White-Jacket, or, The World in a man-of-war

Every one knows that in merchantmen the seamen are divided
into watches—starboard and larboard—taking their
turn at the ship's duty by night. This plan is followed in
all men-of-war. But in all men-of-war, besides this division,
there are others, rendered indispensable from the great number
of men, and the necessity of precision and discipline. Not
only are particular bands assigned to the three tops, but in
getting under weigh, or any other proceeding requiring all
hands, particular men of these bands are assigned to each
yard of the tops. Thus, when the order is given to loose the
main-royal, White-Jacket flies to obey it; and no one but
him.

And not only are particular bands stationed on the three
decks of the ship at such times, but particular men of those
bands are also assigned to particular duties. Also, in tacking
ship, reefing top-sails, or “coming to,” every man of a frigate's
five-hundred-strong, knows his own special place, and
is infallibly found there. He sees nothing else, attends to
nothing else, and will stay there till grim death or an epaulette
orders him away. Yet there are times when, through
the negligence of the officers, some exceptions are found to
this rule. A rather serious circumstance growing out of such
a case will be related in some future chapter.

Were it not for these regulations a man-of-war's crew would
be nothing but a mob, more ungovernable stripping the canvass

in a gale than Lord George Gordon's tearing down the
lofty house of Lord Mansfield.

But this is not all. Besides White-Jacket's office as looser
of the main-royal, when all hands were called to make sail;
and besides his special offices, in tacking ship, coming to anchor,
&c.; he permanently belonged to the Starboard Watch,
one of the two primary, grand divisions of the ship's company.
And in this watch he was a main-top-man; that is, was stationed
in the main-top, with a number of other seamen, always
in readiness to execute any orders pertaining to the mainmast,
from above the main-yard. For, including the main-yard,
and below it to the deck, the main-mast belongs to another
detachment.

Now the fore, main, and mizen-top-men of each watch—
Starboard and Larboard—are at sea respectively subdivided
into Quarter Watches; which regularly relieve each other in
the tops to which they may belong; while, collectively, they
relieve the whole Larboard Watch of top-men.

Besides these topmen, who are always made up of active
sailors, there are Sheet-Anchor-men—old veterans all—whose
place is on the forecastle; the fore-yard, anchors, and all the
sails on the bowsprit being under their care.

They are an old weather-beaten set, culled from the most
experienced seamen on board. These are the fellows that
sing you “The Bay of Biscay Oh!” and “Here a sheer hulk
lies poor Tom Bowling!” “Cease, rude Boreas, blustering
railer!” who, when ashore, at an eating-house, call for a bowl
of tar and a biscuit. These are the fellows, who spin interminable
yarns about Decatur, Hull, and Bainbridge; and
carry about their persons bits of “Old Ironsides,” as Catholics
do the wood of the true cross. These are the fellows, that
some officers never pretend to damn, however much they may
anathematize others. These are the fellows, that it does your
soul good to look at;—hearty old members of the Old Guard;
grim sea grenadiers, who, in tempest time, have lost many a
tarpaulin overboard. These are the fellows, whose society

some of the youngster midshipmen much affect; from whom
they learn their best seamanship; and to whom they look up
as veterans; if so be, that they have any reverence in their
souls, which is not the case with all midshipmen.

Then, there is the After-guard, stationed on the Quarter-deck;
who, under the Quarter-Masters and Quarter-Gunners,
attend to the main-sail and spanker, and help haul the mainbrace,
and other ropes in the stern of the vessel.

The duties assigned to the After-Guard's-Men being comparatively
light and easy, and but little seamanship being
expected from them, they are composed chiefly of landsmen;
the least robust, least hardy, and least sailor-like of the
crew; and being stationed on the Quarter-deck, they are generally
selected with some eye to their personal appearance.
Hence, they are mostly slender young fellows, of a genteel
figure and gentlemanly address; not weighing much on a
rope, but weighing considerably in the estimation of all foreign
ladies who may chance to visit the ship. They lounge
away the most part of their time, in reading novels and romances;
talking over their lover affairs ashore; and comparing
notes concerning the melancholy and sentimental career
which drove them—poor young gentlemen—into the hardhearted
navy. Indeed, many of them show tokens of having
moved in very respectable society. They always maintain a
tidy exterior; and express an abhorrence of the tar-bucket,
into which they are seldom or never called to dip their digits.
And pluming themselves upon the cut of their trowsers, and
the glossiness of their tarpaulins, from the rest of the ship's
company, they acquire the name of “sea-dandies” and “silk-sock-gentry.”

Then, there are the Waisters, always stationed on the gun-deck.
These haul aft the fore and main-sheets, besides being
subject to ignoble duties; attending to the drainage and sewerage
below hatches. These fellows are all Jimmy Duxes—
sorry chaps, who never put foot in ratlin, or venture above
the bulwarks. Inveterate “sons of farmers,” with the hayseed

yet in their hair, they are consigned to the congenial
superintendence of the chicken-coops, pig-pens, and potato-lockers.
These are generally placed amidships, on the gun-deck
of a frigate, between the fore and main hatches; and
comprise so extensive an area, that it much resembles the
market-place of a small town. The melodious sounds thence
issuing, continually draw tears from the eyes of the Waisters;
reminding them of their old paternal pig-pens and potato-patches.
They are the tag-rag and bob-tail of the crew; and
he who is good for nothing else is good enough for a Waister.

Three decks down—spar-deck, gun-deck, and berth-deck—
and we come to a parcel of Troglodites or “holders,” who burrow,
like rabbits in warrens, among the water-tanks, casks,
and cables. Like Cornwall miners, wash off the soot from
their skins, and they are all pale as ghosts. Unless upon rare
occasions, they seldom come on deck to sun themselves. They
may circumnavigate the world fifty times, and they see about
as much of it as Jonah did in the whale's belly. They are
a lazy, lumpish, torpid set; and when going ashore after a
long cruise, come out into the day, like terrapins from their
caves, or bears in the spring, from tree-trunks. No one ever
knows the names of these fellows; after a three years' voyage,
they still remain strangers to you. In time of tempests, when
all hands are called to save ship, they issue forth into the
gale, like the mysterious old men of Paris, during the massacre
of the Three Days of September; every one marvels who
they are, and whence they come; they disappear as mysteriously;
and are seen no more, until another general commotion.

Such are the principal divisions into which a man-of-war's
crew is divided; but the inferior allotments of duties are endless,
and would require a German commentator to chronicle.

We say nothing here of Boatswain's mates, Gunner's mates,
Carpenter's mates, Sail-maker's mates, Armorer's mates, Master-at-Arms,
Ship's corporals, Cockswains, Quarter-masters,
Quarter-gunners, Captains of the Forecastle, Captains of the
Fore-top, Captains of the Main-top, Captains of the Mizen-top,

Captains of the After-Guard, Captains of the Main-Hold,
Captains of the Fore-Hold, Captains of the Head, Coopers,
Painters, Tinkers, Commodore's Steward, Captain's Steward,
Ward-Room Steward, Steerage Steward, Commodore's cook,
Captain's cook, Officers' cook, Cooks of the range, Mess-cooks,
hammock-boys, messenger boys, cot-boys, loblolly-boys, and
numberless others, whose functions are fixed and peculiar.

It is from this endless subdivision of duties in a man-of-war,
that, upon first entering one, a sailor has need of a good memory,
and the more of an Arithmetician he is, the better.

White-Jacket, for one, was a long time rapt in calculations,
concerning the various “numbers” allotted him by the
First Luff, otherwise known as the First Lieutenant. In
the first place, White-Jacket was given the number of his
mess; then, his ship's number, or the number to which he
must answer when the watch-roll is called; then, the number
of his hammock; then, the number of the gun to which he
was assigned; besides a variety of other numbers; all of which
would have taken Jedediah Buxton himself some time to arrange
in battalions, previous to adding up. All these numbers,
moreover, must be well remembered, or woe betide you.

Consider, now, a sailor altogether unused to the tumult of
a man-of-war, for the first time stepping on board, and given
all these numbers to recollect. Already, before hearing them,
his head is half stunned with the unaccustomed sounds ringing
in his ears; which ears seem to him like belfries full of
tocsins. On the gun-deck, a thousand scythed chariots seem
passing; he hears the tread of armed marines; the clash of
cutlasses and curses. The Boatswain's mates whistle round
him, like hawks screaming in a gale, and the strange noises
under decks, are like volcanic rumblings in a mountain. He
dodges sudden sounds, as a raw recruit falling bombs.

Well-nigh useless to him, now, all previous circumnavigations
of this terraqueous globe; of no account his arctic, antarctic,
or equinoctial experiences; his gales off Beachy Head,
or his dismastings off Hatteras. He must begin anew; he

knows nothing; Greek and Hebrew could not help him, for
the language he must learn has neither grammar nor lexicon.

Mark him, as he advances along the files of old ocean-warriors;
mark his debased attitude, his deprecating gestures, his
Sawney stare, like a Scotchman in London; his—“cry your
mercy, noble seignors!” He is wholly nonplused, and confounded.
And when, to crown all, the First Lieutenant,
whose business it is to welcome all new-comers, and assign
them their quarters; when this officer—none of the most
bland or amiable either—gives him number after number to
recollect—246—139—478—351—the poor fellow feels like
decamping.

Study, then, your mathematics, and cultivate all your memories,
oh ye! who think of cruising in men-of-war.

University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.