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- Having glanced at the grand divisions of a man-of-war, let us now
descend to specialities: and, particularly, to two of the junior
lieutenants; lords and noblemen; members of that House of Peers, the
gun-room. There were several young lieutenants on board; but from these
two—representing the extremes of character to be found in their
department—the nature of the other officers of their grade in the
Neversink must be derived.
One of these two quarter-deck lords went among the sailors by a name of
their own devising—Selvagee. Of course, it was intended to be
characteristic; and even so it was.
In frigates, and all large ships of war, when getting under weigh, a
large rope, called a _messenger_ used to carry the strain of the cable
to the capstan; so that the anchor may be weighed, without the muddy,
ponderous cable, itself going round the capstan. As the cable enters
the hawse-hole, therefore, something must be constantly used, to keep
this travelling chain attached to this travelling _messenger_;
something that may be rapidly wound round both, so as to bind them
together. The article used is called a _selvagee_. And what could be
better adapted to the purpose? It is a slender, tapering, unstranded
piece of rope prepared with much solicitude; peculiarly flexible; and
wreathes and serpentines round the cable and messenger like an
elegantly-modeled garter-snake round the twisted stalks of a vine.
Indeed, _Selvagee_ is the exact type and symbol of a tall, genteel,
limber, spiralising exquisite. So much for the derivation of the name
which the sailors applied to the Lieutenant.
From what sea-alcove, from what mermaid’s milliner’s shop, hast thou
emerged, Selvagee! with that dainty waist and languid cheek? What
heartless step-dame drove thee forth, to waste thy fragrance on the
salt sea-air?
Was it _you_, Selvagee! that, outward-bound, off Cape Horn, looked at
Hermit Island through an opera-glass? Was it _you_, who thought of
proposing to the Captain that, when the sails were furled in a gale, a
few drops of lavender should be dropped in their “bunts,” so that when
the canvas was set again, your nostrils might not be offended by its
musty smell? I do not _say_ it was you, Selvagee; I but deferentially
inquire.
In plain prose, Selvagee was one of those officers whom the sight of a
trim-fitting naval coat had captivated in the days of his youth. He
fancied, that if a _sea-officer_ dressed well, and conversed genteelly,
he would abundantly uphold the honour of his flag, and immortalise the
tailor that made him. On that rock many young gentlemen split. For upon
a frigate’s quarter-deck, it is not enough to sport a coat fashioned by
a Stultz; it is not enough to be well braced with straps and
suspenders; it is not enough to have sweet reminiscences of Lauras and
Matildas. It is a right down life of hard wear and tear, and the man
who is not, in a good degree, fitted to become a common sailor will
never make an officer. Take that to heart, all ye naval aspirants.
Thrust your arms up to the elbow in pitch and see how you like it, ere
you solicit a warrant. Prepare for white squalls, living gales and
typhoons; read accounts of shipwrecks and horrible disasters; peruse
the Narratives of Byron and Bligh; familiarise yourselves with the
story of the English frigate Alceste and the French frigate Medusa.
Though you may go ashore, now and then, at Cadiz and Palermo; for every
day so spent among oranges and ladies, you will have whole months of
rains and gales.
And even thus did Selvagee prove it. But with all the intrepid
effeminacy of your true dandy, he still continued his Cologne-water
baths, and sported his lace-bordered handkerchiefs in the very teeth of
a tempest. Alas, Selvagee! there was no getting the lavender out of
you.
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