The Lieutenant and Commander

That there is a tide in the affairs of men, has very naturally become a figure of frequent and almost hackneyed use in the cockpits, gun-rooms, and even the captains' cabins of our ships and vessels of war. Like its numerous brethren of common-places, it will be found, perhaps, but of small application to the real business of life; though it answers capitally to wind up a regular grumble at the unexpected success of some junior messmate possessed of higher interest or abilities, and helps to contrast the growler's own hard fate with the good luck of those about him.

Still, the metaphor may have its grateful use; for certainly in the Navy, and I suppose elsewhere, there is a period in the early stages of every man's professional life at which it is necessary that he should, more or less decidedly, "take his line," in order best to profit by the tide when the flood begins to make. It is difficult to say exactly at what stage of a young officer's career the determination to adopt any one of the numerous lines before him should be taken: but there can be little doubt as to the utility of that determination being made early in life. In most cases, it is clearly beyond the reach of artificial systems of discipline, to place, on a pair of young shoulders, the reflecting head-piece of age and experience; neither, perhaps, would such an incongruity be desirable. But it seems quite within the compass of a conscientious and diligent commanding officer's power by every means to cultivate the taste, and strengthen the principles and the understanding of the persons committed to his charge. His endeavour should be, to train their thoughts in such a manner that, when the time for independent reflection and action arrives, their judgment and feelings may be ready to carry them forward in the right path; to teach them the habit, for instance, of discovering that, in practice, there is a positive, and generally a speedy pleasure and reward attendant on almost every exercise of self-denial. When that point is once firmly established in the minds of young men, it becomes less difficult to persuade them to relinquish whatever is merely agreeable at the moment, if it stand in the way of the sterner claims of duty.

Although the period must vary a good deal, I should be disposed to say, that, in general, a year or two after an officer is promoted to the rank of lieutenant, may be about the time when he ought fairly and finally to brace himself up to follow a particular line, and resolve, ever afterwards, manfully to persevere in it. His abilities being concentrated on some definite set of objects; his friends, both on shore and afloat, will be furnished with some tangible means of judging of his capacity. Without such knowledge, their patronage is likely to do themselves no credit, and their protégé very little, if any, real service.

Some young fellows set out in their professional life by making themselves thorough-bred sailors; their hands are familiar with the tar-bucket; their fingers are cut across with the marks of the ropes they have been pulling and hauling; and their whole soul is wrapped up in the intricate science of cutting out sails, and of rigging masts and yards. Their dreams are of cringles and reef-tackles, of knots, splices, grummets, and dead-eyes. They can tell the length, to a fathom, of every rope in the boatswain's warrant, from the flying jib down-haul to the spanker-sheet; and the height of every spar, from the main-top-gallant truck to the heel of the lower mast. Their delight is in stowing the hold; dragging about kentlage is their joy; they are the very souls of the ship's company. In harbour they are eternally paddling in the boats, rowing, or sculling, or sailing about; they are always the first in fishing or bathing parties; in short, they are for ever at some sailor-kind of work. At sea, their darling music is the loud whistle of the hardest storm-stay-sail breeze, with an occasional accompaniment of a split main-topsail. "The harder it blows, and the faster she goes," the merrier are they; "strong gales and squally" is the item they love best to chalk on the log-board; and even when the oldest top-men begin to hesitate about lying out on the yard to gather in the flapping remnants of the torn canvas, these gallant youngsters glory in the opportunity of setting an example of what a gentleman sailor can perform. So at it they go, utterly reckless of consequences; and by sliding down the lift, or scrambling out, monkey fashion, to the yard-arm, where they sit laughing, though the spar be more than half sprung through, they accomplish their purpose of shaming the others into greater exertions. It is well known that one of the ablest, if not the very ablest, of the distinguished men whom the penetrating sagacity of Nelson discovered and brought forward, owed his first introduction to the notice of that wonderful commander by an exploit of this very description.

These are the dashing boys who cut out privateers, jump overboard after men who cannot swim, and who, when the ship is on fire, care not a farthing for the smoke and heat, but dive below with the engine-pipe in their hands, and either do good service, or perish in the flames with a jolly huzza on their lips. Such may fairly be called the muscular parts of our body nautical, for there is no gummy flesh about them; and when handled with skill, they form the stout instruments which help essentially to win such battles as the Nile and Trafalgar.

The young persons I have just been describing are, however, by no means servile imitators of the sailors; they possess much useful technical knowledge, as well as mere energy of character; and often both think and act with originality; yet they are docile to the last degree, and delight in nothing more than fulfilling, to the very letter, the orders of their superiors. They may amuse themselves, as youngsters, by affecting the gait, the dress, and the lingo of the man before the mast; and are at times supposed to be a little too familiar with these models, on whom they pretend to shape their manners; but still they never carry the joke so far as to become what is called "Jack and Tom," even with the leading men in the ship. They can sing, upon occasion, snatches of forecastle ditties, or fling off a hornpipe worthy of the merriest cracked fiddle that ever sounded under the bow of a drunken musician amongst a company, half-seas over, at the back of Point Beach. Not content with

"Their long-quartered shoes, check shirt, and blue jacket,"

they will even thrust a quid into their cheek, merely to gain the credit, such as it is, of "chewing backy like a sailor."

But there must be a limit to the indulgence of these fancies; and if even an elder midshipman or mate of the decks were permanently to distinguish himself after this masquerade fashion, he would speedily lose caste even with the crew. When a mid, for example, is promoted to lieutenant, he must speedily decide whether he shall follow up in earnest a course of strictly seaman-like objects, of which the mere outward show had previously captivated his young fancy; or he must enter into some compromise with himself, and relinquish a part of his exclusive regard for these pursuits, in consideration of others less fascinating, to be sure, but more likely to bear on his advancement; for, without some knowledge of many other things, his chance must be very small in the race of professional life.

In tolerably wide opposition of habits to these tarpaulin men follow the less dashing and showy race sometimes called "star-gazers," sometimes "dictionary-men," who are also occasionally taunted or dignified by their messmates with the title of "philosophers." The object of most of these young philosophisers is to get at the reason of all things, and to be able not only to work by the rules laid down for them in printed books, or in the written orders of their superiors; but to investigate the foundation of these rules and regulations so thoroughly, that when new cases occur, they may have it in their power to meet them by fresh resources of their own: according in spirit, with those which experience has shown to be conducive to the happiness of the crew and the efficiency of the service. Out of the class of officers now alluded to, the growth of which it has been the wise policy of late years to encourage, there have sprung up the numberless voyagers, surveyors, and other strictly nautical men, who are always to be found when the public service requires a practical question to be settled, or a professional office of responsibility and trust to be filled up. If the arctic circle is to be investigated by sea or by land, or the deserts of Africa traversed, or the world circumnavigated afresh, under the guidance of the modern improvements in navigation, the government at once calls upon such men as Parry, Franklin, Clapperton, Beechey,[1] to whom they can safely entrust the task.

From the same class, also, a valuable race of naval statesmen have been drawn. For a considerable number of years, the whole of the diplomatic duties of South America, as far as concerned the interests of England, were carried on by the naval commanders-in-chief. Who can forget how important a share of Lord Nelson's command, or, after him, of Lord Collingwood's in the Mediterranean, consisted of duties of a purely civil description? And it may be questioned if diplomatic history offers a more masterly specimen of address and statesman-like decision, as well as forethought, than was displayed by Captain Maitland, in securing the person of Buonaparte, not only without committing himself or his government, but without wounding the feelings of the fallen emperor. The case was, and ever must remain, unique; and yet the most deliberate reflection, even after the event, has not suggested anything to wish changed. Fortunate, indeed, was it for the reputation of this country that the delicate task fell to the lot of an officer possessed of such inherent vigour of character, and one so familiar with the practical exercise of his own resources, that difficulties which might have staggered ordinary minds vanished before his.

In so extensive a service as the Navy, accident might perhaps occasionally produce such men as have been named above; but it is very material to observe, that unless there existed, as a permanent body, a large class in the Navy, who follow the pursuits alluded to from taste as well as from motives of public spirit, and from whose ranks selections can be made with confidence at moments of need, such opportunities as those above alluded to might often be allowed to pass unprofitably. It is, moreover, important to recollect, that it is in these matters as in everything else where there is a great demand, and consequently a great supply, there will from time to time start up a master spirit, such as that of my lamented friend, the late Captain Henry Foster, to claim, even in the very outset of his career, the cheerful homage of all the rest. So far from the profession envying his early success, or being disturbed at his pre-eminent renown, they felt that his well-earned honours only shed lustre on themselves.

It is also very pleasing to observe the reciprocal feeling which belongs on such occasions to all rightly constituted minds. When Captain Foster, in 1828, then only lieutenant, received the Copley medal, the highest scientific honour in the gift of the Royal Society, it never occurred to him merely to hang it at his breast in solitary dignity, or to chuckle presumptuously at his own particular good fortune. So far from this, he thought only of the service; and proceeding straight to the Admiralty, he showed the medal, and declared modestly, but firmly, to their lordships, that he considered the honour only nominally bestowed upon himself, but essentially conferred upon the naval profession at large. This generous and manly appeal could not fail to make its due impression; and within the same hour, his commission, as commander, was signed, his appointment to a ship ordered, and a voyage of scientific research carved out for him. But I need not add how bitter a grief it is to those who were personally acquainted with this rising young officer, to think that so much knowledge-such useful talents-such unmatched zeal and industry-and such true love for science-all so fertile in promises of future service and renown-should have been lamentably quenched in a moment.

Besides the regular-built sailors, and the saltwater statesmen and philosophers, there is yet another set which greatly outnumbers both, and which, if comparisons must be made, equals, if it does not far exceed them in utility. I allude to that large and very important body of strictly professional persons who are not remarkable for anything in particular, unless it be for a hearty and uncompromising devotion to the service. Captains, it is to be feared, are generally too apt to consider these meritorious persons as less entitled to attention than their more showy companions; just as schoolmasters are, not unnaturally, disposed to devote most of their time to the cleverest boys, to the comparative neglect of those who cluster round the point of mediocrity. It may, however, be easily conceived that the persons least attended to, afloat as well as on shore, often stand more in need of notice and assistance than their gifted brethren, who are better able to make their own consequence felt and acknowledged; for it must not be forgotten that these honest, hard-working men actually perform the greater part of all the routine drudgery of the service, and perhaps execute it better than men of higher talents could do in their place.

The class amongst us who devote themselves to sober literary pursuits is necessarily very small; but that of the happy youths, who dream the gods have made them poetical, has many members, who "rave, recite, and madden round the ship," to their own (exclusive) satisfaction. Others there are who deal desperately in the fine arts of painting and music,-that is, who draw out of perspective, and play out of tune: not that the ability to sketch the scenes and phenomena continually passing before them is objectionable; I allude here to the pretenders to art. Their poor messmates can have little respect for these pretending Rembrandts and Paganinis; and the happiness of the mess would be considerably improved if authority were given to pitch every such sketch-book and every flute out at the stern-port.

Finally come the raking, good-looking, shore-going, company-hunting, gallivanting, riff-raff set of reckless youths, who, having got rid of the entanglement of parents and guardians, and having no great restraint of principle or anything else to check them, seem to hold that his Majesty's service is merely a convenience for their especial use, and his Majesty's ships a sort of packet-boats to carry their elegant persons from port to port, in search of fresh conquests, and, as they suppose, fresh laurels to their country.

Few men do anything well which they do not like; for the same reason, if an officer be capable of performing services really valuable, his success must arise from turning his chief attention to those branches of the profession which he feels are the most congenial to his peculiar tastes, and which experience has shown lie within the range of his capacity. Some officers deliberately act upon this, while the greater number, as may be supposed, adopt their line unconsciously. Still, it is the bounden duty of every well-wisher to the service to use the influence he possesses to lead the young persons about him to follow the true bent of their genius, and to select as a principal object of study the particular branch of the profession in which they are most likely to benefit themselves permanently.

I well remember, in my own case, the day, and almost the very hour, when these convictions flashed upon my mind. I then saw, for the first time, that unless I speedily roused myself, and "took my line" vigorously, the proper occasion might swiftly pass away. I was quite astonished how, up to that moment, I had seen so little of what now appeared so very palpable; every other consideration was instantly dismissed, and all minor vanities being shaken off like dew-drops to the air, I set resolutely about the attainment of my promotion, the grand object of every officer's ambition. But before describing how this important affair was put in train, I shall attempt a sketch of the kind of life I was leading about this period. In looking back to those days, and glancing the mind's eye along the intermediate years, I sometimes ask myself whether or not I should act very differently if permitted to make the voyage over again, under the guidance of experience bought by the practice of life. The retrospect, of course, offers some unavailing regrets; but still I can hardly believe that the result would, on the whole, have proved materially happier for myself.

Such being the case, I trust there is no unpardonable egotism in mentioning, in a work intended for young people, that one of my chief motives for bringing these Fragments of my life and adventures before them, is the hope of imparting to others, similarly circumstanced, a portion of that spirit of cheerfulness, and that resolute determination to make the most of things, which, after thirty years of activity and enjoyment in foreign climes, have landed me in perfect contentment at home.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] All gone since our author wrote. Now it looks for Osbornes, Maclures, and other names as trustworthy.