, as its name implies, is to fight thevery battles so naturally averse to the seamen; so long as a man-of-warexists, it must ever remain a picture of much that is tyrannical andrepelling in human nature.
Being an establishment much more extensive than the American Navy, theEnglish armed marine furnishes a yet more striking example of thisthing, especially as the existence of war produces so vast anaugmentation of her naval force compared with what it is in time ofpeace. It is well known what joy the news of Bonaparte's sudden returnfrom Elba created among crowds of British naval officers, who hadpreviously been expecting to be sent ashore on half-pay. Thus, when allthe world wailed, these officers found occasion for thanksgiving. Iurge it not against them as men--their feelings belonged to theirprofession. Had they not been naval officers, they had not beenrejoicers in the midst of despair.
When shall the time come, how much longer will God postpone it, whenthe clouds, which at times gather over the horizons of nations, shallnot be hailed by any class of humanity, and invoked to burst as a bomb?Standing navies, as well as standing armies, serve to keep alive thespirit of war even in the meek heart of peace. In its very embers andsmoulderings, they nourish that fatal fire, and half-pay officers, asthe priests of Mars, yet guard the temple, though no god be there.