Sketches From My Life | Page 3

sailor-like looking fellows torn by the
frightful cat, for having kept this officer waiting a few minutes on the
pier. Nor will I dwell on this illegal sickening proceeding, as I do not
write to create a sensation, and, thank goodness! such things cannot be
done now.
I had not much time for reflection, for my turn came next. I believe I
cried or got into somebody's way, or did something to vex the tyrant;
all I know is that I heard myself addressed as 'You young scoundrel,'
and ordered to go to the 'mast-head.' Go to the mast-head indeed! with a
freshening wind, under whose influence the ship was beginning to heel
over, and an increasing sea that made her jump about like an acrobat. I
had not got my sea legs, and this feat seemed an utter impossibility to
me. I looked with horror up aloft; then came over me the remembrance
of Marryat's story of the lad who refused to go to the mast-head, and
who was hoisted up by the signal halyards. While thinking of this,
another 'Well, sir, why don't you obey orders?' started me into the
lower rigging, which I began with the greatest difficulty to climb,
expecting at every step to go headlong overboard.
A good-natured sailor, seeing the fix I was in, gave me a helping hand,
and up I crawled as far as the maintop. This, I must explain to my
non-nautical reader, is not the mast-head, but a comparatively
comfortable half-way resting-place, from whence one can look about
feeling somewhat secure.
On looking down to the deck my heart bled to see the poor sailor who
had helped me undergoing punishment for his kind act. I heard myself

at the same time ordered 'to go higher,' and a little higher I did go. Then
I stopped, frightened to death, and almost senseless; terror, however,
seemed to give me presence of mind to cling on, and there I remained
till some hours afterwards; then I was called down. On reaching the
deck I fainted, and knew no more till I awoke after some time in my
hammock.
Now, I ask anyone, even a martinet at heart, whether such treatment of
a boy, not thirteen years of age, putting his life into the greatest danger,
taking this first step towards breaking his spirit, and in all probability
making him, as most likely had been done to the poor men I had seen
flogged that morning, into a hardened mutinous savage, was not
disgraceful?
Moreover, it was as close akin to murder as it could be, for I don't
know how it was I didn't fall overboard, and then nothing could have
saved my life. However, as I didn't fall, I was not drowned, and the
effect on me was curious enough. For all I had seen and suffered on
that the opening day of my sea-life made me think for the first
time--and I have never ceased thinking (half a century has passed since
then)--how to oppose tyranny in every shape. Indeed, I have always
done so to such an extent as to have been frequently called by my
superiors 'a troublesome character,' 'a sea lawyer,' &c.
Perhaps in this way I have been able to effect something, however
small, towards the entire change that has taken place in the treatment of
those holding subordinate positions in the navy--and that something has
had its use, for the tyrant's hand is by force stayed now, 'for once and
for all.'
With this little I am satisfied.
Now let us briefly look into the question, 'Why are men tyrants when
they have it in _their power to be so_?'
Unfortunately, as a rule, it appears to come natural to them! What
caused the Indian Mutiny? Let Indian officers and those employed in
the Indian civil service answer that question.

However, I have only to do with naval officers. My experience tells me
that a man clothed with brief but supreme authority, such as the
command of a man-of-war, in those days when for months and months
he was away from all control of his superiors and out of reach of public
censure, is more frequently apt to listen to the promptings of the devil,
which more or less attack every man, especially when he is alone.
Away from the softening influence of society and the wholesome fear
of restraint, for a time at least the voice of his better angel is silenced.
Perhaps also the necessarily solitary position of a commander of a
man-of-war, his long, lonely hours, the utter change from the jovial life
he led previous to being afloat, to say nothing of his liver getting
occasionally out of order, may all tend to make him irritable and
despotic.
I have seen a captain