“Then—all I can say is,” remarked the captain, “they are clever enough, in their way—but take my advice, and write no more such verses.”
So the affair ended. The satirist took the captain’s hint in good part, and confined his pen to topics below the surface of the water.
As in the course of a few months the war broke out, there was no longer time for such nonsense, and our generous protector, old Daddy, some time after this affair of Shakings took place, was sent off to Halifax, in charge of a prize. His orders were, if possible, to rejoin his own ship, the Leander, then lying at the entrance of New York harbour, just within Sandy Hook light-house.
Our good old friend, accordingly, having completed his mission, and delivered his prize to the authorities at Halifax, took his passage in the British packet sailing from thence to the port in which we lay. As this ship sailed past us, on her way to the city of New York, we ascertained, to our great joy, that our excellent Daddy was actually on board of her. Some hours afterwards, the pilot-boat was seen coming to us, and, though it was in the middle of the night, all the younger mids came hastily on deck to welcome their worthy messmate back again to his ship.
It was late in October, and the wind blew fresh from the north-westward, so that the ship, riding to the ebb, had her head directed towards the Narrows, between Staten Land and Long Island: consequently, the pilot-boat,—one of those beautiful vessels so well known to every visitor of the American coast,—came flying down upon us, with the wind nearly right aft. Our joyous party were all assembled on the quarter-deck, looking anxiously at the boat as she swept past us. She then luffed round, in order to sheer alongside, at which moment the main-sail jibed, as was to be expected. It was obvious, however, that something more had taken place than the pilot had looked for, since the boat, instead of ranging up to us, was brought right round on her heel, and went off again upon a wind on the other tack. The tide carried her out of sight for a few minutes, but she was soon alongside, when we learned, to our inexpressible grief and consternation, that, on the main-boom of the pilot-boat swinging over, it had accidentally struck our poor friend, and pitched him headlong overboard. Being encumbered with his great-coat, the pockets of which, as we afterwards learned, were loaded with his young companions’ letters, brought from England by this packet, he in vain struggled to catch hold of the boat, and then sunk to rise no more!
CHAPTER VI.
DIVERSITIES IN DISCIPLINE.
It was our fortune in the Leander to change captains very frequently; and, as most of the plans of those officers were dissimilar, the perplexity which such variations produced is not to be described. Fortunately, however, there is so much uniformity in the routine of naval discipline, that, in spite of any variety in the systems established by a succession of commanding officers, things do somehow contrive to run on to their final purpose pretty well. It is true the interests of the service often suffer for a time, and in a small degree; but public-spirited and vigilant officers know well how to extract lasting profit even from the unsettled, revolutionary state of affairs which is apt to occur at these periods. On the other hand, it is at these times also that the class called skulkers most easily shirk their duty, while those who really like their business, are even at the time more certain of being favourably noticed than at any other moment; because it becomes obvious, that, without them, things would not go on at all. Although the variety of methods, therefore, introduced by different captains in succession, is apt to distract and unhinge the discipline, it likewise teaches much that is useful—at least to those who are on the alert, and who wish to improve.
I was too young and inexperienced, at that time, to profit by these repeated changes, as I might have done had I been duly aware that there were so many advantages to be found in observing their effects. And it is chiefly on this account that I mention the circumstance just now, in order to recommend young men to avoid the very common practice, on board ship, of despising all the plans introduced by the new officer, and lauding to the skies the practices of the captain who has gone. It is not such an easy affair, let me tell them, as they suppose, to regulate the internal affairs of a ship—and, however clever they may fancy themselves, they will find their best interest in trying, upon these occasions, not so much to discover points of censure, as to discover, and impress on their memory, topics of practical utility, hints for the solution of future difficulties, and methods of turning their own resources to professional account.
Even at this distance of time, and although most of the officers I am now speaking of have long since been dead and gone, I still feel that it would be a sort of disrespectful liberty in me, and perhaps not very useful, to point out, with any minuteness of detail, those particular points in their modes of management which struck me as being faulty at the time, or which now seem worthy of commendation. I shall merely mention a trait of character by which two of them were contradistinguished from each other; and I do so the more readily, as the example seems to contain a lesson nearly as applicable, perhaps, to domestic matters, as to those of a stern profession like the navy.
Whenever one of these commanding officers came on board the ship, after an absence of a day or two, and likewise when he made his periodical round of the decks after breakfast, his constant habit was to cast his eye about him, in order to discover what was wrong—to detect the smallest thing that was out of its place—in a word, to find as many grounds for censure as possible. This constituted, in his opinion, the best preventive to neglect, on the part of those under his command; and he acted in this crusty way on principle.