- end_line
- 4880
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.270Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4815
- text
- furnished with but one tube, multiply the fatal bullets, as the naval
cat-o’-nine-tails, with a cannibal cruelty, in one blow nine times
multiplies a culprit’s lashes; so that when a sailor is ordered one
dozen lashes, the sentence should read one hundred and eight. All these
arms are kept in the brightest order, wearing a fine polish, and may
truly be said to _reflect_ credit on the Yeoman and his mates.
Among the lower grade of officers in a man-of-war, that of Yeoman is
not the least important. His responsibilities are denoted by his pay.
While the _petty officers_, quarter-gunners, captains of the tops, and
others, receive but fifteen and eighteen dollars a month—but little
more than a mere able seamen—the Yeoman in an American line-of-battle
ship receives forty dollars, and in a frigate thirty-five dollars per
month.
He is accountable for all the articles under his charge, and on no
account must deliver a yard of twine or a ten-penny nail to the
boatswain or carpenter, unless shown a written requisition and order
from the Senior Lieutenant. The Yeoman is to be found burrowing in his
underground store-rooms all the day long, in readiness to serve
licensed customers. But in the counter, behind which he usually stands,
there is no place for a till to drop the shillings in, which takes away
not a little from the most agreeable part of a storekeeper’s duties.
Nor, among the musty, old account-books in his desk, where he registers
all expenditures of his stuffs, is there any cash or check book.
The Yeoman of the Neversink was a somewhat odd specimen of a
Troglodyte. He was a little old man, round-shouldered, bald-headed,
with great goggle-eyes, looking through portentous round spectacles,
which he called his _barnacles_. He was imbued with a wonderful zeal
for the naval service, and seemed to think that, in keeping his pistols
and cutlasses free from rust, he preserved the national honour
untarnished. After _general quarters_, it was amusing to watch his
anxious air as the various _petty officers_ restored to him the arms
used at the martial exercises of the crew. As successive bundles would
be deposited on his counter, he would count over the pistols and
cutlasses, like an old housekeeper telling over her silver forks and
spoons in a pantry before retiring for the night. And often, with a
sort of dark lantern in his hand, he might be seen poking into his
furthest vaults and cellars, and counting over his great coils of
ropes, as if they were all jolly puncheons of old Port and Madeira.
By reason of his incessant watchfulness and unaccountable bachelor
oddities, it was very difficult for him to retain in his employment the
various sailors who, from time to time, were billeted with him to do
the duty of subalterns. In particular, he was always desirous of having
at least one steady, faultless young man, of a literary taste, to keep
an eye to his account-books, and swab out the armoury every morning. It
was an odious business this, to be immured all day in such a bottomless
hole, among tarry old ropes and villainous guns and pistols. It was
with peculiar dread that I one day noticed the goggle-eyes of _Old
Revolver_, as they called him, fastened upon me with a fatal glance of
good-will and approbation. He had somehow heard of my being a very
learned person, who could both read and write with extraordinary
facility; and moreover that I was a rather reserved youth, who kept his
modest, unassuming merits in the background. But though, from the keen
sense of my situation as a man-of-war’s-man all this about my keeping
myself in the _back_ ground was true enough, yet I had no idea of
hiding my diffident merits _under_ ground. I became alarmed at the old
Yeoman’s goggling glances, lest he should drag me down into tarry
perdition in his hideous store-rooms. But this fate was providentially
averted, owing to mysterious causes which I never could fathom.
- title
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