White Jacket - Herman Melville
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WHITE-JACKET
OR
THE WORLD IN A MAN-OF-WAR
BY HERMAN MELVILLE
AUTHOR OF "TYPEE," "OMOO," AND "MOBY-DICK"
NEW YORK
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY
5 AND 7 EAST SIXTEENTH STREET
* * * * *
CHICAGO: 266 & 268 WABASH AVE.
Copyright, 1892
BY ELIZABETH S. MELVILLE
"Conceive him now in a man-of-war;
with his letters of mart, well armed,
victualed, and appointed,
and see how he acquits himself."
--FULLER'S "Good Sea-Captain."
NOTE. In the year 1843 I shipped as "ordinary seaman" on board of a
United States frigate then lying in a harbor of the Pacific Ocean.
After remaining in this frigate for more than a year, I was discharged
from the service upon the vessel's arrival home. My man-of-war
experiences and observations have been incorporated in the present
volume.
New York, March, 1850.
WHITE-JACKET.
CHAPTER I.
THE JACKET.
It was not a _very_ white jacket, but white enough, in all conscience,
as the sequel will show.
The way I came by it was this.
When our frigate lay in Callao, on the coast of Peru--her last
harbour in the Pacific--I found myself without a _grego_, or
sailor's surtout; and as, toward the end of a three years' cruise,
no pea-jackets could be had from the purser's steward: and being
bound for Cape Horn, some sort of a substitute was indispensable;
I employed myself, for several days, in manufacturing an outlandish
garment of my own devising, to shelter me from the boisterous weather
we were so soon to encounter.
It was nothing more than a white duck frock, or rather shirt:
which, laying on deck, I folded double at the bosom, and by then
making a continuation of the slit there, opened it lengthwise--
much as you would cut a leaf in the last new novel. The gash
being made, a metamorphosis took place, transcending any related
by Ovid. For, presto! the shirt was a coat!--a strange-looking
coat, to be sure; of a Quakerish amplitude about the skirts; with
an infirm, tumble-down collar; and a clumsy fullness about the
wristbands; and white, yea, white as a shroud. And my shroud it
afterward came very near proving, as he who reads further will find.
But, bless me, my friend, what sort of a summer jacket is this,
in which to weather Cape Horn? A very tasty, and beautiful white
linen garment it may have seemed; but then, people almost
universally sport their linen next to their skin.
Very true; and that thought very early occurred to me; for no
idea had I of scudding round Cape Horn in my shirt; for _that_
would have been almost scudding under bare poles, indeed.
So, with many odds and ends of patches--old socks, old trowser-
legs, and the like--I bedarned and bequilted the inside of my
jacket, till it became, all over, stiff and padded, as King
James's cotton-stuffed and dagger-proof doublet; and no buckram
or steel hauberk stood up more stoutly.
So far, very good; but pray, tell me, White-Jacket, how do you
propose keeping out the rain and the wet in this quilted _grego_
of yours? You don't call this wad of old patches a Mackintosh, do
you?----you don't pretend to say that worsted is water-proof?
No, my dear friend; and that was the deuce of it. Waterproof it
was not, no more than a sponge. Indeed, with such recklessness
had I bequilted my jacket, that in a rain-storm I became a
universal absorber; swabbing bone-dry the very bulwarks I leaned
against. Of a damp day, my heartless shipmates even used to stand
up against me, so powerful was the capillary attraction between
this luckless jacket of mine and all drops of moisture. I dripped
like a turkey a roasting; and long after the rain storms were
over, and the sun showed his face, I still stalked a Scotch mist;
and when it was fair weather with others, alas! it was foul
weather with me.
_Me?_ Ah me! Soaked and heavy, what a burden was that jacket to
carry about, especially when I was sent up aloft; dragging myself
up step by step, as if I were weighing the anchor. Small time
then, to strip, and wring it out in a rain, when no hanging back
or delay was permitted. No, no; up you go: fat or lean: Lambert
or Edson: never mind how much avoirdupois you might weigh. And
thus, in my own proper person, did many showers of rain reascend
toward the skies, in accordance with the natural laws.
But here be it known, that I had been terribly disappointed in
carrying out my original plan concerning this jacket. It had been
my intention to make it thoroughly impervious, by giving it a
coating of paint, But bitter fate ever overtakes us unfortunates.
So much paint had been stolen by the sailors, in daubing their
overhaul trowsers and tarpaulins, that by the time I--an
honest man--had completed my quiltings, the paint-pots were
banned, and put under strict lock and key.
Said old Brush, the captain of the _paint-room_-- "Look ye,
White-Jacket," said he, "ye can't have any paint."
Such, then, was my jacket: a well-patched, padded, and porous
one; and in a dark night, gleaming white as the White Lady of
Avenel!
CHAPTER II.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
"All hands up anchor! Man the capstan!"
"High die! my lads, we're homeward bound!"
Homeward bound!--harmonious sound! Were you _ever_ homeward
bound?--No?--Quick! take the wings of the morning, or the sails
of a ship, and fly to the uttermost parts of the earth. There,
tarry a year or two; and then let the gruffest of boatswains, his
lungs all goose-skin, shout forth those magical words, and you'll
swear "the harp of Orpheus were not more enchanting."
All was ready; boats hoisted in, stun' sail gear rove, messenger
passed, capstan-bars in their places, accommodation-ladder below;
and in glorious spirits, we sat down to dinner. In the ward-room,
the lieutenants were passing round their oldest port, and
pledging their friends; in the steerage, the _middies_ were busy
raising loans to liquidate the demands of their laundress, or
else--in the navy phrase--preparing to pay their creditors _with
a flying fore-topsail_. On the poop, the captain was looking to
windward; and in his grand, inaccessible cabin, the high and
mighty commodore sat silent and stately, as the statue of Jupiter
in Dodona.
We were all arrayed in our best, and our bravest; like strips of
blue sky, lay the pure blue collars of our frocks upon our
shoulders; and our pumps were so springy and playful, that we
danced up and down as we dined.
It was on the gun-deck that our dinners were spread; all along
between the guns; and there, as we cross-legged sat, you would
have thought a hundred farm-yards and meadows were nigh. Such a
cackling of ducks, chickens, and ganders; such a lowing of oxen,
and bleating of lambkins, penned up here and there along the
deck, to provide sea repasts for the officers. More rural than
naval were the sounds; continually reminding each mother's son of
the old paternal homestead in the green old clime; the old
arching elms; the hill where we gambolled; and down by the barley
banks of the stream where we bathed.
"All hands up anchor!"
When that order was given, how we sprang to the bars, and heaved
round that capstan; every man a Goliath, every tendon a hawser!--
round and round--round, round it spun like a sphere, keeping time
with our feet to the time of the fifer, till the cable was
straight up and down, and the ship with her nose in the water.
"Heave and pall! unship your bars, and make sail!"
It was done: barmen, nipper-men, tierers, veerers, idlers and
all, scrambled up the ladder to the braces and halyards; while
like monkeys in Palm-trees, the sail-loosers ran out on those
broad boughs, our yards; and down fell the sails like white
clouds from the ether--topsails, top-gallants, and royals; and
away we ran with the halyards, till every sheet was distended.
"Once more to the bars!"
"Heave, my hearties, heave hard!"
With a jerk and a yerk, we broke ground; and up to our bows came
several thousand pounds of old iron, in the shape of our
ponderous anchor.
Where was White-Jacket then?
White-Jacket was where he belonged. It was White-Jacket that
loosed that main-royal, so far up aloft there, it looks like a
white albatross' wing. It was White-Jacket that was taken for an
albatross himself, as he flew out on the giddy yard-arm!
CHAPTER III.
A GLANCE AT THE PRINCIPAL DIVISIONS, INTO WHICH A MAN-OF-WAR'S
CREW IS DIVIDED.
Having just designated the place where White-Jacket belonged, it
must needs be related how White-Jacket came to belong there.
Every one knows that in merchantmen the seamen are divided into
watches--starboard and larboard--taking their turn at the ship's
duty by night. This plan is followed in all men-of-war. But in
all men-of war, besides this division, there are others, rendered
indispensable from the great number of men, and the necessity of
precision and discipline. Not only are particular bands assigned to
the three _tops_, but in getting under weigh, or any other proceeding
requiring all hands, particular men of these bands are assigned to
each yard of the tops. Thus, when the order is given to loose the
main-royal, White-Jacket flies to obey it; and no one but him.
And not only are particular bands stationed on the three decks of
the ship at such times, but particular men of those bands are
also assigned to particular duties. Also, in tacking ship,
reefing top-sails, or "coming to," every man of a frigate's five-
hundred-strong, knows his own special place, and is infallibly
found there. He sees nothing else, attends to nothing else, and
will stay there till grim death or an epaulette orders him away.
Yet there are times when, through the negligence of the officers,
some exceptions are found to this rule. A rather serious
circumstance growing out of such a case will be related in some
future chapter.
Were it not for these regulations a man-of-war's crew would be
nothing but a mob, more ungovernable stripping the canvas in a
gale than Lord George Gordon's tearing down the lofty house of
Lord Mansfield.
But this is not all. Besides White-Jacket's office as looser of
the main-royal, when all hands were called to make sail; and
besides his special offices, in tacking ship, coming to anchor,
etc.; he permanently belonged to the Starboard Watch, one of the
two primary, grand divisions of the ship's company. And in this
watch he was a maintop-man; that is, was stationed in the main-
top, with a number of other seamen, always in readiness to
execute any orders pertaining to the main-mast, from above the
main-yard. For, including the main-yard, and below it to the
deck, the main-mast belongs to another detachment.
Now the fore, main, and mizen-top-men of each watch--Starboard
and Larboard--are at sea respectively subdivided into Quarter
Watches; which regularly relieve each other in the tops to which
they may belong; while, collectively, they relieve the whole
Larboard Watch of top-men.
Besides these topmen, who are always made up of active sailors,
there are Sheet-Anchor-men--old veterans all--whose place is on
the forecastle; the fore-yard, anchors, and all the sails on the
bowsprit being under their care.
They are an old weather-beaten set, culled from the most
experienced seamen on board. These are the fellows that sing you
"_The Bay of Biscay Oh!_" and "_Here a sheer hulk lies poor Torn
Bowling!_" "_Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer!_" who, when
ashore, at an eating-house, call for a bowl of tar and a biscuit.
These are the fellows who spin interminable yarns about Decatur,
Hull, and Bainbridge; and carry about their persons bits of "Old
Ironsides," as Catholics do the wood of the true cross. These are
the fellows that some officers never pretend to damn, however
much they may anathematize others. These are the fellows that it
does your soul good to look at;---hearty old members of the Old
Guard; grim sea grenadiers, who, in tempest time, have lost many
a tarpaulin overboard. These are the fellows whose society some
of the youngster midshipmen much affect; from whom they learn
their best seamanship; and to whom they look up as veterans; if
so be, that they have any reverence in their souls, which is not
the case with all midshipmen.
Then, there is the _After-guard_, stationed on the Quarterdeck;
who, under the Quarter-Masters and Quarter-Gunners, attend to the
main-sail and spanker, and help haul the main-brace, and other
ropes in the stern of the vessel.
The duties assigned to the After-Guard's-Men being comparatively
light and easy, and but little seamanship being expected from
them, they are composed chiefly of landsmen; the least robust,
least hardy, and least sailor-like of the crew; and being
stationed on the Quarter-deck, they are generally selected with
some eye to their personal appearance. Hence, they are mostly
slender young fellows, of a genteel figure and gentlemanly
address; not weighing much on a rope, but weighing considerably
in the estimation of all foreign ladies who may chance to visit
the ship. They lounge away the most part of their time, in
reading novels and romances; talking over their lover affairs
ashore; and comparing notes concerning the melancholy and
sentimental career which drove them--poor young gentlemen--into
the hard-hearted navy. Indeed, many of them show tokens of having
moved in very respectable society. They always maintain a tidy
exterior; and express an abhorrence of the tar-bucket, into which
they are seldom or never called to dip their digits. And pluming
themselves upon the cut of their trowsers, and the glossiness of
their tarpaulins, from the rest of the ship's company, they
acquire the name of "_sea-dandies_" and "_silk-sock-gentry_."
Then, there are the _Waisters_, always stationed on the gun-deck.
These haul aft the fore and main-sheets, besides being subject to
ignoble duties; attending to the drainage and sewerage below
hatches. These fellows are all Jimmy Duxes--sorry chaps, who
never put foot in ratlin, or venture above the bulwarks.
Inveterate "_sons of farmers_," with the hayseed yet in their
hair, they are consigned to the congenial superintendence of the
chicken-coops, pig-pens, and potato-lockers. These are generally
placed amidships, on the gun-deck of a frigate, between the fore
and main hatches; and comprise so extensive an area, that it
much resembles the market place of a small town. The melodious
sounds thence issuing, continually draw tears from the eyes of
the Waisters; reminding them of their old paternal pig-pens and
potato-patches. They are the tag-rag and bob-tail of the crew;
and he who is good for nothing else is good enough for a _Waister_.
Three decks down--spar-deck, gun-deck, and berth-deck--and we
come to a parcel of Troglodytes or "_holders_," who burrow, like
rabbits in warrens, among the water-tanks, casks, and cables.
Like Cornwall miners, wash off the soot from their skins, and
they are all pale as ghosts. Unless upon rare occasions, they
seldom come on deck to sun themselves. They may circumnavigate
the world fifty times, and they see about as much of it as Jonah
did in the whale's belly. They are a lazy, lumpish, torpid set;
and when going ashore after a long cruise, come out into the day
like terrapins from their caves, or bears in the spring, from
tree-trunks. No one ever knows the names of these fellows; after
a three years' voyage, they still remain strangers to you. In
time of tempests, when all hands are called to save ship, they
issue forth into the gale, like the mysterious old men of Paris,
during the massacre of the Three Days of September: every one
marvels who they are, and whence they come; they disappear as
mysteriously; and are seen no more, until another general commotion.
Such are the principal divisions into which a man-of-war's crew
is divided; but the inferior allotments of duties are endless,
and would require a German commentator to chronicle.
We say nothing here of Boatswain's mates, Gunner's mates,
Carpenter's mates, Sail-maker's mates, Armorer's mates, Master-
at-Arms, Ship's corporals, Cockswains, Quarter-masters, Quarter-
gunners, Captains of the Forecastle, Captains of the Fore-top,
Captains of the Main-top, Captains of the Mizen-top, Captains of
the After-Guard, Captains of the Main-Hold, Captains of the Fore-
Hold, Captains of the Head, Coopers, Painters, Tinkers,
Commodore's Steward, Captain's Steward, Ward-Room Steward,
Steerage Steward, Commodore's cook, Captain's cook, Officers'
cook, Cooks of the range, Mess-cooks, hammock-boys, messenger
boys, cot-boys, loblolly-boys and numberless others, whose
functions are fixed and peculiar.
It is from this endless subdivision of duties in a man-of-war,
that, upon first entering one, a sailor has need of a good
memory, and the more of an arithmetician he is, the better.
White-Jacket, for one, was a long time rapt in calculations,
concerning the various "numbers" allotted him by the _First
Luff_, otherwise known as the First Lieutenant. In the first
place, White-Jacket was given the _number of his mess_; then, his
_ship's number_, or the number to which he must answer when the
watch-roll is called; then, the number of his hammock; then, the
number of the gun to which he was assigned; besides a variety of
other numbers; all of which would have taken Jedediah Buxton
himself some time to arrange in battalions, previous to adding
up. All these numbers, moreover, must be well remembered, or woe
betide you.
Consider, now, a sailor altogether unused to the tumult of a man-
of-war, for the first time stepping on board, and given all these
numbers to recollect. Already, before hearing them, his head is
half stunned with the unaccustomed sounds ringing in his ears;
which ears seem to him like belfries full of tocsins. On the gun-
deck, a thousand scythed chariots seem passing; he hears the
tread of armed marines; the clash of cutlasses and curses. The
Boatswain's mates whistle round him, like hawks screaming in a
gale, and the strange noises under decks are like volcanic
rumblings in a mountain. He dodges sudden sounds, as a raw
recruit falling bombs.
Well-nigh useless to him, now, all previous circumnavigations of
this terraqueous globe; of no account his arctic, antarctic, or
equinoctial experiences; his gales off Beachy Head, or his
dismastings off Hatteras. He must begin anew; he knows nothing;
Greek and Hebrew could not help him, for the language he must
learn has neither grammar nor lexicon.
Mark him, as he advances along the files of old ocean-warriors;
mark his debased attitude, his deprecating gestures, his Sawney
stare, like a Scotchman in London; his--"_cry your merry, noble
seignors!_" He is wholly nonplussed, and confounded. And when, to
crown all, the First Lieutenant, whose business it is to welcome
all new-corners, and assign them their quarters: when this
officer--none of the most bland or amiable either--gives him
number after number to recollect--246--139--478--351--the poor
fellow feels like decamping.
Study, then, your mathematics, and cultivate all your memories,
oh ye! who think of cruising in men-of-war.
CHAPTER IV.
JACK CHASE.
The first night out of port was a clear, moonlight one; the
frigate gliding though the water, with all her batteries.
It was my Quarter Watch in the top; and there I reclined on the
best possible terms with my top-mates. Whatever the other seamen
might have been, these were a noble set of tars, and well worthy
an introduction to the reader. First and foremost was Jack Chase,
our noble First Captain of the Top. He was a Briton, and a true-
blue; tall and well-knit, with a clear open eye, a fine broad
brow, and an abounding nut-brown beard. No man ever had a better
heart or a bolder. He was loved by the seamen and admired by the
officers; and even when the Captain spoke to him, it was with a
slight air of respect. Jack was a frank and charming man.
No one could be better company in forecastle or saloon; no man
told such stories, sang such songs, or with greater alacrity
sprang to his duty. Indeed, there was only one thing wanting
about him; and that was a finger of his left hand, which finger
he had lost at the great battle of Navarino.
He had a high conceit of his profession as a seaman; and being
deeply versed in all things pertaining to a man-of-war, was
universally regarded as an oracle. The main-top, over which he
presided, was a sort of oracle of Delphi; to which many pilgrims
ascended, to have their perplexities or differences settled.
There was such an abounding air of good sense and good feeling
about the man, that he who could not love him, would thereby
pronounce himself a knave. I thanked my sweet stars, that kind
fortune had placed me near him, though under him, in the frigate;
and from the outset Jack and I were fast friends.
Wherever you may be now rolling over the blue billows, dear Jack!
take my best love along with you; and God bless you, wherever you go!
Jack was a gentleman. What though his hand was hard, so was not
his heart, too often the case with soft palms. His manners were
easy and free; none of the boisterousness, so common to tars; and
he had a polite, courteous way of saluting you, if it were only
to borrow your knife. Jack had read all the verses of Byron, and
all the romances of Scott. He talked of Rob Roy, Don Juan, and
Pelham; Macbeth and Ulysses; but, above all things, was an ardent
admirer of Camoens. Parts of the Lusiad, he could recite in the
original. Where he had obtained his wonderful accomplishments, it
is not for me, his humble subordinate, to say. Enough, that those
accomplishments were so various; the languages he could converse
in, so numerous; that he more than furnished an example of that
saying of Charles the Fifth--_ he who speaks five languages is as
good as five men_. But Jack, he was better than a hundred common
mortals; Jack was a whole phalanx, an entire army; Jack was a
thousand strong; Jack would have done honour to the Queen of
England's drawing-room; Jack must have been a by-blow of some
British Admiral of the Blue. A finer specimen of the island race
of Englishmen could not have been picked out of Westminster Abbey
of a coronation day.
His whole demeanor was in strong contrast to that of one of the
Captains of the fore-top. This man, though a good seaman,
furnished an example of those insufferable Britons, who, while
preferring other countries to their own as places of residence;
still, overflow with all the pompousness of national and
individual vanity combined. "When I was on board the Audacious"--
for a long time, was almost the invariable exordium to the fore-
top Captain's most cursory remarks. It is often the custom of
men-of-war's-men, when they deem anything to be going on wrong
aboard ship to refer to _last cruise_ when of course everything
was done _ship-shape and Bristol fashion_. And by referring to
the _Audacious_--an expressive name by the way--the fore-top
Captain meant a ship in the English navy, in which he had had the
honour of serving. So continual were his allusions to this craft
with the amiable name, that at last, the _Audacious_ was voted a
bore by his shipmates. And one hot afternoon, during a calm, when
the fore-top Captain like many others, was standing still and
yawning on the spar-deck; Jack Chase, his own countryman, came up
to him, and pointing at his open mouth, politely inquired, whether
that was the way they caught _flies_ in Her Britannic Majesty's ship,
the _Audacious?_ After that, we heard no more of the craft.
Now, the tops of a frigate are quite spacious and cosy. They are
railed in behind so as to form a kind of balcony, very pleasant
of a tropical night. From twenty to thirty loungers may agreeably
recline there, cushioning themselves on old sails and jackets. We
had rare times in that top. We accounted ourselves the best
seamen in the ship; and from our airy perch, literally looked
down upon the landlopers below, sneaking about the deck, among
the guns. In a large degree, we nourished that feeling of
"_esprit de corps_," always pervading, more or less, the various
sections of a man-of-war's crew. We main-top-men were brothers,
one and all, and we loaned ourselves to each other with all the
freedom in the world.
Nevertheless, I had not long been a member of this fraternity of
fine fellows, ere I discovered that Jack Chase, our captain was--
like all prime favorites and oracles among men--a little bit of a
dictator; not peremptorily, or annoyingly so, but amusingly
intent on egotistically mending our manners and improving our
taste, so that we might reflect credit upon our tutor.
He made us all wear our hats at a particular angle--instructed us
in the tie of our neck-handkerchiefs; and protested against our
wearing vulgar _dungeree_ trowsers; besides giving us lessons in
seamanship; and solemnly conjuring us, forever to eschew the company
of any sailor we suspected of having served in a whaler. Against
all whalers, indeed, he cherished the unmitigated detestation of a
true man-of-war's man. Poor Tubbs can testify to that.