85. CHAPTER LXXXV.
THE GREAT MASSACRE OF THE BEARDS.
The preceding chapter fitly paves the way for the present,
wherein it sadly befalls White-Jacket to chronicle a calamitous
event, which filled the Neversink with long lamentations,
that echoed through all her decks and tops. After dwelling
upon our redundant locks and thrice-noble beards, fain would
I cease, and let the sequel remain undisclosed, but truth and
fidelity forbid.
As I now deviously hover and lingeringly skirmish about
the frontiers of this melancholy recital, a feeling of sadness
comes over me that I can not withstand. Such a heartless
massacre of hair! Such a Bartholomew's Day and Sicilian
Vespers of assassinated beards! Ah! who would believe it!
With intuitive sympathy I feel of my own brown beard while
I write, and thank my kind stars that each precious hair is
forever beyond the reach of the ruthless barbers of a man-of-war!
It needs that this sad and most serious matter should be
faithfully detailed. Throughout the cruise, many of the officers
had expressed their abhorrence of the impunity with
which the most extensive plantations of hair were cultivated
under their very noses; and they frowned upon every beard
with even greater dislike. They said it was unseamanlike;
not ship-shape; in short, it was disgraceful to the Navy.
But as Captain Claret said nothing, and as the officers, of
themselves, had no authority to preach a crusade against whiskerandoes,
the Old Guard on the forecastle still complacently
stroked their beards, and the sweet youths of the After-guard
still lovingly threaded their fingers through their curls.
Perhaps the Captain's generosity in thus far permitting our
beards sprung from the fact that he himself wore a small
speck of a beard upon his own imperial cheek; which, if rumor
said true, was to hide something, as Plutarch relates of
the Emperor Adrian. But, to do him justice—as I always
have done—the Captain's beard did not exceed the limits
prescribed by the Navy Department.
According to a then recent ordinance at Washington, the
beards of both officers and seamen were to be accurately laid
out and surveyed, and on no account must come lower than
the mouth, so as to correspond with the Army standard—a
regulation directly opposed to the theocratical law laid down
in the nineteenth chapter and twenty-seventh verse of Leviticus,
where it is expressly ordained, “Thou shalt not mar the
corners of thy beard.” But legislators do not always square
their statutes by those of the Bible.
At last, when we had crossed the Northern Tropic, and
were standing up to our guns at evening quarters, and when
the setting sun, streaming in at the port-holes, lit up every
hair, till, to an observer on the quarter-deck, the two long,
even lines of beards seemed one dense grove; in that evil hour
it must have been, that a cruel thought entered into the heart
of our Captain.
A pretty set of savages, thought he, am I taking home to
America; people will think them all catamounts and Turks.
Besides, now that I think of it, it's against the law. It will
never do. They must be shaven and shorn—that's flat.
There is no knowing, indeed, whether these were the very
words in which the Captain meditated that night; for it is
yet a mooted point among metaphysicians, whether we think
in words or whether we think in thoughts. But something
like the above must have been the Captain's cogitations. At
any rate, that very evening the ship's company were astounded
by an extraordinary announcement made at the main-hatch-way
of the gun-deck, by the Boatswain's mate there stationed.
He was afterward discovered to have been tipsy at the time.
“D'ye hear there, fore and aft? All you that have hair
on your heads, shave them off; and all you that have beards,
trim 'em small!”
Shave off our Christian heads! And then, placing them
between our knees, trim small our worshiped beards! The
Captain was mad.
But directly the Boatswain came rushing to the hatchway,
and, after soundly rating his tipsy mate, thundered forth a true
version of the order that had issued from the quarter-deck.
As amended, it ran thus:
“D'ye hear there, fore and aft? All you that have long
hair, cut it short; and all you that have large whiskers, trim
them down, according to the Navy regulations.”
This was an amendment, to be sure; but what barbarity,
after all! What! not thirty days' run from home, and lose
our magnificent homeward-bounders! The homeward-bounders
we had been cultivating so long! Lose them at one fell
swoop? Were the vile barbers of the gun-deck to reap our
long, nodding harvests, and expose our innocent chins to the
chill air of the Yankee coast! And our viny locks! were
they also to be shorn? Was a grand sheep-shearing, such as
they annually have at Nantucket, to take place; and our ignoble
barbers to carry off the fleece?
Captain Claret! in cutting our beards and our hair, you
cut us the unkindest cut of all! Were we going into action,
Captain Claret—going to fight the foe with our hearts of flame
and our arms of steel, then would we gladly offer up our beards
to the terrific God of War, and that we would account but a
wise precaution against having them tweaked by the foe.
Then, Captain Claret, you would but be imitating the example
of Alexander, who had his Macedonians all shaven, that
in the hour of battle their beards might not be handles to the
Persians. But now, Captain Claret! when after our long,
long cruise, we are returning to our homes, tenderly stroking
the fine tassels on our chins, and thinking of father or mother,
or sister or brother, or daughter or son; to cut off our beards
now—the very beards that were frosted white off the pitch of
Patagonia—
this is too bitterly bad, Captain Claret! and, by
Heaven, we will not submit. Train your guns inboard, let
the marines fix their bayonets, let the officers draw their
swords; we
will not let our beards be reaped—the last insult
inflicted upon a vanquished foe in the East!
Where are you, sheet-anchor-men! Captains of the tops!
gunner's mates! mariners, all! Muster round the capstan
your venerable beards, and while you braid them together in
token of brotherhood, cross hands and swear that we will enact
over again the mutiny of the Nore, and sooner perish than
yield up a hair!
The excitement was intense throughout that whole evening.
Groups of tens and twenties were scattered about all the decks,
discussing the mandate, and inveighing against its barbarous
author. The long area of the gun-deck was something like a
populous street of brokers, when some terrible commercial tidings
have newly arrived. One and all, they resolved not to
succumb, and every man swore to stand by his beard and his
neighbor.
Twenty-four hours after—at the next evening quarters—
the Captain's eye was observed to wander along the men at
their guns—not a beard was shaven!
When the drum beat the retreat, the Boatswain—now attended
by all four of his mates, to give additional solemnity to
the announcement—repeated the previous day's order, and
concluded by saying, that twenty-four hours would be given
for all to acquiesce.
But the second day passed, and at quarters, untouched, every
beard bristled on its chin. Forthwith Captain Claret
summoned the midshipmen, who, receiving his orders, hurried
to the various divisions of the guns, and communicated them
to the Lieutenants respectively stationed over divisions.
The officer commanding mine turned upon us, and said,
“Men, if to-morrow night I find any of you with long hair, or
whiskers of a standard violating the Navy regulations, the
names of such offenders shall be put down on the report.”
The affair had now assumed a most serious aspect. The
Captain was in earnest. The excitement increased ten-fold;
and a great many of the older seamen, exasperated to the uttermost,
talked about knocking off duty till the obnoxious
mandate was revoked. I thought it impossible that they
would seriously think of such a folly; but there is no knowing
what man-of-war's-men will sometimes do, under provocation
—witness Parker and the Nore.
That same night, when the first watch was set, the men
in a body drove the two boatswain's mates from their stations
at the fore and main hatchways, and unshipped the ladders;
thus cutting off all communication between the gun and spar
decks, forward of the main-mast.
Mad Jack had the trumpt; and no sooner was this incipient
mutiny reported to him, than he jumped right down
among the mob, and fearlessly mingling with them, exclaimed,
“What do you mean, men? don't be fools! This is no
way to get what you want. Turn to, my lads, turn to!
Boatswain's mate, ship that ladder! So! up you tumble,
now, my hearties! away you go!”
His gallant, off-handed, confident manner, recognizing no
attempt at mutiny, operated upon the sailors like magic.
They tumbled up, as commanded; and for the rest of that
night contented themselves with privately fulminating their
displeasure against the Captain, and publicly emblazoning every
anchor-button on the coat of admired Mad Jack.
Captain Claret happened to be taking a nap in his cabin at
the moment of the disturbance; and it was quelled so soon,
that he knew nothing of it till it was officially reported to
him. It was afterward rumored through the ship that he
reprimanded Mad Jack for acting as he did. He maintained
that he should at once have summoned the marines, and
charged upon the “mutineers.” But if the sayings imputed
to the Captain were true, he nevertheless refrained from subsequently
noticing the disturbance, or attempting to seek out
and punish the ringleaders. This was but wise; for there
are times when even the most potent governor must wink at
transgression, in order to preserve the laws inviolate for the
future. And great care is to be taken, by timely management,
to avert an incontestable act of mutiny, and so prevent
men from being roused, by their own consciousness of transgression,
into all the fury of an unbounded insurrection.
Then,
for the time, both soldiers and sailors are irresistible; as even
the valor of Cæsar was made to know, and the prudence of
Germanicus, when their legions rebelled. And not all the
concessions of Earl Spencer, as First Lord of the Admiralty,
nor the threats and entreaties of Lord Bridport, the Admiral
of the Fleet—no, nor his gracious majesty's plenary pardon in
prospective, could prevail upon the Spithead mutineers (when
at last fairly lashed up to the mark) to succumb, until deserted
by their own mess-mates, and a handful was left in the
breach.
Therefore, Mad Jack! you did right, and no one else could
have acquitted himself better. By your crafty simplicity,
good-natured daring, and off-handed air (as if nothing was
happining) you perhaps quelled a very serious affair in the
bud, and prevented the disgrace to the American Navy of a
tragical mutiny, growing out of whiskers, soap-suds, and razors.
Think of it, if future historians should devote a long
chapter to the great Rebellion of the Beards on board the
United States ship Neversink. Why, through all time thereafter,
barbers would cut down their spiralized poles, and substitute
miniature main-masts for the emblems of their calling.
And here is ample scope for some pregnant instruction, how
that events of vast magnitude in our man-of-war world may
originate in the pettiest of trifles. But that is an old theme;
we waive it, and proceed.
On the morning following, though it was not a regular
shaving day, the gun-deck barbers were observed to have their
shops open, their match-tub accommodations in readiness, and
their razors displayed. With their brushes, raising a mighty
lather in their tin pots, they stood eying the passing throng
of seamen, silently inviting them to walk in and be served.
In addition to their usual implements, they now flourished at
intervals a huge pair of sheep-shears, by way of more forcibly
reminding the men of the edict which that day must be obeyed,
or woe betide them.
For some hours the seamen paced to and fro in no very
good humor, vowing not to sacrifice a hair. Beforehand,
they denounced that man who should abase himself by compliance.
But habituation to discipline is magical; and ere
long an old forecastle-man was discovered elevated upon a
match-tub, while, with a malicious grin, his barber—a fellow
who, from his merciless rasping, was called Blue-Skin—seized
him by his long beard, and at one fell stroke cut it off and
tossed it out of the port-hole behind him. This forecastle-man
was ever afterward known by a significant title—in the main
equivalent to that name of reproach fastened upon that Athenian
who, in Alexander's time, previous to which all the Greeks
sported beards, first submitted to the deprivation of his own.
But, spite of all the contempt hurled on our forecastle-man, so
prudent an example was soon followed; presently all the barbers
were busy.
Sad sight! at which any one but a barber or a Tartar
would have wept! Beards three years old; goatees that
would have graced a Chamois of the Alps; imperials that
Count D'Orsay would have envied; and love-curls and man-of-war
ringlets that would have measured, inch for inch, with
the longest tresses of The Fair One with the Golden Locks—
all went by the board! Captain Claret! how can you rest
in your hammock! By this brown beard which now waves
from my chin—the illustrious successor to that first, young,
vigorous beard I yielded to your tyranny—by this manly beard,
I swear, it was barbarous!
My noble captain, Jack Chase, was indignant. Not even
all the special favors he had received from Captain Claret,
and the plenary pardon extended to him for his desertion into
the Peruvian service, could restrain the expression of his feelings.
But in his cooler moments, Jack was a wise man; he
at last deemed it but wisdom to succumb.
When he went to the barber he almost drew tears from
his eyes. Seating himself mournfully on the match-tub, he
looked sideways, and said to the barber, who was slithering
his sheep-shears in readiness to begin: “My friend, I trust
your scissors are consecrated. Let them not touch this beard
if they have yet to be dipped in holy water; beards are sacred
things, barber. Have you no feeling for beards, my
friend? think of it;” and mournfully he laid his deep-dyed,
russet cheek upon his hand. “Two summers have gone by
since my chin has been reaped. I was in Coquimbo then,
on the Spanish Main; and when the husbandman was sowing
his Autumnal grain on the Vega, I started this blessed
beard; and when the vine-dressers were trimming their vines
in the vineyards, I first trimmed it to the sound of a flute.
Ah! barber, have you no heart? This beard has been caressed
by the snow-white hand of the lovely Tomasita of Tombez—the
Castilian belle of all Lower Peru. Think of that,
barber! I have worn it as an officer on the quarter-deck of
a Peruvian man-of-war. I have sported it at brilliant fandangoes
in Lima. I have been alow and aloft with it at sea.
Yea, barber! it has streamed like an Admiral's pennant at
the mast-head of this same gallant frigate, the Neversink!
Oh! barber, barber! it stabs me to the heart!—Talk not of
hauling down your ensigns and standards when vanquished—
what is that, barber! to striking the flag that Nature herself
has nailed to the mast!”
Here noble Jack's feelings overcame him; he drooped from
the animated attitude into which his enthusiasm had momentarily
transported him; his proud head sunk upon his chest,
and his long, sad beard almost grazed the deck.
“Ay! trail your beards in grief and dishonor, oh crew of
the Neversink!” sighed Jack. “Barber, come closer—now,
tell me, my friend, have you obtained absolution for this deed
you are about to commit? You have not? Then, barber,
I will absolve you; your hands shall be washed of this sin;
it is not you, but another; and though you are about to shear
off my manhood, yet, barber, I freely forgive you; kneel,
kneel, barber! that I may bless you, in token that I cherish
no malice!”
So when this barber, who was the only tender-hearted one
of his tribe, had kneeled, been absolved, and then blessed, Jack
gave up his beard into his hands, and the barber, clipping it
off with a sigh, held it high aloft, and, parodying the style of
the boatswain's mates, cried aloud, “D'ye hear, fore and aft?
This is the beard of our matchless Jack Chase, the noble captain
of this frigate's main-top!”
