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- about everything; what other people accomplish by a few hard knocks, he
delights in achieving by a complex arrangement of the pulley, lever,
and screw.
What demi-semi-quavers in a French air! In exchanging naval courtesies,
I have known a French band play “Yankee Doodle” with such a string of
variations that no one but a “pretty ’cute” Yankee could tell what they
were at.
In the French navy they have no marines; their men, taking turns at
carrying the musket, are sailors one moment, and soldiers the next; a
fellow running aloft in his line frock to-day, to-morrow stands sentry
at the admiral’s cabin door. This is fatal to anything like proper
sailor pride. To make a man a seaman, he should be put to no other
duty. Indeed, a thorough tar is unfit for anything else; and what is
more, this fact is the best evidence of his being a true sailor.
On board the Reine Blanche, they did not have enough to eat; and what
they did have was not of the right sort. Instead of letting the sailors
file their teeth against the rim of a hard sea-biscuit, they baked
their bread daily in pitiful little rolls. Then they had no “grog”; as
a substitute, they drugged the poor fellows with a thin, sour wine—the
juice of a few grapes, perhaps, to a pint of the juice of
water-faucets. Moreover, the sailors asked for meat, and they gave them
soup; a rascally substitute, as they well knew.
Ever since leaving home, they had been on “short allowance.” At the
present time, those belonging to the boats—and thus getting an
occasional opportunity to run ashore—frequently sold their rations of
bread to some less fortunate shipmate for sixfold its real value.
Another thing tending to promote dissatisfaction among the crew was
their having such a devil of a fellow for a captain. He was one of
those horrid naval bores—a great disciplinarian. In port, he kept them
constantly exercising yards and sails, and maneuvering with the boats;
and at sea, they were forever at quarters; running in and out the
enormous guns, as if their arms were made for nothing else. Then there
was the admiral aboard, also; and, no doubt, he too had a paternal eye
over them.
In the ordinary routine of duty, we could not but be struck with the
listless, slovenly behaviour of these men; there was nothing of the
national vivacity in their movements; nothing of the quick precision
perceptible on the deck of a thoroughly-disciplined armed vessel.
All this, however, when we came to know the reason, was no matter of
surprise; three-fourths of them were pressed men. Some old merchant
sailors had been seized the very day they landed from distant voyages;
while the landsmen, of whom there were many, had been driven down from
the country in herds, and so sent to sea.
At the time, I was quite amazed to hear of press-gangs in a day of
comparative peace; but the anomaly is accounted for by the fact that,
of late, the French have been building up a great military marine, to
take the place of that which Nelson gave to the waves of the sea at
Trafalgar. But it is to be hoped that they are not building their ships
for the people across the channel to take. In case of a war, what a
fluttering of French ensigns there would be!
Though I say the French are no sailors, I am far from seeking to
underrate them as a people. They are an ingenious and right gallant
nation. And, as an American, I take pride in asserting it.
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