IN THE time before steamships, or then more frequently than now, a stroller
along the docks of any considerable sea-port would occasionally have his
attention arrested by a group of bronzed mariners, man-of-war's men or
merchant-sailors in holiday attire ashore on liberty. In certain instances they
would flank, or, like a body-guard quite surround some superior figure of their
own class, moving along with them like Aldebaran among the lesser lights of his
constellation. That signal object was the "Handsome Sailor" of the less prosaic
time alike of the military and merchant navies. With no perceptible trace of the
vainglorious about him, rather with the off-hand unaffectedness of natural
regality, he seemed to accept the spontaneous homage of his shipmates. A
somewhat remarkable instance recurs to me. In Liverpool, now half a century ago,
I saw under the shadow of the great dingy street-wall of Prince's Dock (an
obstruction long since removed) a common sailor, so intensely black that he must
needs have been a native African of the unadulterate blood of Ham. A symmetric
figure much above the average height. The two ends of a gay silk handkerchief
thrown loose about the neck danced upon the displayed ebony of his chest; in his
ears were big hoops of gold, and a Scotch Highland bonnet with a tartan band set
off his shapely head.
It was a hot noon in July; and his face, lustrous with perspiration, beamed
with barbaric good humor. In jovial sallies right and left, his white teeth
flashing into he rollicked along, the centre of a company of his shipmates.
These were made up of such an assortment of tribes and complexions as would have
well fitted them to be marched up by Anacharsis Cloots before the bar of the
first French Assembly as Representatives of the Human Race. At each spontaneous
tribute rendered by the wayfarers to this black pagod of a fellow- the tribute
of a pause and stare, and less frequent an exclamation,- the motley retinue
showed that they took that sort of pride in the evoker of it which the Assyrian
priests doubtless showed for their grand sculptured Bull when the faithful
prostrated themselves.
To return.
If in some cases a bit of a nautical Murat in setting forth his person
ashore, the Handsome Sailor of the period in question evinced nothing of the
dandified Billy-be-Damn, an amusing character all but extinct now, but
occasionally to be encountered, and in a form yet more amusing than the
original, at the tiller of the boats on the tempestuous Erie Canal or, more
likely, vaporing in the groggeries along the tow-path. Invariably a proficient
in his perilous calling, he was also more or less of a mighty boxer or wrestler.
It was strength and beauty. Tales of his prowess were recited. Ashore he was the
champion; afloat the spokesman; on every suitable occasion always foremost.
Close-reefing top-sails in a gale, there he was, astride the weather
yard-arm-end, foot in the Flemish horse as "stirrup," both hands tugging at the
"earring" as at a bridle, in very much the attitude of young Alexander curbing
the fiery Bucephalus. A superb figure, tossed up as by the horns of Taurus
against the thunderous sky, cheerily hallooing to the strenuous file along the
spar.
The moral nature was seldom out of keeping with the physical make. Indeed,
except as toned by the former, the comeliness and power, always attractive in
masculine conjunction, hardly could have drawn the sort of honest homage the
Handsome Sailor in some examples received from his less gifted associates.
Such a cynosure, at least in aspect, and something such too in nature, though
with important variations made apparent as the story proceeds, was welkin-eyed
Billy Budd, or Baby Budd, as more familiarly under circumstances hereafter to be
given he at last came to be called, aged twenty-one, a foretopman of the British
fleet toward the close of the last decade of the eighteenth century. It was not
very long prior to the time of the narration that follows that he had entered
the King's Service, having been impressed on the Narrow Seas from a
homeward-bound English merchantman into a seventy-four outward-bound, H.M.S.
Indomitable; which ship, as was not unusual in those hurried days, having been
obliged to put to sea short of her proper complement of men. Plump upon Billy at
first sight in the gangway the boarding officer Lieutenant Ratcliff pounced,
even before the merchantman's crew was formally mustered on the quarter-deck for
his deliberate inspection. And him only he elected. For whether it was because
the other men when ranged before him showed to ill advantage after Billy, or
whether he had some scruples in view of the merchantman being rather
short-handed, however it might be, the officer contented himself with his first
spontaneous choice. To the surprise of the ship's company, though much to the
Lieutenant's satisfaction, Billy made no demur. But, indeed, any demur would
have been as idle as the protest of a goldfinch popped into a cage.
Noting this uncomplaining acquiescence, all but cheerful one might say, the
shipmates turned a surprised glance of silent reproach at the sailor. The
Shipmaster was one of those worthy mortals found in every vocation, even the
humbler ones- the sort of person whom everybody agrees in calling "a respectable
man." And- nor so strange to report as it may appear to be- though a ploughman
of the troubled waters, life-long contending with the intractable elements,
there was nothing this honest soul at heart loved better than simple peace and
quiet. For the rest, he was fifty or thereabouts, a little inclined to
corpulence, a prepossessing face, unwhiskered, and of an agreeable color- a
rather full face, humanely intelligent in expression. On a fair day with a fair
wind and all going well, a certain musical chime in his voice seemed to be the
veritable unobstructed outcome of the innermost man. He had much prudence, much
conscientiousness, and there were occasions when these virtues were the cause of
overmuch disquietude in him. On a passage, so long as his craft was in any
proximity to land, no sleep for Captain Graveling. He took to heart those
serious responsibilities not so heavily borne by some shipmasters.
Now while Billy Budd was down in the forecastle getting his kit together, the
Indomitable's Lieutenant, burly and bluff, nowise disconcerted by Captain
Graveling's omitting to proffer the customary hospitalities on an occasion so
unwelcome to him, an omission simply caused by preoccupation of thought,
unceremoniously invited himself into the cabin, and also to a flask from the
spirit-locker, a receptacle which his experienced eye instantly discovered. In
fact he was one of those sea-dogs in whom all the hardship and peril of naval
life in the great prolonged wars of his time never impaired the natural instinct
for sensuous enjoyment. His duty he always faithfully did; but duty is sometimes
a dry obligation, and he was for irrigating its aridity, whensoever possible,
with a fertilizing decoction of strong waters. For the cabin's proprietor there
was nothing left but to play the part of the enforced host with whatever grace
and alacrity were practicable. As necessary adjuncts to the flask, he silently
placed tumbler and water-jug before the irrepressible guest. But excusing
himself from partaking just then, he dismally watched the unembarrassed officer
deliberately diluting his grog a little, then tossing it off in three swallows,
pushing the empty tumbler away, yet not so far as to be beyond easy reach, at
the same time settling himself in his seat and smacking his lips with high
satisfaction, looking straight at the host.
These proceedings over, the Master broke the silence; and there lurked a
rueful reproach in the tone of his voice: "Lieutenant, you are going to take my
best man from me, the jewel of 'em."
"Yes, I know," rejoined the other, immediately drawing back the tumbler
preliminary to a replenishing; "Yes, I know. Sorry."
"Beg pardon, but you don't understand, Lieutenant. See here now. Before I
shipped that young fellow, my forecastle was a rat-pit of quarrels. It was black
times, I tell you, aboard the Rights here. I was worried to that degree my pipe
had no comfort for me. But Billy came; and it was like a Catholic priest
striking peace in an Irish shindy. Not that he preached to them or said or did
anything in particular; but a virtue went out of him, sugaring the sour ones.
They took to him like hornets to treacle; all but the buffer of the gang, the
big shaggy chap with the fire-red whiskers. He indeed out of envy, perhaps, of
the newcomer, and thinking such a 'sweet and pleasant fellow,' as he mockingly
designated him to the others, could hardly have the spirit of a game-cock, must
needs bestir himself in trying to get up an ugly row with him. Billy forebore
with him and reasoned with him in a pleasant way- he is something like myself,
Lieutenant, to whom aught like a quarrel is hateful- but nothing served. So, in
the second dog-watch one day the Red Whiskers in presence of the others, under
pretence of showing Billy just whence a sirloin steak was cut- for the fellow
had once been a butcher- insultingly gave him a dig under the ribs. Quick as
lightning Billy let fly his arm. I dare say he never meant to do quite as much
as he did, but anyhow he gave the burly fool a terrible drubbing. It took about
half a minute, I should think. And, lord bless you, the lubber was astonished at
the celerity. And will you believe it, Lieutenant, the Red Whiskers now really
loves Billy- loves him, or is the biggest hypocrite that ever I heard of. But
they all love him. Some of 'em do his washing, darn his old trousers for him;
the carpenter is at odd times making a pretty little chest of drawers for him.
Anybody will do anything for Billy Budd; and it's the happy family here. But
now, Lieutenant, if that young fellow goes- I know how it will be aboard the
Rights. Not again very soon shall I, coming up from dinner, lean over the
capstan smoking a quiet pipe- no, not very soon again, I think. Ay, Lieutenant,
you are going to take away the jewel of 'em; you are going to take away my
peacemaker!" And with that the good soul had really some ado in checking a
rising sob.
"Well," said the officer who had listened with amused interest to all this,
and now waxing merry with his tipple; "Well, blessed are the peacemakers,
especially the fighting peacemakers! And such are the seventy-four beauties some
of which you see poking their noses out of the port-holes of yonder war-ship
lying-to for me," pointing thro' the cabin window at the Indomitable. "But
courage! don't look so downhearted, man. Why, I pledge you in advance the royal
approbation. Rest assured that His Majesty will be delighted to know that in a
time when his hard tack is not sought for by sailors with such avidity as should
be; a time also when some shipmasters privily resent the borrowing from them a
tar or two for the service; His Majesty, I say, will be delighted to learn that
one shipmaster at least cheerfully surrenders to the King, the flower of his
flock, a sailor who with equal loyalty makes no dissent.- But where's my beauty?
Ah," looking through the cabin's open door, "Here he comes; and, by Jove-
lugging along his chest- Apollo with his portmanteau!- My man," stepping out to
him, "you can't take that big box aboard a war-ship. The boxes there are mostly
shot-boxes. Put your duds in a bag, lad. Boot and saddle for the cavalryman, bag
and hammock for the man-of-war's man."
The transfer from chest to bag was made. And, after seeing his man into the
cutter and then following him down, the Lieutenant pushed off from the
Rights-of-Man. That was the merchant-ship's name; tho' by her master and crew
abbreviated in sailor fashion into The Rights. The hard-headed Dundee owner was
a staunch admirer of Thomas Paine whose book in rejoinder to Burke's arraignment
of the French Revolution had then been published for some time and had gone
everywhere. In christening his vessel after the title of Paine's volume, the man
of Dundee was something like his contemporary shipowner, Stephen Girard of
Philadelphia, whose sympathies, alike with his native land and its liberal
philosophers, he evinced by naming his ships after Voltaire, Diderot, and so
forth.
But now, when the boat swept under the merchantman's stern, and officer and
oarsmen were noting- some bitterly and others with a grin,- the name emblazoned
there; just then it was that the new recruit jumped up from the bow where the
coxswain had directed him to sit, and waving his hat to his silent shipmates
sorrowfully looking over at him from the taffrail, bade the lads a genial
good-bye. Then, making a salutation as to the ship herself, "And good-bye to you
too, old Rights-of-Man."
"Down, Sir!" roared the Lieutenant, instantly assuming all the rigour of his
rank, though with difficulty repressing a smile.
To be sure, Billy's action was a terrible breach of naval decorum. But in
that decorum he had never been instructed; in consideration of which the
Lieutenant would hardly have been so energetic in reproof but for the concluding
farewell to the ship. This he rather took as meant to convey a covert sally on
the new recruit's part, a sly slur at impressment in general, and that of
himself in especial. And yet, more likely, if satire it was in effect, it was
hardly so by intention, for Billy, tho' happily endowed with the gayety of high
health, youth, and a free heart, was yet by no means of a satirical turn. The
will to it and the sinister dexterity were alike wanting. To deal in double
meanings and insinuations of any sort was quite foreign to his nature.
As to his enforced enlistment, that he seemed to take pretty much as he was
wont to take any vicissitude of weather. Like the animals, though no
philosopher, he was, without knowing it, practically a fatalist. And, it may be,
that he rather liked this adventurous turn in his affairs, which promised an
opening into novel scenes and martial excitements.
Aboard the Indomitable our merchant-sailor was forthwith rated as an
able-seaman and assigned to the starboard watch of the fore-top. He was soon at
home in the service, not at all disliked for his unpretentious good looks and a
sort of genial happy-go-lucky air. No merrier man in his mess: in marked
contrast to certain other individuals included like himself among the impressed
portion of the ship's company; for these when not actively employed were
sometimes, and more particularly in the last dog-watch when the drawing near of
twilight induced revery, apt to fall into a saddish mood which in some partook
of sullenness. But they were not so young as our foretopman, and no few of them
must have known a hearth of some sort; others may have had wives and children
left, too probably, in uncertain circumstances, and hardly any but must have had
acknowledged kith and kin, while for Billy, as will shortly be seen, his entire
family was practically invested in himself.
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