Decatur, with a volunteer crew, went under the guns at Tripoli, captured and blew up the “Philadelphia” in a way that paled all deeds of gallantry done before or since. The dreamy Somers went in with a fire-ship and destroyed both the shipping and himself. In the hand-to-hand fights on the gunboats, Lawrence, young Bainbridge, Stewart, and the others fought and defeated the best hand-to-hand fighters of the Mediterranean. The Dey of Algiers, when Decatur came before him to make terms of peace, stroked his black beard and looked at the young hero curiously. “Why,” he said, “do they send over these young boys to treat with the older Powers?”
When the war was over, Preble no longer grew red in the face or swore. He loved his school-boys, and walked his quarter-deck with them arm-in-arm. And they loved him for his very crustiness, for they knew that back of it all was a man.
These youthful heroes were not the only ones. Young Farragut, an infant of twelve years, with an old “Shoot-if-you’re-lucky,” quelled a promising mutiny. At eighteen Bainbridge did the same. Farragut, at thirteen, was recommended for promotion to a lieutenancy he was too young to take. Perry was about thirty when he won the victory of Erie.
A youngster’s character bears a certain definite relation to the times he lives in. Skies blue and breezes light, he shapes his life’s course with no cares but the betterment of his mental condition. Baffling winds create the sailor, and storm and stress bring out his greater capabilities. The Spanish war has proved that heroes only slumber, and that the young gentleman with the finely-tempered mind of an Annapolis training is capable of the great things his father did.
The blue-jacket of to-day has plenty of hard work to do, but he is as comfortable as good food and sleeping accommodations, regular habits, and good government can make him. As a class, the United States Jacky is more contented, perhaps, than any other man of similar conditions. Unlike the soldier, he does not even have to rough it very much, for wherever he goes he takes his house with him.
Jacky sleeps in a hammock strung upon hooks to the beams of the deck above him. When he turns out, he lashes his hammock with its lashing, and stores it in the nettings,—the troughs for the purpose at the sides of the ship,—where it must stay until night. If Jack wants to sleep in the meanwhile, he chooses the softest spot he can find on a steel-clad deck; and he can sleep there, too, in the broad glare of daylight, a hundred feet passing him, and the usual run of ship’s calls and noises droning in his ears.
Jacky’s food is provided by the government, while his superior of the wardroom has to pay his own mess-bill. He is allowed, in addition to his pay, the sum of nine dollars per month, and this must purchase everything, except such luxuries as he may choose to buy from his pay. The ship’s paymaster is allowed a certain amount of money to furnish the supplies, and between him and the ship’s cook the problem is settled. At the end of the month, if the amount served out is in excess of the computation for rations, the brunt falls upon the “Jack-of-the-Dust,”—the assistant to the paymaster’s yeoman,—who has the work of accurately measuring the rations which are given to the cook of the ship.
The ship’s cook receives from the government from twenty-five to thirty-five dollars a month, according to the size of the ship, and, in addition, certain money perquisites from the different messes, which gives him a fair average. He has complete charge of the ship’s galley and the cooks of the messes, and must be able to concoct a dainty French dish for the wardroom as well as the usual “salt horse” or “dog” for the Jacky.
“Salt horse” is the sea-name for pork. “Dog” is soaked hardtack, mixed with molasses and fried; and, though it is not pleasant twenty-nine days out of the month, it is healthful, and tastes good to a hard-working sailor with the salt of the sea producing a splendid appetite.
The mess-tables hang by iron supports to the beams of the deck above, and when the mess has been served and eaten,—as only Jack knows how to eat,—they are triced up into their places, and all is cleaned and made ship-shape in the twinkling of an eye. A half-hour is allowed for dinner, and this time is kept sacred for Jack’s use. A red pennant flies from the yard-arm, that all may know that the sailor-man is eating and must not be disturbed by any importunate or curious callers.