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- man they, in many cases, instinctively dislike. The reason is, they
feel such a man to be a continual reproach to them, as being mentally
superior to their power. He has no business in a man-of-war; they do
not want such men. To them there is an insolence in his manly freedom,
contempt in his very carriage. He is unendurable, as an erect,
lofty-minded African would be to some slave-driving planter.
Let it not be supposed, however, that the remarks in this and the
preceding chapter apply to _all_ men-of-war. There are some vessels
blessed with patriarchal, intellectual Captains, gentlemanly and
brotherly officers, and docile and Christianised crews. The peculiar
usages of such vessels insensibly softens the tyrannical rigour of the
Articles of War; in them, scourging is unknown. To sail in such ships
is hardly to realise that you live under the martial law, or that the
evils above mentioned can anywhere exist.
And Jack Chase, old Ushant, and several more fine tars that might be
added, sufficiently attest, that in the Neversink at least, there was
more than one noble man-of-war’s-man who almost redeemed all the rest.
Wherever, throughout this narrative, the American Navy, in any of its
bearings, has formed the theme of a general discussion, hardly one
syllable of admiration for what is accounted illustrious in its
achievements has been permitted to escape me. The reason is this: I
consider, that so far as what is called military renown is concerned,
the American Navy needs no eulogist but History. It were superfluous
for White-Jacket to tell the world what it knows already. The office
imposed upon me is of another cast; and, though I foresee and feel that
it may subject me to the pillory in the hard thoughts of some men, yet,
supported by what God has given me, I tranquilly abide the event,
whatever it may prove.
CHAPTER XCI.
SMOKING-CLUB IN A MAN-OF-WAR, WITH SCENES ON THE GUN-DECK DRAWING NEAR
HOME.
There is a fable about a painter moved by Jove to the painting of the
head of Medusa. Though the picture was true to the life, yet the poor
artist sickened at the sight of what his forced pencil had drawn. Thus,
borne through my task toward the end, my own soul now sinks at what I
myself have portrayed. But let us forget past chapters, if we may,
while we paint less repugnant things.
Metropolitan gentlemen have their club; provincial gossipers their
news-room; village quidnuncs their barber’s shop; the Chinese their
opium-houses; American Indians their council-fire; and even cannibals
their _Noojona_, or Talk-Stone, where they assemble at times to discuss
the affairs of the day. Nor is there any government, however despotic,
that ventures to deny to the least of its subjects the privilege of a
sociable chat. Not the Thirty Tyrants even—the clubbed post-captains of
old Athens—could stop the wagging tongues at the street-corners. For
chat man must; and by our immortal Bill of Rights, that guarantees to
us liberty of speech, chat we Yankees will, whether on board a frigate,
or on board our own terra-firma plantations.
In men-of-war, the Galley, or Cookery, on the gun-deck, is the grand
centre of gossip and news among the sailors. Here crowds assemble to
chat away the half-hour elapsing after every meal. The reason why this
place and these hours are selected rather than others is this: in the
neighbourhood of the galley alone, and only after meals, is the
man-of-war’s-man permitted to regale himself with a smoke.
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