Chapter 23

THEATRICALS IN A MAN-OF-WAR.

The Neversink had summered out her last Christmas on the Equator; she was now destined to winter out the Fourth of July not very far from the frigid latitudes of Cape Horn.

It is sometimes the custom in the American Navy to celebrate this national holiday by doubling the allowance of spirits to the men; that is, if the ship happen to be lying in harbour. The effects of this patriotic plan may be easily imagined: the whole ship is converted into a dram-shop; and the intoxicated sailors reel about, on all three decks, singing, howling, and fighting. This is the time that, owing to the relaxed discipline of the ship, old and almost forgotten quarrels are revived, under the stimulus of drink; and, fencing themselves up between the guns—so as to be sure of a clear space with at least three walls—the combatants, two and two, fight out their hate, cribbed and cabined like soldiers duelling in a sentry-box. In a word, scenes ensue which would not for a single instant be tolerated by the officers upon any other occasion. This is the time that the most venerable of quarter-gunners and quarter-masters, together with the smallest apprentice boys, and men never known to have been previously intoxicated during the cruise—this is the time that they all roll together in the same muddy trough of drunkenness.

In emulation of the potentates of the Middle Ages, some Captains augment the din by authorising a grand jail-delivery of all the prisoners who, on that auspicious Fourth of the month, may happen to be confined in the ship’s prison—”the brig.”

But from scenes like these the Neversink was happily delivered. Besides that she was now approaching a most perilous part of the ocean—which would have made it madness to intoxicate the sailors—her complete destitution of grog, even for ordinary consumption, was an obstacle altogether insuperable, even had the Captain felt disposed to indulge his man-of-war’s-men by the most copious libations.

For several days previous to the advent of the holiday, frequent conferences were held on the gun-deck touching the melancholy prospects before the ship.

“Too bad—too bad!” cried a top-man, “Think of it, shipmates—a Fourth of July without grog!”

“I’ll hoist the Commodore’s pennant at half-mast that day,” sighed the signal-quarter-master.

“And I’ll turn my best uniform jacket wrong side out, to keep company with the pennant, old Ensign,” sympathetically responded an after-guard’s-man.

“Ay, do!” cried a forecastle-man. “I could almost pipe my eye to think on’t.”

“No grog on de day dat tried men’s souls!” blubbered Sunshine, the galley-cook.

“Who would be a Jankee now?” roared a Hollander of the fore-top, more Dutch than sour-crout.

“Is this the riglar fruits of liberty?” touchingly inquired an Irish waister of an old Spanish sheet-anchor-man.

You will generally observe that, of all Americans, your foreign-born citizens are the most patriotic—especially toward the Fourth of July.

But how could Captain Claret, the father of his crew, behold the grief of his ocean children with indifference? He could not. Three days before the anniversary—it still continuing very pleasant weather for these latitudes—it was publicly announced that free permission was given to the sailors to get up any sort of theatricals they desired, wherewith to honour the Fourth.

Now, some weeks prior to the Neversink’s sailing from home—nearly three years before the time here spoken of—some of the seamen had clubbed together, and made up a considerable purse, for the purpose of purchasing a theatrical outfit having in view to diversify the monotony of lying in foreign harbours for weeks together, by an occasional display on the boards—though if ever there w-as a continual theatre in the world, playing by night and by day, and without intervals between the acts, a man-of-war is that theatre, and her planks are the boards indeed.

The sailors who originated this scheme had served in other American frigates, where the privilege of having theatricals was allowed to the crew. What was their chagrin, then, when, upon making an application to the Captain, in a Peruvian harbour, for permission to present the much-admired drama of “The Ruffian Boy,” under the Captain’s personal patronage, that dignitary assured them that there were already enough ruffian boys on board, without conjuring up any more from the green-room.

The theatrical outfit, therefore, was stowed down in the bottom of the sailors’ bags, who little anticipated then that it would ever be dragged out while Captain Claret had the sway.

But immediately upon the announcement that the embargo was removed, vigorous preparations were at once commenced to celebrate the Fourth with unwonted spirit. The half-deck was set apart for the theatre, and the signal-quarter-master was commanded to loan his flags to decorate it in the most patriotic style.

As the stage-struck portion of the crew had frequently during the cruise rehearsed portions of various plays, to while away the tedium of the night-watches, they needed no long time now to perfect themselves in their parts.

Accordingly, on the very next morning after the indulgence had been granted by the Captain, the following written placard, presenting a broadside of staring capitals, was found tacked against the main-mast on the gun-deck. It was as if a Drury-Lane bill had been posted upon the London Monument.

CAPE HORN THEATRE.

Grand Celebration of the Fourth of July.
DAY PERFORMANCE.
UNCOMMON ATTRACTION.
THE OLD WAGON PAID OFF!
JACK CHASE ... PERCY ROYAL-MAST.
STARS OF THE FIRST MAGNITUDE.
For this time only.
THE TRUE YANKEE SAILOR.
The managers of the Cape Horn Theatre beg leave to inform
the inhabitants of the Pacific and Southern Oceans that,
on the afternoon of the Fourth of July, 184—, they will
have the honour to present the admired drama of

THE OLD WAGON PAID OFF!
Commodore Bougee... Tom Brown, of the Fore-top.
Captain Spy-glass... Ned Brace, of the After-Guard.
Commodore’s Cockswain... Joe Bunk, of the Launch.
Old Luff... Quarter-master Coffin. Mayor... Seafull, of the Forecastle.
PERCY ROYAL-MAST ... JACK CHASE.
Mrs. Lovelorn... Long-locks, of the After-Guard.
Toddy Moll... Frank Jones.
Gin and Sugar Sall... Dick Dash.

Sailors, Mariners, Bar-keepers, Crimps, Aldermen,
Police-officer’s, Soldiers, Landsmen generally.
*******
Long live the Commodore!:: Admission Free.
*******
To conclude with the much-admired song by Dibdin,
altered to suit all American Tars, entitled

THE TRUE YANKEE SAILOR.
True Yankee Sailor (in costume), Patrick Flinegan,
Captain of the Head.

Performance to commence with “Hail Columbia,” by the Brass
Band. Ensign rises at three bells, P.M. No sailor permitted
to enter in his shirt-sleeves. Good order is expected to be
maintained. The Master-at-arms and Ship’s Corporals to be in
attendance to keep the peace.
At the earnest entreaties of the seamen, Lemsford, the gun-deck poet, had been prevailed upon to draw up this bill. And upon this one occasion his literary abilities were far from being underrated, even by the least intellectual person on board. Nor must it be omitted that, before the bill was placarded, Captain Claret, enacting the part of censor and grand chamberlain ran over a manuscript copy of “The Old Wagon Paid Off,” to see whether it contained anything calculated to breed disaffection against lawful authority among the crew. He objected to some parts, but in the end let them all pass.