University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

Some account has been given of the various divisions into
which our crew was divided; so it may be well to say something
of the officers; who they are, and what are their functions.

Our ship, be it known, was the flag-ship; that is, we sported
a broad pennant, or bougee, at the main, in token that we
carried a Commodore—the highest rank of officers recognized
in the American navy. The buogee is not to be confounded
with the long pennant or coach-whip, a tapering, serpentine
streamer worn by all men-of-war.

Owing to certain vague, republican scruples, about creating
great officers of the navy, America has thus far had no admirals;
though, as her ships of war increase, they may become
indispensable. This will assuredly be the case, should she
ever have occasion to employ large fleets; when she must
adopt something like the English plan, and introduce three
or four grades of flag-officers, above a Commodore — Admirals,
Vice-Admirals, and Rear-Admirals of Squadrons; distinguished
by the colors of their flags,—red, white, and blue, corresponding
to the centre, van, and rear. These rank respectively
with Generals, Lieutenant Generals, and Major Generals
in the army; just as a Commodore takes rank with a
Brigadier General. So that the same prejudice which prevents
the American Government from creating Admirals
should have precluded the creation of all army officers above
a Brigadier.

An American Commodore, like an English Commodore, or
the French Chef d' Escadre, is but a senior Captain, temporarily
commanding a small number of ships, detached for any
special purpose. He has no permanent rank, recognized by
Government, above his captaincy; though once employed as
a Commodore, usage and courtesy unite in continuing the title.

Our Commodore was a gallant old man, who had seen
service in his time. When a lieutenant, he served in the
Late War with England; and in the gun-boat actions on
the Lakes near New Orleans, just previous to the grand land
engagements, received a musket-ball in his shoulder; which,
with the two balls in his eyes, he carries about with him to
this day.

Often, when I looked at the venerable old warrior, doubled
up from the effect of his wound, I thought what a curious, as
well as painful sensation, it must be, to have one's shoulder a
lead-mine; though, sooth to say, so many of us civilized mortals
convert our mouths into Golcondas.

On account of this wound in his shoulder, our Commodore
had a body-servant's pay allowed him, in addition to his regular
salary. I can not say a great deal, personally, of the
Commodore; he never sought my company at all; never extended
any gentlemanly courtesies.

But though I can not say much of him personally, I can
mention something of him in his general character, as a flag-officer.
In the first place, then, I have serious doubts, whether,
for the most part, he was not dumb; for, in my hearing, he
seldom or never uttered a word. And not only did he seem
dumb himself, but his presence possessed the strange power of
making other people dumb for the time. His appearance on
the Quarter-deck seemed to give every officer the lock-jaw.

Another phenomenon about him was the strange manner
in which every one shunned him. At the first sign of those
epaulets of his on the weather side of the poop, the officers
there congregated invariably shrunk over to leeward, and left
him alone. Perhaps he had an evil eye; may be he was the

Wandering Jew afloat. The real reason probably was, that,
like all high functionaries, he deemed it indispensable religiously
to sustain his dignity; one of the most troublesome
things in the world, and one calling for the greatest self-denial.
And the constant watch, and many-sided guardedness,
which this sustaining of a Commodore's dignity requires, plainly
enough shows that, apart from the common dignity of manhood,
Commodores, in general, possess no real dignity at all.
True, it is expedient for crowned heads, generalissimos, Lordhigh-admirals,
and Commodores, to carry themselves straight,
and beware of the spinal complaint; but it is not the less veritable,
that it is a piece of assumption, exceedingly uncomfortable
to themselves, and ridiculous to an enlightened generation.

Now, how many rare good fellows there were among us
main-top-men, who, invited into his cabin over a social bottle
or two, would have rejoiced our old Commodore's heart,
and caused that ancient wound of his to heal up at once.

Come, come, Commodore, don't look so sour, old boy; step
up aloft here into the top, and we'll spin you a sociable yarn.

Truly, I thought myself much happier in that white jacket
of mine, than our old Commodore in his dignified epaulets.

One thing, perhaps, that more than any thing else helped
to make our Commodore so melancholy and forlorn, was the
fact of his having so little to do. For as the frigate had a
captain; of course, so far as she was concerned, our Commodore
was a supernumerary. What abundance of leisure he
must have had, during a three years' cruise! how indefinitely
he might have been improving his mind!

But as every one knows that idleness is the hardest work
in the world, so our Commodore was specially provided with
a gentleman to assist him. This gentleman was called the
Commodore's secretary. He was a remarkably urbane and
polished man; with a very graceful exterior, and looked much
like an Embassador Extraordinary from Versailles. He messed
with the Lieutenants in the Ward-room, where he had a stateroom,
elegantly furnished as the private cabinet of Pelham.

His cot-boy used to entertain the sailors with all manner of
stories about the silver-keyed flutes and flageolets, fine oil
paintings, morocco bound volumes, Chinese chess-men, gold
shirt-buttons, enameled pencil cases, extraordinary fine French
boots with soles no thicker than a sheet of scented note-paper,
embroidered vests, incense-burning sealing-wax, alabaster statuettes
of Venus and Adonis, tortoise-shell snuff-boxes, inlaid
toilet-cases, ivory-handled hair-brushes and mother-of-pearl
combs, and a hundred other luxurious appendages scattered
about this magnificent secretary's state-room.

I was a long time in finding out what this secretary's duties
comprised. But it seemed, he wrote the Commodore's
dispatches for Washington, and also was his general amanuensis.
Nor was this a very light duty, at times; for some
Commodores, though they do not say a great deal on board
ship, yet they have a vast deal to write. Very often, the regimental
orderly, stationed at our Commodore's cabin-door,
would touch his hat to the First Lieutenant, and with a mysterious
air hand him a note. I always thought these notes
must contain most important matters of state; until one day,
seeing a slip of wet, torn paper in a scupper-hole, I read the
following:

This was a new revelation; for, from his almost immutable
reserve, I had supposed that the Commodore never meddled
immediately with the concerns of the ship, but left all that to
the captain. But the longer we live, the more we learn of
Commodores.

Turn we now to the second officer in rank, almost supreme,
however, in the internal affairs of his ship. Captain Claret

was a large, portly man, a Harry the Eighth afloat, bluff and
hearty; and as kingly in his cabin as Harry on his throne.
For a ship is a bit of terra firma cut off from the main; it is
a state in itself; and the captain is its king.

It is no limited monarchy, where the sturdy Commons have
a right to petition, and snarl if they please; but almost a despotism,
like the Grand Turk's. The captain's word is law;
he never speaks but in the imperative mood. When he stands
on his Quarter-deck at sea, he absolutely commands as far as
eye can reach. Only the moon and stars are beyond his jurisdiction.
He is lord and master of the sun.

It is not twelve o'clock till he says so. For when the sailing-master,
whose duty it is to take the regular observation
at noon, touches his hat, and reports twelve o'clock to the officer
of the deck; that functionary orders a midshipman to repair
to the captain's cabin, and humbly inform him of the
respectful suggestion of the sailing-master.

“Twelve o'clock reported, sir,” says the middy.

“Make it so,” replies the captain.

And the bell is struck eight by the messenger-boy, and
twelve o'clock it is.

As in the case of the Commodore, when the captain visits
the deck, his subordinate officers generally beat a retreat to
the other side; and, as a general rule, would no more think
of addressing him, except concerning the ship, than a lackey
would think of hailing the Czar of Russia on his throne, and
inviting him to tea. Perhaps no mortal man has more reason
to feel such an intense sense of his own personal consequence,
as the captain of a man-of-war at sea.

Next in rank comes the First or Senior Lieutenant, the
chief executive officer. I have no reason to love the particular
gentleman who filled that post aboard of our frigate,
for it was he who refused my petition for as much black
paint as would render water-proof that white-jacket of mine.
All my soakings and drenchings lie at his state-room door. I
hardly think I shall ever forgive him; every twinge of the

rheumatism, which I still occasionally feel, is directly referable
to him. The Immortals have a reputation for clemency;
and they may pardon him; but he must not dun me to be
merciful. But my personal feelings toward the man shall
not prevent me from here doing him justice. In most things,
he was an excellent seaman; prompt, loud, and to the point;
and as such, was well fitted for his station. The First Lieutenancy
of a frigate demands a good disciplinarian, and, every
way, an energetic man. By the captain he is held responsible
for every thing; by that magnate, indeed, he is supposed
to be omnipresent; down in the hold, and up aloft, at one and
the same time.

He presides at the head of the Ward-room officers' table,
who are so called from their messing together in a part of the
ship thus designated. In a frigate it comprises the after part
of the berth-deck. Sometimes it goes by the name of the
Gun-room, but oftener is called the Ward-room. Within, this
Ward-room much resembles a long, wide corridor in a large
hotel; numerous doors opening on both hands to the private
apartments of the officers. I never had a good interior look
at it but once; and then the Chaplain was seated at the table
in the centre, playing chess with the Lieutenant of Marines.
It was mid-day, but the place was lighted by lamps.

Besides the First Lieutenant, the Ward-room officers include
the junior lieutenants, in a frigate six or seven in number,
the Sailing-master, Purser, Chaplain, Surgeon, Marine
officers, and Midshipmen's Schoolmaster, or “the Professor.”
They generally form a very agreeable club of good fellows;
from their diversity of character, admirably calculated to form
an agreeable social whole. The Lieutenants discuss sea-fights,
and tell anecdotes of Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton; the
Marine officers talk of storming fortresses, and the siege of
Gibraltar; the Purser steadies this wild conversation by occasional
allusions to the rule of three; the Professor is always
charged with a scholarly reflection, or an apt line from the
classics, generally Ovid; the Surgeon's stories of the amputation-table

judiciously serve to suggest the mortality of the
whole party as men; while the good chaplain stands ready
at all times to give them pious counsel and consolation.

Of course these gentlemen all associate on a footing of perfect
social equality.

Next in order come the Warrant or Forward officers, consisting
of the Boatswain, Gunner, Carpenter, and Sail-maker.
Though these worthies sport long coats and wear the anchor-button;
yet, in the estimation of the ward-room officers, they
are not, technically speaking, rated gentlemen. The First
Lieutenant, Chaplain, or Surgeon, for example, would never
dream of inviting them to dinner. In sea parlance, “they
come in at the hawse holes;” they have hard hands; and the
carpenter and sail-maker practically understand the duties
which they are called upon to superintend. They mess by
themselves. Invariably four in number, they never have
need to play whist with a dummy.

In this part of the category now come the “reefers,” otherwise
“middies” or midshipmen. These boys are sent to sea,
for the purpose of making commodores; and in order to become
commodores, many of them deem it indispensable forthwith
to commence chewing tobacco, drinking brandy and
water, and swearing at the sailors. As they are only placed
on board a sea-going ship to go to school and learn the duty
of a Lieutenant; and until qualified to act as such, have few
or no special functions to attend to; they are little more,
while midshipmen, than supernumeraries on board. Hence,
in a crowded frigate, they are so everlastingly crossing the
path of both men and officers, that in the navy it has become
a proverb, that a useless fellow is “as much in the way as a
reefer.”

In a gale of wind, when all hands are called and the deck
swarms with men, the little “middies” running about distracted
and having nothing particular to do, make it up in
vociferous swearing; exploding all about under foot like torpedoes.
Some of them are terrible little boys, cocking their

caps at alarming angles, and looking fierce as young roosters.
They are generally great consumers of Macassar oil and the
Balm of Columbia; they thirst and rage after whiskers; and
sometimes, applying their ointments, lay themselves out in
the sun, to promote the fertility of their chins.

As the only way to learn to command, is to learn to obey,
the usage of a ship of war is such that the midshipmen are
constantly being ordered about by the Lieutenants; though,
without having assigned them their particular destinations,
they are always going somewhere, and never arriving. In
some things, they almost have a harder time of it than the
seamen themselves. They are messengers and errand-boys to
their superiors.

“Mr. Pert,” cries an officer of the deck, hailing a young
gentleman forward. Mr. Pert advances, touches his hat, and
remains in an attitude of deferential suspense. “Go and tell
the boatswain I want him.” And with this perilous errand,
the middy hurries away, looking proud as a king.

The middies live by themselves in the steerage, where,
nowadays, they dine off a table, spread with a cloth. They
have a castor at dinner; they have some other little boys (selected
from the ship's company) to wait upon them; they
sometimes drink coffee out of china. But for all these, their
modern refinements, in some instances the affairs of their club
go sadly to rack and ruin. The china is broken; the japanned
coffee-pot dented like a pewter mug in an ale-house; the
pronged forks resemble tooth-picks (for which they are sometimes
used); the table-knives are hacked into hand-saws; and
the cloth goes to the sail-maker to be patched. Indeed, they
are something like collegiate freshmen and sophomores, living
in the college buildings, especially so far as the noise they
make in their quarters is concerned. The steerage buzzes,
hums, and swarms like a hive; or like an infant-school of a
hot day, when the schoolmistress falls asleep with a fly on
her nose.

In frigates, the ward-room—the retreat of the Lieutenants

—immediately adjoining the steerage, is on the same deck
with it. Frequently, when the middies, waking early of a
morning, as most youngsters do, would be kicking up their
heels in their hammocks, or running about with double-reefed
night-gowns, playing tag among the “clews;” the Senior
Lieutenant would burst among them with a — “Young gentlemen,
I am astonished. You must stop this sky-larking,
Mr. Pert, what are you doing at the table there, without your
pantaloons? To your hammock, sir. Let me see no more of
this. If you disturb the ward-room again, young gentlemen,
you shall hear of it.” And so saying, this hoary-headed Senior
Lieutenant would retire to his cot in his state-room, like the
father of a numerous family after getting up in his dressing-gown
and slippers, to quiet a daybreak tumult in his populous
nursery.

Having now descended from Commodore to Middy, we come
lastly to a set of nondescripts, forming also a “mess” by themselves,
apart from the seamen. Into this mees, the usage of
a man-of-war thrusts various subordinates — including the
master-at-arms, purser's steward, ship's corporals, marine sergeants,
and ship's yeomen, forming the first aristocracy above
the sailors.

The master-at-arms is a sort of high constable and schoolmaster,
wearing citizen's clothes, and known by his official
rattan. He it is whom all sailors hate. His is the universal
duty of a universal informer and hunter-up of delinquents.
On the berth-deck he reigns supreme; spying out all grease-spots
made by the various cooks of the seamen's messes, and
driving the laggards up the hatches, when all hands are called.
It is indispensable that he should be a very Vidocq in
vigilance. But as it is a heartless, so is it a thankless office.
Of dark nights, most masters-of-arms keep themselves in readiness
to dodge forty-two pound balls, dropped down the hatchways
near them.

The ship's corporals are this worthy's deputies and ushers.

The marine sergeants are generally tall fellows with unyielding

spines and stiff upper lips, and very exclusive in their
tastes and predilections.

The ship's yeoman is a gentleman who has a sort of counting-room
in a tar-cellar down in the fore-hold. More will be
said of him anon.

Except the officers above enumerated, there are none who
mess apart from the seamen. The “petty officers,” so called;
that is, the Boatswain's, Gunner's, Carpenter's, and Sail-maker's
mates, the Captains of the Tops, of the Forecastle, and
of the After-Guard, and of the Fore and Main holds, and the
Quarter-Masters, all mess in common with the crew, and in
the American navy are only distinguished from the common
seamen by their slightly additional pay. But in the English
navy they wear crowns and anchors worked on the sleeves of
their jackets, by way of badges of office. In the French navy
they are known by strips of worsted worn in the same place,
like those designating the Sergeants and Corporals in the army.

Thus it will be seen, that the dinner-table is the criterion
of rank in our man-of-war world. The Commodore dines
alone, because he is the only man of his rank in the ship. So
too with the Captain; and the Ward-room officers, warrant
officers, midshipmen, the master-at-arms' mess, and the common
seamen;—all of them, respectively, dine together, because
they are, respectively, on a footing of equality.