- end_line
- 10649
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.274Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10581
- text
- the bottom of my heart. But my pity was almost aroused into indignation
at a sad sequel to one of these gladiatorial scenes.
It seems that, lifted up by the unaffected, though verbally unexpressed
applause of the Captain, May-day had begun to despise Rose-water as a
poltroon—a fellow all brains and no skull; whereas he himself was a
great warrior, all skull and no brains.
Accordingly, after they had been bumping one evening to the Captain’s
content, May-day confidentially told Rose-water that he considered him
a “_nigger_,” which, among some blacks, is held a great term of
reproach. Fired at the insult, Rose-water gave May-day to understand
that he utterly erred; for his mother, a black slave, had been one of
the mistresses of a Virginia planter belonging to one of the oldest
families in that state. Another insulting remark followed this innocent
disclosure; retort followed retort; in a word, at last they came
together in mortal combat.
The master-at-arms caught them in the act, and brought them up to the
mast. The Captain advanced.
“Please, sir,” said poor Rose-water, “it all came of dat ’ar bumping;
May-day, here, aggrawated me ’bout it.”
“Master-at-arms,” said the Captain, “did you see them fighting?”
“Ay, sir,” said the master-at-arms, touching his cap.
“Rig the gratings,” said the Captain. “I’ll teach you two men that,
though I now and then permit you to _play_, I will have no _fighting_.
Do your duty, boatswain’s mate!” And the negroes were flogged.
Justice commands that the fact of the Captain’s not showing any
leniency to May-day—a decided favourite of his, at least while in the
ring—should not be passed over. He flogged both culprits in the most
impartial manner.
As in the matter of the scene at the gangway, shortly after the Cape
Horn theatricals, when my attention had been directed to the fact that
the officers had _shipped their quarter-deck faces_—upon that occasion,
I say, it was seen with what facility a sea-officer assumes his wonted
severity of demeanour after a casual relaxation of it. This was
especially the case with Captain Claret upon the present occasion. For
any landsman to have beheld him in the lee waist, of a pleasant
dog-watch, with a genial, good-humoured countenance, observing the
gladiators in the ring, and now and then indulging in a playful
remark—that landsman would have deemed Captain Claret the indulgent
father of his crew, perhaps permitting the excess of his
kind-heartedness to encroach upon the appropriate dignity of his
station. He would have deemed Captain Claret a fine illustration of
those two well-known poetical comparisons between a sea-captain and a
father, and between a sea-captain and the master of apprentices,
instituted by those eminent maritime jurists, the noble Lords Tenterden
and Stowell.
But surely, if there is anything hateful, it is this _shipping of the
quarter-deck face_ after wearing a merry and good-natured one. How can
they have the heart? Methinks, if but once I smiled upon a man—never
mind how much beneath me—I could not bring myself to condemn him to the
shocking misery of the lash. Oh officers! all round the world, if this
quarter-deck face you wear at all, then never unship it for another, to
be merely sported for a moment. Of all insults, the temporary
condescension of a master to a slave is the most outrageous and
galling. That potentate who most condescends, mark him well; for that
potentate, if occasion come, will prove your uttermost tyrant.
- title
- Chunk 2