Chapter 16

GENERAL TRAINING IN A MAN-OF-WAR.

To a quiet, contemplative character, averse to uproar, undue
exercise of his bodily members, and all kind of useless
confusion, nothing can be more distressing than a proceeding in
all men-of-war called "_general quarters_." And well may it be so
called, since it amounts to a general drawing and quartering of
all the parties concerned.

As the specific object for which a man-of-war is built and put into
commission is to fight and fire off cannon, it is, of course, deemed
indispensable that the crew should be duly instructed in the art and
mystery involved. Hence these "general quarters," which is a mustering
of all hands to their stations at the guns on the several decks, and a
sort of sham-fight with an imaginary foe.

The summons is given by the ship's drummer, who strikes a peculiar
beat--short, broken, rolling, shuffling--like the sound made by the
march into battle of iron-heeled grenadiers. It is a regular tune,
with a fine song composed to it; the words of the chorus, being most
artistically arranged, may give some idea of the air:

"Hearts of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,
We always are ready, steady, boys, steady,
To fight and to conquer, again and again."

In warm weather this pastime at the guns is exceedingly unpleasant,
to say the least, and throws a quiet man into a violent passion and
perspiration. For one, I ever abominated it.

I have a heart like Julius Caesar, and upon occasions would fight
like Caius Marcius Coriolanus. If my beloved and for ever glorious
country should be ever in jeopardy from invaders, let Congress put
me on a war-horse, in the van-guard, and _then_ see how I will acquit
myself. But to toil and sweat in a fictitious encounter; to squander
the precious breath of my precious body in a ridiculous fight of shams
and pretensions; to hurry about the decks, pretending to carry the
killed and wounded below; to be told that I must consider the ship
blowing up, in order to exercise myself in presence of mind, and
prepare for a real explosion; all this I despise, as beneath a true
tar and man of valour.

These were my sentiments at the time, and these remain my sentiments
still; but as, while on board the frigate, my liberty of thought did
not extend to liberty of expression, I was obliged to keep these
sentiments to myself; though, indeed, I had some thoughts of addressing
a letter, marked _Private and Confidential_, to his Honour the Commodore,
on the subject.

My station at the batteries was at one of the thirty-two-pound
carronades, on the starboard side of the quarter-deck.[1]

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[Footnote-1] For the benefit of a Quaker reader here and