- end_line
- 14736
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.278Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 14665
- text
- during a ten years’ service in the Navy, yet he perpetually wore a
hilarious face, and at joke and repartee was a very Joe Miller.
That man, though a sea-vagabond, was not created in vain. He enjoyed
life with the zest of everlasting adolescence; and, though cribbed in
an oaken prison, with the turnkey sentries all round him, yet he paced
the gun-deck as if it were broad as a prairie, and diversified in
landscape as the hills and valleys of the Tyrol. Nothing ever
disconcerted him; nothing could transmute his laugh into anything like
a sigh. Those glandular secretions, which in other captives sometimes
go to the formation of tears, in _him_ were expectorated from the
mouth, tinged with the golden juice of a weed, wherewith he solaced and
comforted his ignominious days.
“Rum and tobacco!” said Landless, “what more does a sailor want?”
His favourite song was “_Dibdin’s True English Sailor_,” beginning,
“Jack dances and sings, and is always content,
In his vows to his lass he’ll ne’er fail her;
His anchor’s atrip when his money’s all spent,
And this is the life of a sailor.”
But poor Landless danced quite as often at the gangway, under the lash,
as in the sailor dance-houses ashore.
Another of his songs, also set to the significant tune of _The King,
God bless him!_ mustered the following lines among many similar ones:
“Oh, when safely landed in Boston or ’York,
Oh how I will tipple and jig it;
And toss off my glass while my rhino holds out,
In drinking success to our frigate!”
During the many idle hours when our frigate was lying in harbour, this
man was either merrily playing at checkers, or mending his clothes, or
snoring like a trumpeter under the lee of the booms. When fast asleep,
a national salute from our batteries could hardly move him. Whether
ordered to the main-truck in a gale; or rolled by the drum to the
grog-tub; or commanded to walk up to the gratings and be lashed,
Landess always obeyed with the same invincible indifference.
His advice to a young lad, who shipped with us at Valparaiso, embodies
the pith and marrow of that philosophy which enables some
man-of-war’s-men to wax jolly in the service.
“_Shippy!_” said Landless, taking the pale lad by his neckerchief, as
if he had him by the halter; “Shippy, I’ve seen sarvice with Uncle
Sam—I’ve sailed in many _Andrew Millers_. Now take my advice, and steer
clear of all trouble. D’ye see, touch your tile whenever a swob
(officer) speaks to you. And never mind how much they rope’s-end you,
keep your red-rag belayed; for you must know as how they don’t fancy
sea-lawyers; and when the sarving out of slops comes round, stand up to
it stiffly; it’s only an oh Lord! Or two, and a few oh my Gods!—that’s
all. And what then? Why, you sleeps it off in a few nights, and turn
out at last all ready for your grog.”
This Landless was a favourite with the officers, among whom he went by
the name of “_Happy Jack_.” And it is just such Happy Jacks as Landless
that most sea-officers profess to admire; a fellow without shame,
without a soul, so dead to the least dignity of manhood that he could
hardly be called a man. Whereas, a seaman who exhibits traits of moral
sensitiveness, whose demeanour shows some dignity within; this is the
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.
- title
- Chunk 1