Chapter 59

A MAN-OF-WAR BUTTON DIVIDES TWO BROTHERS.

The conduct of Mandeville, in claiming the acquaintance of the First Lieutenant under such disreputable circumstances was strongly contrasted by the behaviour of another person on board, placed for a time in a somewhat similar situation.

Among the genteel youths of the after-guard was a lad of about sixteen, a very handsome young fellow, with starry eyes, curly hair of a golden colour, and a bright, sunshiny complexion: he must have been the son of some goldsmith. He was one of the few sailors—not in the main-top—whom I used to single out for occasional conversation. After several friendly interviews he became quite frank, and communicated certain portions of his history. There is some charm in the sea, which induces most persons to be very communicative concerning themselves.

We had lain in Rio but a day, when I observed that this lad—whom I shall here call Frank—wore an unwonted expression of sadness, mixed with apprehension. I questioned him as to the cause, but he chose to conceal it. Not three days after, he abruptly accosted me on the gun-deck, where I happened to be taking a promenade.

“I can’t keep it to myself any more,” he said; “I must have a confidant, or I shall go mad!”

“What is the matter?” said I, in alarm.

“Matter enough—look at this!” and he handed me a torn half sheet of an old New York Herald, putting his finger upon a particular word in a particular paragraph. It was the announcement of the sailing from the Brooklyn Navy-yard of a United States store ship, with provisions for the squadron in Rio. It was upon a particular name, in the list of officers and midshipmen, that Frank’s fingers was placed.

“That is my own brother,” said he; “he must have got a reefer’s warrant since I left home. Now, White-Jacket, what’s to be done? I have calculated that the store ship may be expected here every day; my brother will then see me—he an officer and I a miserable sailor that any moment may be flogged at the gangway, before his very eyes. Heavens! White-Jacket, what shall I do? Would you run? Do you think there is any chance to desert? I won’t see him, by Heaven, with this sailor’s frock on, and he with the anchor button!”

“Why, Frank,” said I, “I do not really see sufficient cause for this fit you are in. Your brother is an of officer—very good; and you are nothing but a sailor—but that is no disgrace. If he comes on board here, go up to him, and take him by the hand; believe me, he will be glad enough to see you!”

Frank started from his desponding attitude, and fixing his eyes full upon mine, with clasped hands exclaimed, “White-Jacket, I have been from home nearly three years; in that time I have never heard one word from my family, and, though God knows how I love them, yet I swear to you, that though my brother can tell me whether my sisters are still alive, yet, rather than accost him in this lined-frock, I would go ten centuries without hearing one syllable from home?”

Amazed at his earnestness, and hardly able to account for it altogether, I stood silent a moment; then said, “Why, Frank, this midshipman is your own brother, you say; now, do you really think that your own flesh and blood is going to give himself airs over you, simply because he sports large brass buttons on his coat? Never believe it. If he does, he can be no brother, and ought to be hanged—that’s all!”