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- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.270Z
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- 2498
- text
- CHAPTER XVI.
GENERAL TRAINING IN A MAN-OF-WAR.
To a quiet, contemplative character, averse to uproar, undue exercise
of his bodily members, and all kind of useless confusion, nothing can
be more distressing than a proceeding in all men-of-war called
“_general quarters_.” And well may it be so called, since it amounts to
a general drawing and quartering of all the parties concerned.
As the specific object for which a man-of-war is built and put into
commission is to fight and fire off cannon, it is, of course, deemed
indispensable that the crew should be duly instructed in the art and
mystery involved. Hence these “general quarters,” which is a mustering
of all hands to their stations at the guns on the several decks, and a
sort of sham-fight with an imaginary foe.
The summons is given by the ship’s drummer, who strikes a peculiar
beat—short, broken, rolling, shuffling—like the sound made by the march
into battle of iron-heeled grenadiers. It is a regular tune, with a
fine song composed to it; the words of the chorus, being most
artistically arranged, may give some idea of the air:
“Hearts of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,
We always are ready, steady, boys, steady,
To fight and to conquer, again and again.”
In warm weather this pastime at the guns is exceedingly unpleasant, to
say the least, and throws a quiet man into a violent passion and
perspiration. For one, I ever abominated it.
I have a heart like Julius Caesar, and upon occasions would fight like
Caius Marcius Coriolanus. If my beloved and for ever glorious country
should be ever in jeopardy from invaders, let Congress put me on a
war-horse, in the van-guard, and _then_ see how I will acquit myself.
But to toil and sweat in a fictitious encounter; to squander the
precious breath of my precious body in a ridiculous fight of shams and
pretensions; to hurry about the decks, pretending to carry the killed
and wounded below; to be told that I must consider the ship blowing up,
in order to exercise myself in presence of mind, and prepare for a real
explosion; all this I despise, as beneath a true tar and man of valour.
These were my sentiments at the time, and these remain my sentiments
still; but as, while on board the frigate, my liberty of thought did
not extend to liberty of expression, I was obliged to keep these
sentiments to myself; though, indeed, I had some thoughts of addressing
a letter, marked _Private and Confidential_, to his Honour the
Commodore, on the subject.
My station at the batteries was at one of the thirty-two-pound
carronades, on the starboard side of the quarter-deck.[1]
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