42. CHAPTER XLII.
KILLING TIME IN A MAN-OF-WAR IN HARBOR.
Reading was by no means the only method adopted by
my shipmates in whiling away the long, tedious hours in harbor.
In truth, many of them could not have read, had they
wanted to ever so much; in early youth their primers had
been sadly neglected. Still, they had other pursuits; some
were expert at the needle, and employed their time in making
elaborate shirts, stitching picturesque eagles, and anchors, and
all the stars of the federated states in the collars thereof; so
that when they at last completed and put on these shirts,
they may be said to have hoisted the American colors.
Others excelled in tattooing, or pricking, as it is called in
a man-of-war. Of these prickers, two had long been celebrated,
in their way, as consummate masters of the art. Each
had a small box full of tools and coloring matter; and they
charged so high for their services, that at the end of the cruise
they were supposed to have cleared upward of four hundred
dollars. They would prick you to order a palm-tree, an anchor,
a crucifix, a lady, a lion, an eagle, or any thing else you
might want.
The Roman Catholic sailors on board had at least the crucifix
pricked on their arms, and for this reason: If they
chanced to die in a Catholic land, they would be sure of a
decent burial in consecrated ground, as the priest would be
sure to observe the symbol of Mother Church on their persons.
They would not fare as Protestant sailors dying in Callao, who
are shoved under the sands of St. Lorenzo, a solitary, volcanic
island in the harbor, overrun with reptiles, their heretical bodies
not being permitted to repose in the more genial loam of Lima.
And many sailors not Catholics were anxious to have the
crucifix painted on them, owing to a curious superstition of
theirs. They affirm—some of them—that if you have that
mark tattooed upon all four limbs, you might fall overboard
among seven hundred and seventy-five thousand white sharks,
all dinnerless, and not one of them would so much as dare to
smell at your little finger.
We had one fore-top-man on board, who, during the entire
cruise, was having an endless cable pricked round and round
his waist, so that, when his frock was off, he looked like a
capstan with a hawser coiled round about it. This fore-top-man
paid eighteen pence per link for the cable, besides being
on the smart the whole cruise, suffering the effects of his repeated
puncturings; so he paid very dear for his cable.
One other mode of passing time while in port was cleaning
and polishing your bright-work; for it must be known that,
in men-of-war, every sailor has some brass or steel of one kind
or other to keep in high order—like house-maids, whose business
it is to keep well-polished the knobs on the front-door railing
and the parlor-grates.
Excepting the ring-bolts, eye-bolts, and belaying-pins scattered
about the decks, this bright-work, as it is called, is principally
about the guns, embracing the “monkey-tails” of the
carronades, the screws, prickers, little irons, and other things.
The portion that fell to my own share I kept in superior
order, quite equal in polish to Roger's best cutlery. I received
the most extravagant encomiums from the officers;
one of whom offered to match me against any brasier or brass-polisher
in her British majesty's Navy. Indeed, I devoted
myself to the work body and soul, and thought no pains too
painful, and no labor too laborious, to achieve the highest attainable
polish possible for us poor lost sons of Adam to reach.
Upon one occasion, even, when woolen rags were scarce,
and no burned-brick was to be had from the ship's-yeoman, I
sacrificed the corners of my woolen shirt, and used some dentrifice
I had, as substitutes for the rags and burned-brick.
The dentrifice operated delightfully, and made the threading
of my carronade screw shine and grin again, like a set of false
teeth in an eager heiress-hunter's mouth.
Still another mode of passing time, was arraying yourself in
your best “togs” and promenading up and down the gun-deck,
admiring the shore scenery from the port-holes, which, in an
amphitheatrical bay like Rio—belted about by the most varied
and charming scenery of hill, dale, moss, meadow, court,
castle, tower, grove, vine, vineyard, aqueduct, palace, square,
island, fort—is very much like lounging round a circular cosmorama,
and ever and anon lazily peeping through the glasses
here and there. Oh! there is something worth living for,
even in our man-of-war world; and one glimpse of a bower
of grapes, though a cable's length off, is almost satisfaction
for dining off a shank-bone salted down.
This promenading was chiefly patronized by the marines,
and particularly by Colbrook, a remarkably handsome and
very gentlemanly corporal among them. He was a complete
lady's man; with fine black eyes, bright red cheeks, glossy
jet whiskers, and a refined organization of the whole man.
He used to array himself in his regimentals, and saunter about
like an officer of the Cold-Stream Guards, strolling down to
his club in St. James's. Every time he passed me, he would
heave a sentimental sigh, and hum to himself “The girl I
left behind me.” This fine corporal afterward became a representative
in the Legislature of the State of New Jersey; for
I saw his name returned about a year after my return home.
But, after all, there was not much room, while in port, for
promenading, at least on the gun-deck, for the whole larboard
side is kept clear for the benefit of teh officers, who appreciate
the advantages of having a clear stroll fore and aft; and they
well know that the sailors had much better be crowded together
on the other side than that the set of their own coat-tails
should be impaired by brushing against their tarry trowsers.
One other way of killing time while in port is playing checkers;
that is, when it is permitted; for it is not every navy
captain who will allow such a scandalous proceeding. But,
as for Captain Claret, though he
did like his glass of Madeira
uncommonly well, and was an undoubted descendant from
the hero of the Battle of the Brandywine, and though he sometimes
showed a suspiciously flushed face when superintending
in person the flogging of a sailor for getting intoxicated against
his particular orders, yet I will say for Captain Claret that,
upon the whole, he was rather indulgent to his crew, so long
as they were perfectly docile. He allowed them to play checkers
as much as they pleased. More than once I have known
him, when going forward to the fore-castle, pick his way carefully
among scores of canvass checker-cloths spread upon the
deck, so as not to tread upon the men—the checker-men and
man-of-war's-men included; but, in a certain sense, they were
both one; for, as the sailors used their checker-men, so, at
quarters, their officers used these man-of-war's-men.
But Captain Claret's leniency in permitting checkers on
board his ship might have arisen from the following little circumstance,
confidentially communicated to me. Soon after
the ship had sailed from home, checkers were prohibited;
whereupon the sailors were exasperated against the Captain,
and one night, when he was walking round the forecastle,
bim! came an iron belaying-pin past his ears; and while he
was dodging that, bim! came another, from the other side;
so that, it being a very dark night, and nobody to be seen,
and it being impossible to find out the trespassers, he thought
it best to get back into his cabin as soon as possible. Some
time after—just as if the belaying-pins had nothing to do with
it—it was indirectly rumored that the checker-boards might
be brought out again, which—as a philosophical shipmate
observed—showed that Captain Claret was a man of a ready
understanding, and could understand a hint as well as any
other man, even when conveyed by several pounds of iron.
Some of the sailors were very precise about their checker-cloths,
and even went so far that they would not let you play
with them unless you first washed your hands, especially if so
be you had just come from tarring down the rigging.
Another way of beguiling the tedious hours, is to get a cosy
seat somewhere, and fall into as snug a little revery as you
can. Or if a seat is not to be had—which is frequently the
case—then get a tolerably comfortable stand-up against the
bulwarks, and begin to think about home and bread and butter—always
inseparably connected to a wanderer—which will
very soon bring delicious tears into your eyes; for every one
knows what a luxury is grief, when you can get a private
closet to enjoy it in, and no Paul Prys intrude. Several of
my shore friends, indeed, when suddenly overwhelmed by
some disaster, always make a point of flying to the first oyster-cellar,
and shutting themselves up in a box, with nothing
but a plate of stewed oysters, some crackers, the castor, and
a decanter of old Port.
Still another way of killing time in harbor, is to lean over
the bulwarks, and speculate upon where, under the sun, you
are going to be that day next year, which is a subject full of
interest to every living soul; so much so, that there is a particular
day of a particular month of the year, which, from my
earliest recollections, I have always kept the run of, so that I
can even now tell just where I was on that identical day of
every year past since I was twelve years old. And, when I
am all alone, to run over this almanac in my mind is almost
as entertaining as to read your own diary, and far more interesting
than to peruse a table of logarithms on a rainy afternoon.
I always keep the anniversary of that day with lamb
and peas, and a pint of Sherry, for it comes in Spring. But
when it came round in the Neversink, I could get neither
lamb, peas, nor Sherry.
But perhaps the best way to drive the hours before you
four-in-hand, is to select a soft plank on the gun-deck, and go to
sleep. A fine specific, which seldom fails, unless, to be sure,
you have been sleeping all the twenty-four hours beforehand.
Whenever employed in killing time in harbor, I have lifted
myself up on my elbow and looked around me, and seen so
many of my shipmates all employed at the same common
business; all under lock and key; all hopeless prisoners like
myself; all under martial law; all dieting on salt beef and
biscuit; all in one uniform; all yawning, gaping, and stretching
in concert, it was then that I used to feel a certain love
and affection for them, grounded, doubtless, on a fellow-feeling.
And though, in a previous part of this narrative, I have
mentioned that I used to hold myself somewhat aloof from
the mass of seamen on board the Neversink; and though this
was true, and my real acquaintances were comparatively few,
and my intimates still fewer, yet, to tell the truth, it is quite
impossible to live so long with five hundred of your fellow-beings,
even if not of the best families in the land, and with
morals that would not be spoiled by further cultivation; it is
quite impossible, I say, to live with five hundred of your fellow-beings,
be they who they may, without feeling a common
sympathy with them at the time, and ever after cherishing
some sort of interest in their welfare.
The truth of this was curiously corroborated by a rather
equivocal acquaintance of mine, who, among the men, went
by the name of “Shakings.” He belonged to the fore-hold,
whence, of a dark night, he would sometimes emerge to chat
with the sailors on deck. I never liked the man's looks; I
protest it was a mere accident that gave me the honor of his
acquaintance, and genrally I did my best to avoid him,
when he would come skulking, like a jail-bird, out of his den
into the liberal, open air of the sky. Nevertheless, the anecdote
this holder told me is well worth preserving, more especially
the extraordinary frankness evinced in his narrating
such a thing to a comparative stranger.
The substance of his story was as follows: Shakings, it
seems, had once been a convict in the New York State's Prison
at Sing Sing, where he had been for years confined for a
crime, which he gave me his solemn word of honor he was
wholly innocent of. He told me that, after his term had expired,
and he went out into the world again, he never could
stumble upon any of his old Sing Sing associates without
dropping into a public house and talking over old times. And
when fortune would go hard with him, and he felt out of
sorts, and incensed at matters and things in general, he told
me that, at such time, he almost wished he was back again
in Sing Sing, where he was relieved from all anxieties about
what he should eat and drink, and was supported, like the
President of the United States and Prince Albert, at the public
charge. He used to have such a snug little cell, he said,
all to himself, and never felt afraid of house-breakers, for the
walls were uncommonly thick, and his door was securely bolted
for him, and a watchman was all the time walking up and
down in the passage, while he himself was fast asleep and
dreaming. To this, in substance, the
holder added, that he
narrated this anecdote because he thought it applicable to a
man-of-war, which he scandalously asserted to be a sort of
State Prison afloat.
Concerning the curious disposition to fraternize and be sociable,
which this Shakings mentioned as characteristic of the
convicts liberated from his old homestead at Sing Sing, it
may well be asked, whether it may not prove to be some
feeling, somehow akin to the reminiscent impulses which influenced
them, that shall hereafter fraternally reunite all us
mortals, when we shall have exchanged this State's Prison
man-of-war world of ours for another and a better.
From the foregoing account of the great difficulty we had
in killing time while in port, it must not be inferred that on
board of the Neversink in Rio there was literally no work to
be done. At long intervals the launch would come alongside
with water-casks, to be emptied into iron tanks in the
hold. In this way nearly fifty thousand gallons, as chronicled
in the books of the master's mate, were decanted into
the ship's bowels—a ninety days' allowance. With this
huge Lake Ontario in us, the mighty Neversink might be
said to resemble the united continent of the Eastern Hemisphere—floating
in a vast ocean herself, and having a Mediterranean
floating in her.
