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- 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.
Tubbs was in the After-Guard; a long, lank Vineyarder, eternally
talking of line-tubs, Nantucket, sperm oil, stove boats, and Japan.
Nothing could silence him; and his comparisons were ever invidious.
Now, with all his soul, Jack abominated this Tubbs. He said he was
vulgar, an upstart—Devil take him, he’s been in a whaler. But like many
men, who have been where _you_ haven’t been; or seen what _you_ haven’t
seen; Tubbs, on account of his whaling experiences, absolutely affected
to look down upon Jack, even as Jack did upon him; and this it was that
so enraged our noble captain.
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