White Jacket or the World on a Man-of-war
Copyright© 2025 by Herman Melville
Chapter 58
A QUARTER-DECK OFFICER BEFORE THE MAST.
As we were somewhat short-handed while we lay in Rio, we received a small draft of men from a United States sloop of war, whose three years’ term of service would expire about the time of our arrival in America.
Under guard of an armed Lieutenant and four midshipmen, they came on board in the afternoon. They were immediately mustered in the starboard gangway, that Mr. Bridewell, our First Lieutenant, might take down their names, and assign them their stations.
They stood in a mute and solemn row; the officer advanced, with his memorandum-book and pencil.
My casual friend, Shakings, the holder, happened to be by at the time. Touching my arm, he said, “White-Jacket, this here reminds me of Sing-Sing, when a draft of fellows in darbies, came on from the State Prison at Auburn for a change of scene like, you know!”
After taking down four or five names, Mr. Bridewell accosted the next man, a rather good-looking person, but, from his haggard cheek and sunken eye, he seemed to have been in the sad habit, all his life, of sitting up rather late at night; and though all sailors do certainly keep late hours enough—standing watches at midnight—yet there is no small difference between keeping late hours at sea and keeping late hours ashore.
“What’s your name?” asked the officer, of this rather rakish-looking recruit.
“Mandeville, sir,” said the man, courteously touching his cap. “You must remember me, sir,” he added, in a low, confidential tone, strangely dashed with servility; “we sailed together once in the old Macedonian, sir. I wore an epaulet then; we had the same state-room, you know, sir. I’m your old chum, Mandeville, sir,” and he again touched his cap.
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