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- 551
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:26.981Z
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- 484
- text
- II
Though our new-made foretopman was well received in the top and on the
gun-decks, hardly here was he that cynosure he had previously been among
those minor ships’ companies of the merchant marine, with which
companies only had he hitherto consorted.
He was young; and despite his all but fully developed frame, in aspect
looked even younger than he really was. This was owing to a lingering
adolescent expression in the as yet smooth face, all but feminine in
purity of natural complexion, but where, thanks to his sea-going, the
lily was quite suppressed, and the rose had some ado visibly to flush
through the tan.
To one essentially such a novice in the complexities of factitious life,
the abrupt transition from his former and simpler sphere to the ampler
and more knowing world of a great warship--this might well have abashed
him had there been any conceit or vanity in his composition. Among her
miscellaneous multitude, the _Indomitable_ mustered several individuals
who, however inferior in grade, were of no common natural stamp, sailors
more signally susceptive of that air which continuous martial discipline
and repeated presence in battle can in some degree impart even to the
average man. As the _Handsome Sailor_ Billy Budd’s position aboard the
seventy-four was something analogous to that of a rustic beauty
transplanted from the provinces and brought into competition with the
high-born dames of the court. But this change of circumstances he scarce
noted. As little did he observe that something about him provoked an
ambiguous smile in one or two harder faces among the blue-jackets. Nor
less unaware was he of the peculiar favourable effect his person and
demeanour had upon the more intelligent gentlemen of the quarter-deck.
Nor could this well have been otherwise. Cast in a mould peculiar to the
finest physical examples of those Englishmen in whom the Saxon strain
would seem not at all to partake of any Norman or other admixture, he
showed in face that humane look of reposeful good-nature which the Greek
sculptor in some instances gave to his heroic strong man, Hercules. But
this again was subtly modified by another and pervasive quality. The
ear, small and shapely, the arch of the foot, the curve in mouth and
nostril, even the indurated hand dyed to the orange-tawny of the
toucan’s bill, a hand telling of the halyards and tar-buckets; but,
above all, something in the mobile expression, and every chance attitude
and movement, something suggestive of a mother eminently favoured by
Love and the Graces; all this strangely indicated a lineage in direct
contradiction to his lot. The mysteriousness here, became less
mysterious through a matter of fact elicited when Billy at the capstan
was being formally mustered into the service. Asked by the officer, a
small, brisk little gentleman as it chanced, among other questions, his
place of birth, he replied, ‘Please, sir, I don’t know.’
‘Don’t know where you were born? Who was your father?’
‘God knows, sir.’
Struck by the straightforward simplicity of these replies, the officer
next asked, ‘Do you know anything about your beginning?’
‘No, sir. But I have heard that I was found in a pretty silk-lined
basket hanging one morning from the knocker of a good man’s door in
Bristol.’
‘_Found_, say you? Well,’ throwing back his head, and looking up and
down the new recruit--‘well, it turns out to have been a pretty good
find. Hope they’ll find some more like you, my man; the fleet sadly
needs them.’
Yes, Billy Budd was a foundling, a presumable by-blow, and, evidently,
no ignoble one. Noble descent was as evident in him as in a blood horse.
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