The attention of the other officer, on the contrary, appeared to be directed chiefly to those points which he could approve of. For instance, he would stop as he went along, from time to time, and say to the first lieutenant, “Now, these ropes are very nicely arranged; this mode of stowing the men’s bags and mess kids is just as I wish to see it.” While the officer first described would not only pass by these well-arranged things, which had cost hours of labour to put in order, quite unnoticed, but would not be easy till his eye had caught hold of some casual omission, which afforded an opening for disapprobation. One of these captains would remark to the first lieutenant, as he walked along, “How white and clean you have got the decks to-day! I think you must have been at them all the morning, to have got them into such order.” The other, in similar circumstances, but eager to find fault, would say, even if the decks were as white and clean as drifted snow—“I wish to Heaven, sir, you would teach these sweepers to clear away that bundle of shakings!” pointing to a bit of rope yarn, not half an inch long, left under the truck of a gun.
It seemed, in short, as if nothing was more vexatious to one of these officers, than to discover things so correct as to afford him no good opportunity for finding fault; while to the other, the necessity of censuring really appeared a punishment to himself. Under the one, accordingly, we all worked with cheerfulness, from a conviction that nothing we did in a proper way would miss approbation. But our duty under the other, being performed in fear, seldom went on with much spirit. We had no personal satisfaction in doing things correctly, from the certainty of getting no commendation. The great chance, also, of being censured, even in those cases where we had laboured most industriously to merit approbation, broke the spring of all generous exertion, and, by teaching us to anticipate blame, as a matter of course, defeated the very purpose of punishment when it fell upon us. The case being quite hopeless, the chastisement seldom conduced either to the amendment of an offender, or to the prevention of offences. But what seemed the oddest thing of all was, that these men were both as kind-hearted as could be, or, if there were any difference, the fault-finder was the better natured, and in matters not professional the more indulgent of the two. The line of conduct I have described was purely a matter of official system, not at all of feeling. Yet, as it then appeared, and still appears to me, nothing could be more completely erroneous than the snarling method of the one, or more decidedly calculated to do good, than the approving style of the other. It has, in fact, always appeared to me an absurdity, to make any real distinction between public and private matters in these respects. Nor is there the smallest reason why the same principle of civility, or consideration, or by whatever name that quality be called by which the feelings of others are consulted, should not modify professional intercourse quite as much as it does that of the freest society, without any risk that the requisite strictness of discipline would be hurt by an attention to good manners.
This desire of discovering that things are right, accompanied by a sincere wish to express that approbation, are habits which, in almost every situation in life, have the best possible effects in practice. They are vastly more agreeable certainly to the superior himself, whether he be the colonel of a regiment, the captain of a ship, or the head of a house; for the mere act of approving, seldom fails to put a man’s thoughts into that pleasant train which predisposes him to be habitually pleased, and this frame of mind alone, essentially helps the propagation of a similar cheerfulness amongst all those who are about him. It requires, indeed, but a very little experience of soldiers or sailors, children, servants, or any other kind of dependents, or even of companions and superiors, to shew that this good-humour, on the part of those whom we wish to influence, is the best possible coadjutor to our schemes of management, whatever these may be.
The approving system is also, beyond all others, the most stimulating and agreeable for the inferior to work under. Instead of depressing and humiliating him, it has a constant tendency to make him think well of himself, so long as he is usefully employed; and as soon as this point is gained, but seldom before, he will be in a right frame of mind to think well of others, and to look with hearty zeal to the execution of his duty. All the burdens of labour are then lightened, by the conviction that they are well directed; and, instead of his severest tasks being distasteful, they may often, under the cheering eye of a superior who shews himself anxious to commend what is right, become the most substantial pleasures of his life.
I need scarcely dwell longer on this subject, by shewing that another material advantage of the approving practice consists in the greater certainty and better quality of the work done by willing hands, compared to that which is crushed out of people by force. No man understood this distinction better than Lord Nelson, who acted upon it uniformly,—with what wonderful success we all know. Some one was discussing this question with him one day, and pointing out the eminent success which had attended the opposite plan, followed by another great officer, Lord St. Vincent:—
“Very true,” said Lord Nelson; “but, in cases where he used a hatchet, I took a penknife.”
After all, however, it is but too true, that, adopt what course we will of commendations or other rewards, we must still call in punishments to our assistance, from time to time. But there can be little doubt that any well-regulated system of cheerfulness, and just approbation of what is right, followed not from caprice, but as an express duty, gives into our hands the means of correcting things which are wrong, with greater effect, and at a much less cost of suffering, than if our general habit were that of always finding fault. For it is obvious, that when affairs are carried on upon the cheerful principle above described, the mere act of withholding praise becomes a sharp censure in itself—and this alone is sufficient to recommend its use. It doubles the work done, by quickening the hands of the labourers—doubles the happiness of all parties, both high and low—and it may also be said to double our means of punishing with effect; for it superadds a class of chastisements, dependent solely upon the interruption of favours, not upon the infliction of actual pain. The practical application of these rules to the ordinary course of naval discipline I shall probably have frequent opportunities of shewing.
In the mean time, I shall merely remark, that in every situation in life, perhaps without any exception, much of our happiness or misery, as well as much of our success in the world, depends less upon the circumstances about us, than upon the manner in which, as a matter of habit and principle, we choose to view them. In almost every case there is something to approve of, quite as distinct, if we wish to see it, as there is of censure, though it may not otherwise be so conspicuous. It will, of course, very often be quite necessary to reprobate, without any sort of qualification, what passes before us; still, without in the smallest degree compromising our sense of what is wrong, there will always be a way—if there be a will—of expressing such sentiments that shall not be unsuitable to the golden precept which recommends us to take a cheerful view of things.
There is one practical maxim, trite, indeed, though too little acted upon, but which bears so directly on this subject, that I wish exceedingly to urge it upon the notice of my young friends, from its being calculated to prove of much use to them in the business, as well as the true pleasures of life. In dealing with other men—no matter what their rank or station may be—we should consider not so much what they deserve at our hands, as what course is most suitable for us to follow.
“My lord,” says Polonius to Hamlet, in speaking of the poor players, “I will use them according to their desert.”