University of Virginia Library

39. CHAPTER XXXIX.

In good time we were up with the parallel of Rio de Janeiro,
and, standing in for the land, the mist soon cleared; and
high aloft the famed Sugar Loaf pinnacle was seen, our bowsprit
pointing for it straight as a die.

As we glided on toward our anchorage, the bands of the
various men-of-war in harbor saluted us with national airs,
and gallantly lowered their ensigns. Nothing can exceed the
courteous etiquette of these ships, of all nations, in greeting
their brethren. Of all men, your accomplished duellist is generally
the most polite.

We lay in Rio some weeks, lazily taking in stores and
otherwise preparing for the passage home. But though Rio
is one of the most magnificent bays in the world; though
the city itself contains many striking objects; and though
much might be said of the Sugar Loaf and Signal Hill
heights; and the little islet of Lucia; and the fortified Ihla
Dos Cobras, or Isle of the Snakes (though the only anacondas
and adders now found in the arsenals there are great guns
and pistols); and Lord Wood's Nose—a lofty eminence said
by seamen to resemble his lordship's conch-shell; and the
Prays do Flamingo—a noble tract of beach, so called from its
having been the resort, in olden times, of those gorgeous birds;
and the charming Bay of Botofogo, which, spite of its name,
is fragrant as the neighboring Larangieros, or Valley of the
Oranges; and the green Gloria Hill, surmounted by the belfries
of the queenly Church of Nossa Senora de Gloria; and
the iron-gray Benedictine convent near by; and the fine drive

and promenade, Passeo Publico; and the massive arch-over-arch
aqueduct, Arcos de Carico; and the Emperor's Palace;
and the Empress's Gardens; and the fine Church de Candelaria;
and the gilded throne on wheels, drawn by eight silken,
silver-belled mules, in which, of pleasant evenings, his Imperial
Majesty is driven out of town to his Moorish villa of St.
Christova—ay, though much might be said of all this, yet
must I forbear, if I may, and adhere to my one proper object,
the world in a man-of-war.

Behold, now, the Neversink under a new aspect. With
all her batteries, she is tranquilly lying in harbor, surrounded
by English, French, Dutch, Portuguese, and Brazilian seventy-fours,
moored in the deep-green water, close under the
lee of that oblong, castellated mass of rock, Ilha Dos Cobras,
which, with its port-holes and lofty flag-staffs, looks like another
man-of-war, fast anchored in the bay. But what is an
insular fortress, indeed, but an embattled land-slide into the
sea from the world Gibraltars and Quebecs? And what a
main-land fortress but a few decks of a line-of-battle ship
transplanted ashore? They are all one—all, as King David,
men-of-war from their youth.

Ay, behold now the Neversink at her anchors, in many
respects presenting a different appearance from what she presented
at sea. Nor is the routine of life on board the same.

At sea there is more to employ the sailors, and less temptation
to violations of the law. Whereas, in port, unless some
particular service engages them, they lead the laziest of lives,
beset by all the allurements of the shore, though perhaps that
shore they may never touch.

Unless you happen to belong to one of the numerous boats,
which, in a man-of-war in harbor, are continually plying to
and from the land, you are mostly thrown upon your own resources
to while away the time. Whole days frequently
pass without your being individually called upon to lift a
finger; for though, in the merchant-service, they make a
point of keeping the men always busy about something or other,

yet, to employ five hundred sailors when there is nothing
definite to be done wholly surpasses the ingenuity of any First
Lieutenant in the Navy.

As mention has just been made of the numerous boats employed
in harbor, something more may as well be put down
concerning them. Our frigate carried a very large boat—as
big as a small sloop—called a launch, which was generally
used for getting off wood, water, and other bulky articles.
Besides this, she carried four boats of an arithmetical progression
in point of size—the largest being known as the first cutter,
the next largest the second cutter, then the third and
fourth cutters. She also carried a Commodore's Barge, a
Captain's Gig, and a “dingy,” a small yawl, with a crew of
apprentice boys. All these boats, except the “dingy,” had
their regular crews, who were subordinate to their cockswains
—petty officers, receiving pay in addition to their seaman's
wages.

The launch was manned by the old Tritons of the fore-castle,
who were no ways particular about their dress, while
the other boats—commissioned for genteeler duties—were
rowed by young fellows, mostly, who had a dandy eye to their
personal appearance. Above all, the officers see to it that
the Commodore's Barge and the Captain's Gig are manned
by gentlemanly youths, who may do credit to their country,
and form agreeable objects for the eyes of the Commodore or
Captain to repose upon as he tranquilly sits in the stern, when
pulled ashore by his barge-men or gig-men, as the case may
be. Some sailors are very fond of belonging to the boats, and
deem it a great honor to be a Commodore's bargeman; but
others, perceiving no particular distinction in that office, do
not court it so much.

On the second day after arriving at Rio, one of the gig-men
fell sick, and, to my no small concern, I found myself
temporarily appointed to his place.

“Come, White-Jacket, rig yourself in white—that's the
gig's uniform to-day; you are a gig-man, my boy—give ye

joy!” This was the first announcement of the fact that I
heard; but soon after it was officially ratified.

I was about to seek the First Lieutenant, and plead the
scantiness of my wardrobe, which wholly disqualified me to
fill so distinguished a station, when I heard the bugler call
away the “gig;” and, without more ado, I slipped into a clean
frock, which a messmate doffed for my benefit, and soon after
found myself pulling off his High Mightiness, the Captain, to
an English seventy-four.

As we were bounding along, the cockswain suddenly cried
“Oars!” At the word every oar was suspended in the air,
while our Commodore's barge floated by, bearing that dignitary
himself. At the sight, Captain Claret removed his chapeau,
and saluted profoundly, our boat laying motionless on
the water. But the barge never stopped; and the Commodore
made but a slight return to the obsequious salute he had
received.

We then resumed rowing, and presently I heard “Oars!”
again; but from another boat, the second cutter, which turned
out to be carrying a Lieutenant ashore. It was now Captain
Claret's turn to be honored. The cutter lay still, and
the Lieutenant off hat; while the Captain only nodded, and
we kept on our way.

This naval etiquette is very much like the etiquette at the
Grand Porte of Constantinople, where, after washing the Sublime
Sultan's feet, the Grand Vizier avenges himself on an
Emir, who does the same office for him.

When we arrived aboard the English seventy-four, the
Captain was received with the usual honors, and the gig's
crew were conducted below, and hospitably regaled with some
spirits, served out by order of the officer of the deck.

Soon after, the English crew went to quarters; and as they
stood up at their guns, all along the main-deck, a row of beeffed
Britons, stalwart-looking fellows, I was struck with the
contrast they afforded to similar sights on board of the Neversink.

For on board of us our “quarters” showed an array of rather
slender, lean-cheeked chaps. But then I made no doubt,
that, in a sea-tussle, these lantern-jawed varlets would have
approved themselves as slender Damascus blades, nimble and
flexible; whereas these Britons would have been, perhaps, as
sturdy broadswords. Yet every one remembers that story of
Saladin and Richard trying their respective blades; how gallant
Richard clove an anvil in twain, or something quite as
ponderous, and Saladin elegantly severed a cushion; so that
the two monarchs were even—each excelling in his way—
though, unfortunately for my simile, in a patriotic point of
view, Richard whipped Saladin's armies in the end.

There happened to be a lord on board of this ship—the
younger son of an earl, they told me. He was a fine-looking
fellow. I chanced to stand by when he put a question to an
Irish captain of a gun; upon the seaman's inadvertently saying
sir to him, his lordship looked daggers at the slight; and
the sailor, touching his hat a thousand times, said, “Pardon,
your honor; I meant to say my lord, sir!”

I was much pleased with an old white-headed musician,
who stood at the main hatchway, with his enormous bass
drum full before him, and thumping it sturdily to the tune of
“God Save the King!” though small mercy did he have on
his drum-heads. Two little boys were clashing cymbals, and
another was blowing a fife, with his cheeks puffed out like
the plumpest of his country's plum-puddings.

When we returned from this trip, there again took place
that ceremonious reception of our captain on board the vessel
he commanded, which always had struck me as exceedingly
diverting.

In the first place, while in port, one of the quarter-masters
is always stationed on the poop with a spy-glass, to look out
for all boats approaching, and report the same to the officer
of the deck; also, who it is that may be coming in them; so
that preparations may be made accordingly. As soon, then,
as the gig touched the side, a mightily shrill piping was heard,

as if some boys were celebrating the Fourth of July with penny
whistles. This proceeded from a boatswain's mate, who,
standing at the gangway, was thus honoring the Captain's
return after his long and perilous absence.

The Captain then slowly mounted the ladder, and gravely
marching through a lane of “side-boys,” so called—all in
their best bibs and tuckers, and who stood making sly faces
behind his back—was received by all the Lieutenants in a
body, their hats in their hands, and making a prodigious scraping
and bowing, as if they had just graduated at a French
dancing-school. Meanwhile, preserving an erect, inflexible,
and ram-rod carriage, and slightly touching his chapeau, the
Captain made his ceremonious way to the cabin, disappearing
behind the scenes, like the pasteboard ghost in Hamlet.

But these ceremonies are nothing to those in homage of the
Commodore's arrival, even should he depart and arrive twenty
times a day. Upon such occasions, the whole marine
guard, except the sentries on duty, are marshaled on the quarter-deck,
presenting arms as the Commodore passes them;
while their commanding officer gives the military salute with
his sword, as if making masonic signs. Meanwhile, the boatswain
himself—not a boatswain's mate—is keeping up a persevering
whistling with his silver pipe; for the Commodore
is never greeted with the rude whistle of a boatswain's subaltern;
that would be positively insulting. All the Lieutenants
and Midshipmen, besides the Captain himself, are drawn
up in a phalanx, and off hat together; and the side-boys,
whose number is now increased to ten or twelve, make an
imposing display at the gangway; while the whole brass
band, elevated upon the poop, strike up “See! the Conquering
Hero comes!” At least, this was the tune that our Captain
always hinted, by a gesture, to the captain of the band,
whenever the Commodore arrived from shore. It conveyed a
complimentary appreciation, on the Captain's part, of the
Commodore's heroism during the Late War.

To return to the gig. As I did not relish the idea of being

a sort of body-servant to Captain Claret—since his gigmen
were often called upon to scrub his cabin floor, and perform
other duties for him—I made it my particular business to get
rid of my appointment in his boat as soon as possible, and the
next day after receiving it, succeeded in procuring a substitute,
who was glad of the chance to fill the position I so much undervalued.

And thus, with our counterlikes and dislikes, most of us
man-of-war's-men harmoniously dove-tail into each other, and,
by our very points of opposition, unite in a clever whole, like
the parts of a Chinese puzzle. But as, in a Chinese puzzle,
many pieces are hard to place, so there are some unfortunate
fellows who can never slip into their proper angles, and thus
the whole puzzle becomes a puzzle indeed, which is the precise
condition of the greatest puzzle in the world—this man-of-war
world itself.