43. CHAPTER XLIII.
SMUGGLING IN A MAN-OF-WAR.
It is in a good degree owing to the idleness just described,
that, while lying in harbor, the man-of-war's-man is exposed
to the most temptations, and gets into his saddest scrapes.
For though his vessel be anchored a mile from the shore, and
her sides are patrolled by sentries night and day, yet these
things can not entirely prevent the seductions of the land from
reaching him. The prime agent in working his calamities
in port is his old arch-enemy, the ever-devilish god of grog.
Immured as the man-of-war's-man is, serving out his weary
three years in a sort of sea-Newgate, from which he can not
escape, either by the roof or burrowing under ground, he too
often flies to the bottle to seek relief from the intolerable
ennui of nothing to do, and nowhere to go. His ordinary
government allowance of spirits, one gill per diem, is not
enough to give a sufficient fillip to his listless senses; he pronounces
his grog basely watered; he scouts at it, as thinner
than muslin; he craves a more vigorous nip at the cable, a
more sturdy swig at the halyards; and if opium were to be
had, many would steep themselves a thousand fathoms down
in the densest fumes of that oblivious drug. Tell him that
the delirium tremens and the mania-a-potu lie in ambush for
drunkards, he will say to you, “Let them bear down upon
me, then, before the wind; any thing that smacks of life is
better than to feel Davy Jones's chest-lid on your nose.” He
is reckless as an avalanche; and though his fall destroy himself
and others, yet a ruinous commotion is better than being
frozen fast in unendurable solitudes. No wonder, then, that
he goes all lengths to procure the thing he craves; no wonder
that he pays the most exorbitant prices, breaks through
all law, and braves the ignominious lash itself, rather than
be deprived of his stimulus.
Now, concerning no one thing in a man-of-war, are the
regulations more severe than respecting the smuggling of
grog, and being found intoxicated. For either offence there
is but one penalty, invariably enforced; and that is, the degradation
of the gangway.
All conceivable precautions are taken by most frigate-executives
to guard against the secret admission of spirits
into the vessel. In the first place, no shore-boat whatever
is allowed to approach a man-of-war in a foreign harbor without
permission from the officer of the deck. Even the bumboats,
the small craft licensed by the officers to bring off fruit
for the sailors, to be bought out of their own money—these
are invariably inspected before permitted to hold intercourse
with the ship's company. And not only this, but every one
of the numerous ship's boats—kept almost continually plying
to and from the shore—are similarly inspected, sometimes
each boat twenty times in the day.
This inspection is thus performed: The boat being descried
by the quarter-master from the poop, she is reported to the
deck-officer, who thereupon summons the master-at-arms, the
ship's Chief of Police. This functionary now stations himself
at the gangway, and as the boat's crew, one by one, come
up the side, he personally overhauls them, making them take
off their hats, and then, placing both hands upon their heads,
draws his palms slowly down to their feet, carefully feeling
all unusual protuberances. If nothing suspicious is felt, the
man is let pass; and so on, till the whole boat's crew, averaging
about sixteen men, are examined. The Chief of Police
then descends into the boat, and walks from stem to stern,
eyeing it all over, and poking his long rattan into every nook
and cranny. This operation concluded, and nothing found, he
mounts the ladder, touches his hat to the deck-officer, and reports
the boat clean; whereupon she is hauled out to the booms.
Thus it will be seen that not a man of the ship's company
ever enters the vessel from shore without it being rendered
next to impossible, apparently, that he should have succeeded
in smuggling any thing. Those individuals who are permitted
to board the ship without undergoing this ordeal, are
only persons whom it would be preposterous to search—such
as the Commodore himself, the Captain, Lieutenants, &c.,
and gentlemen and ladies coming as visitors.
For any thing to be clandestinely thrust through the lower
port-holes at night, is rendered very difficult, from the watchfulness
of the quarter-master in hailing all boats that approach,
long before they draw alongside, and the vigilance of
the sentries, posted on platforms overhanging the water, whose
orders are to fire into a strange boat which, after being warned
to withdraw, should still persist in drawing nigh. Moreover,
thirty-two-pound shot are slung to ropes, and suspended
over the bows, to drop a hole into and sink any small craft,
which, spite of all precautions, by strategy should succeed in
getting under the bows with liquor by night. Indeed, the
whole power of martial law is enlisted in this matter; and
every one of the numerous officers of the ship, besides his general
zeal in enforcing the regulations, adds to that a personal
feeling, since the sobriety of the men abridges his own cares
and anxieties.
How then, it will be asked, in the face of an argus-eyed
police, and in defiance even of bayonets and bullets, do man-of-war's-men
contrive to smuggle their spirits? Not to enlarge
upon minor stratagems—every few days detected, and
rendered naught (such as rolling up, in a neckerchief, a long,
slender “skin” of grog, like a sausage, and in that manner
ascending to the deck out of a boat just from shore; or openly
bringing on board cocoa-nuts and melons, procured from a
knavish bum-boat, filled with spirits, instead of milk or water)—we
will only mention here two or three other modes,
coming under my own observation.
While in Rio, a fore-top-man, belonging to the second cutter,
paid down the money, and made an arrangement with a
person encountered at the Palace-landing ashore, to the following
effect. Of a certain moonless night, he was to bring
off three gallons of spirits,
in skins, and moor them to the
frigate's anchor-buoy—some distance from the vessel—attaching
something heavy, to sink them out of sight. In the middle
watch of the night, the fore-top-man slips out of his hammock,
and by creeping along in the shadows, eludes the vigilance
of the master-at-arms and his mates, gains a port-hole,
and softly lowers himself into the water, almost without creating
a ripple—the sentries marching to and fro on their overhanging
platform above him. He is an expert swimmer, and
paddles along under the surface, every now and then rising a
little, and lying motionless on his back to breathe—little but
his nose exposed. The buoy gained, he cuts the skins adrift,
ties them round his body, and in the same adroit manner
makes good his return.
This feat is very seldom attempted, for it needs the utmost
caution, address, and dexterity; and no one but a super-expert
burglar, and faultless Leander of a swimmer, could
achieve it.
From the greater privileges which they enjoy, the “forward
officers,” that is, the Gunner, Boatswain, &c., have much
greater opportunities for successful smuggling than the common
seamen. Coming alongside one night in a cutter, Yarn,
our boatswain, in some inexplicable way, contrived to slip
several skins of brandy through the air-port of his own stateroom.
The feat, however, must have been perceived by one
of the boat's crew, who immediately, on gaining the deck,
sprung down the ladders, stole into the boatswain's room, and
made away with the prize, not three minutes before the rightful
owner entered to claim it. Though, from certain circumstances,
the thief was known to the aggrieved party, yet the
latter could say nothing, since he himself had infringed the
law. But the next day, in the capacity of captain of the
ship's executioners, Yarn had the satisfaction (it was so to
him), of standing over the robber at the gangway; for, being
found intoxicated with the very liquor the boatswain himself
had smuggled, the man had been condemned to a flogging.
This recalls another instance, still more illustrative of the
knotted, trebly intertwisted villainy, accumulating at a sort
of compound interest in a man-of-war. The cockswain of the
Commodore's barge takes his crew apart, one by one, and
cautiously sounds them as to their fidelity—not to the United
States of America, but to himself. Three individuals, whom
he deems doubtful—that is, faithful to the United States of
America—he procures to be discharged from the barge, and
men of his own selection are substituted; for he is always an
influential character, this cockswain of the Commodore's
barge. Previous to this, however, he has seen to it well, that
no Temperance men—that is, sailors who do not draw their
government ration of grog, but take the money for it—he has
seen to it, that none of these balkers are numbered among his
crew. Having now proved his men, he divulges his plan to
the assembled body; a solemn oath of secrecy is obtained,
and he waits the first fit opportunity to carry into execution
his nefarious designs.
At last it comes. One afternoon the barge carries the Commodore
across the Bay to a fine water-side settlement of noblemen's
seats, called Praya Grande. The Commodore is
visiting a Portuguese marquis, and the pair linger long over
their dinner in an arbor in the garden. Meanwhile, the
cockswain has liberty to roam about where he pleases. He
searches out a place where some choice red-eye (brandy) is to
be had, purchases six large bottles, and conceals them among
the trees. Under the pretence of filling the boat-keg with
water, which is always kept in the barge to refresh the crew,
he now carries it off into the grove, knocks out the head, puts
the bottles inside, reheads the keg, fills it with water, carries
it down to the boat, and audaciously restores it to its conspicuous
position in the middle, with its bung-hole up. When
the Commodore comes down to the beach, and they pull off
for the ship, the Cockswain, in a loud voice, commands the
nearest man to take that bung out of the keg—that precious
water will spoil. Arrived alongside the frigate, the boat's
crew are overhauled, as usual, at the gangway; and nothing
being found on them, are passed. The master-at-arms now
descending into the barge, and finding nothing suspicious, reports
it
clean, having put his finger into the open bung of the
keg and tasted that the water was pure. The barge is ordered
out to the booms, and deep night is waited for, ere the Cockswain
essays to snatch the bottles from the keg.
But, unfortunately for the success of this masterly smuggler,
one of his crew is a weak-pated fellow, who, having
drank somewhat freely ashore, goes about the gun-deck throwing
out profound, tipsy hints concerning some unutterable proceeding
on the ship's anvil. A knowing old sheet-anchor-man,
an unprincipled fellow, putting this, that, and the other together,
ferrets out the mystery; and straightway resolves to
reap the goodly harvest which the Cockswain has sowed. He
seeks him out, takes him to one side, and addresses him thus:
“Cockswain, you have been smuggling off some red-eye,
which at this moment is in your barge at the booms. Now,
Cockswain, I have stationed two of my mess-mates at the port-holes,
on that side of the ship; and if they report to me that
you, or any of your bargemen, offer to enter that barge before
morning, I will immediately report you as a smuggler to the
officer of the deck.”
The Cockswain is astounded; for, to be reported to the
deck-officer as a smuggler, would inevitably procure him a
sound flogging, and be the disgraceful breaking of him as a
petty officer, receiving four dollars a month beyond his pay as
an able seaman. He attempts to bribe the other to secrecy,
by promising half the profits of the enterprise; but the sheet-anchor-man's
integrity is like a rock; he is no mercenary, to
be bought up for a song. The Cockswain, therefore, is forced
to swear that neither himself, nor any of his crew, shall enter
the barge before morning. This done, the sheet-anchor-man
goes to his confidants, and arranges his plans. In a word, he
succeeds in introducing the six brandy bottles into the ship;
five of which he sells at eight dollars a bottle; and then, with
the sixth, between two guns, he secretly regales himself and
confederates; while the helpless Cockswain, stifling his rage,
bitterly eyes them from afar.
Thus, though they say that there is honor among thieves,
there is little among man-of-war smugglers.
