Such are the actual consequences of severity of discipline on board men of war. Punishment leads to revenge; revenge to punishment. What is intended to cure, only aggravates the disease; the evil enlarges under the remedy; voluntary subordination ceases; gloom overspreads the crew; fear fills the breasts of the officers; the ship becomes a miniature of the house of fiends. While, on the other hand, mild regulations, enforced without an appeal to brute force, are easily carried into operation. The sailor has a warm heart; show him personal kindness, treat him as a man, he will then be a man; he will do anything for a kind officer. He will peril his life for him; nay, he will cheerfully rush between him and danger. This was done at Tripoli, when the brave James[3] offered his own arm to receive the fell stroke of a Turkish scimitar, aimed at the life of the bold Decatur, on board the frigate Philadelphia. Let naval officers, let all ship-masters, once fairly test the effect of kind treatment, and I am sure they will never desire to return to severity; unless, indeed, they are tyrants at heart, in which case, the sooner they lose their commands the better for their country; for no tyrant is truly brave or trustworthy. Cowardice and meanness lie curled up in the heart of every tyrant. He is too despicable, too unsafe to be trusted with the responsibilities of a naval command. Such, at least, is the opinion of an old sailor.
One of the greatest enemies to order and happiness in ships of war is drunkenness. To be drunk is considered by almost every sailor as the acme of sensual bliss; while many fancy that swearing and drinking are necessary accomplishments in a genuine man-of-war’s-man. Hence it almost universally prevails. In our ship the men would get drunk, in defiance of every restriction. Were it not for the moral and physical ruin which follows its use, one might laugh at the various contrivances adopted to elude the vigilance of officers in their efforts to procure rum. Some of our men who belonged to the boats’ crews provided themselves with bladders; if left ashore by their officers a few moments, they would slip into the first grocery, fill their bladders, and return with the spoil. Once by the ship’s side, the favorable moment was seized to pass the interdicted bladders into the port-holes, to some watchful shipmate, by whom it was carefully secreted, to be drunk at the first opportunity. The liberty to go on shore, which is always granted while in port, was sure to be abused for drunken purposes. The Sabbath was also a day of sensuality. True, we sometimes had the semblance of religious services, when the men were summoned aft to hear the captain read the morning service from the church prayer-book; but usually it was observed more as a day of revelry than of worship. But at Christmas our ship presented a scene such as I had never imagined. The men were permitted to have their “full swing.” Drunkenness ruled the ship. Nearly every man, with most of the officers, was in a state of beastly intoxication at night. Here, some were fighting, but were so insensibly drunk, they hardly knew whether they struck the guns or their opponents; yonder, a party were singing libidinous or bacchanalian songs, while all were laughing, cursing, swearing or hallooing; confusion reigned in glorious triumph; it was the very chaos of humanity. Had we been at sea, a sudden gale of wind must have proved our destruction; had we been exposed to a sudden attack from an enemy’s vessel, we should have fallen an easy prey to the victor; just as the poor Hessians, at Trenton, fell before the well-timed blow of the sage Washington, during the war of the revolution.
Of all places, the labors of temperance men are most needed among sailors; and I am glad to know that much has been accomplished among them already. From what I know of the sufferings and difficulties growing out of intemperance at sea, I most heartily desire to see a temperance flag floating at the mast-head of every ship in the world. When this is seen, sailors will be a happier class than ever they have yet been, from the time when the cautious Phenicians crept timidly round the shores of the Mediterranean, to the present day of bold and fearless navigation.
CHAPTER III
Shortly after the Christmas debauch, mentioned in the preceding chapter, news was brought to the admiral that nine French frigates were cruising on the Spanish coast: immediately, all was excitement, bustle, preparation through the fleet. The Hannibal and Northumberland, both seventy-four gun ships, the Cæsar of eighty guns, called by the sailors the Old Bull-dog, a gun brig, and some others, I forget the names, and the Macedonian, were ordered to sail in pursuit of the French. This formidable force dropped down the river, every man composing it eagerly desiring to meet the enemy. The enterprise however, was unsuccessful; after cruising in vain for several days, the admiral signalled the fleet to return. Before reaching port we fell in with a Scotch ship from Greenock, in a most perilous condition; her masts and rudder were gone, while her numerous leaks were fast gaining on the labors of the already exhausted crew at the pumps. Finding it utterly impossible to save the vessel, we took off the crew; and thus our cruise, though defeated in its main design, proved the means of rescuing several poor wretches from a watery grave. It is a question worthy of consideration, whether this was not a really higher result than if we had found and beaten the French, and had returned in a crippled state, leaving some hundreds killed and wounded. Humanity would answer, yea.
So far as the effects of this cruise concerned our own little frigate, they were really quite serious. We were reefing topsails one night, at sea, when the sailing-master, Mr. Lewis, in a fit of ill-humor, threatened to flog some of the men. The captain overheard him. Feeling himself hurt by this assumption of his own prerogative, he told Mr. Lewis that he was captain in the ship, and it was his business to flog the men. Sharp words followed; the captain was exasperated; he ordered the sailing-master to be put in irons. Here, however, he exceeded his own power, for, though he might place the common sailor in irons, he might not do so by an officer with impunity. Accordingly, when we reached Lisbon, a court-martial sat on the case, which resulted in their both being broken or cashiered.
This was a hard blow for Lord Fitzroy, and he obviously felt it most keenly. It also cut off my expectations of being elevated to the quarter deck; for, although I had never received any direct encouragement from his Lordship, yet I had always nourished the hope that ultimately he would keep the promise he made to my mother, and do something for my advancement. Now, however, my hopes were destroyed. I was doomed to the forecastle for life.