________________________________________________
_ I CANNOT forbear a brief reflection upon the scene ending the last
chapter.
The ratanning of the young culprits, although significant of the
imperfect discipline of a French man-of-war, may also be considered
as in some measure characteristic of the nation.
In an American or English ship, a boy when flogged is either lashed to
the breech of a gun, or brought right up to the gratings, the same
way the men are. But as a general rule, he is never punished beyond
his strength. You seldom or never draw a cry from the young rogue. He
bites his tongue and stands up to it like a hero. If practicable
(which is not always the case), he makes a point of smiling under the
operation. And so far from his companions taking any compassion on
him, they always make merry over his misfortunes. Should he turn baby
and cry, they are pretty sure to give him afterward a sly pounding in
some dark corner.
This tough training produces its legitimate results. The boy becomes,
in time, a thoroughbred tar, equally ready to strip and take a dozen
on board his own ship, or, cutlass in hand, dash pell-mell on board
the enemy's. Whereas the young Frenchman, as all the world knows,
makes but an indifferent seaman; and though, for the most part, he
fights well enough, somehow or other he seldom fights well enough to
beat.
How few sea-battles have the French ever won! But more: how few ships
have they ever carried by the board--that true criterion of naval
courage! But not a word against French bravery--there is plenty of
it; but not of the right sort. A Yankee's, or an Englishman's, is the
downright Waterloo "game." The French fight better on land; and not
being essentially a maritime people, they ought to stay there. The
best of shipwrights, they are no sailors.
And this carries me back to the Reine Blanche, as noble a specimen of
what wood and iron can make as ever floated.
She was a new ship: the present her maiden cruise. The greatest pains
having been taken in her construction, she was accounted the "crack"
craft in the French navy. She is one of the heavy sixty-gun frigates
now in vogue all over the world, and which we Yankees were the first
to introduce. In action these are the most murderous vessels ever
launched.
The model of the Reine Blanche has all that warlike comeliness only to
be seen in a fine fighting ship. Still, there is a good deal of
French flummery about her--brass plates and other gewgaws stuck on
all over, like baubles on a handsome woman.
Among other things, she carries a stern gallery resting on the
uplifted hands of two Caryatides, larger than life. You step out upon
this from the commodore's cabin. To behold the rich hangings, and
mirrors, and mahogany within, one is almost prepared to see a bevy of
ladies trip forth on the balcony for an airing.
But come to tread the gun-deck, and all thoughts like these are put to
flight. Such batteries of thunderbolt hurlers! with a
sixty-eight-pounder or two thrown in as make-weights. On the
spar-deck, also, are carronades of enormous calibre.
Recently built, this vessel, of course, had the benefit of the latest
improvements. I was quite amazed to see on what high principles of
art some exceedingly simple things were done. But your Gaul is
scientific about everything; what other people accomplish by a few
hard knocks, he delights in achieving by a complex arrangement of the
pulley, lever, and screw.
What demi-semi-quavers in a French air! In exchanging naval
courtesies, I have known a French band play "Yankee Doodle" with such
a string of variations that no one but a "pretty 'cute" Yankee could
tell what they were at.
In the French navy they have no marines; their men, taking turns at
carrying the musket, are sailors one moment, and soldiers the next; a
fellow running aloft in his line frock to-day, to-morrow stands
sentry at the admiral's cabin door. This is fatal to anything like
proper sailor pride. To make a man a seaman, he should be put to no
other duty. Indeed, a thorough tar is unfit for anything else; and
what is more, this fact is the best evidence of his being a true
sailor.
On board the Reine Blanche, they did not have enough to eat; and what
they did have was not of the right sort. Instead of letting the
sailors file their teeth against the rim of a hard sea-biscuit, they
baked their bread daily in pitiful little rolls. Then they had no
"grog"; as a substitute, they drugged the poor fellows with a thin,
sour wine--the juice of a few grapes, perhaps, to a pint of the juice
of water-faucets. Moreover, the sailors asked for meat, and they
gave them soup; a rascally substitute, as they well knew.
Ever since leaving home, they had been on "short allowance." At the
present time, those belonging to the boats--and thus getting an
occasional opportunity to run ashore--frequently sold their rations
of bread to some less fortunate shipmate for sixfold its real value.
Another thing tending to promote dissatisfaction among the crew was
their having such a devil of a fellow for a captain. He was one of
those horrid naval bores--a great disciplinarian. In port, he kept
them constantly exercising yards and sails, and maneuvering with the
boats; and at sea, they were forever at quarters; running in and out
the enormous guns, as if their arms were made for nothing else. Then
there was the admiral aboard, also; and, no doubt, he too had a
paternal eye over them.
In the ordinary routine of duty, we could not but be struck with the
listless, slovenly behaviour of these men; there was nothing of the
national vivacity in their movements; nothing of the quick precision
perceptible on the deck of a thoroughly-disciplined armed vessel.
All this, however, when we came to know the reason, was no matter of
surprise; three-fourths of them were pressed men. Some old merchant
sailors had been seized the very day they landed from distant
voyages; while the landsmen, of whom there were many, had been driven
down from the country in herds, and so sent to sea.
At the time, I was quite amazed to hear of press-gangs in a day of
comparative peace; but the anomaly is accounted for by the fact that,
of late, the French have been building up a great military marine, to
take the place of that which Nelson gave to the waves of the sea at
Trafalgar. But it is to be hoped that they are not building their
ships for the people across the channel to take. In case of a war,
what a fluttering of French ensigns there would be!
Though I say the French are no sailors, I am far from seeking to
underrate them as a people. They are an ingenious and right gallant
nation. And, as an American, I take pride in asserting it. _
Read next: PART I: CHAPTER XXX. THEY TAKE US ASHORE--WHAT HAPPENED THERE
Read previous: PART I: CHAPTER XXVIII. RECEPTION FROM THE FRENCHMAN
Table of content of Omoo
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
