The Passages of Herman Melville by Jay Parini

Author:Jay Parini [Jay Parini]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857860392
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 2010-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

The enlistment happened with shocking speed, as the United States was short of hands. Herman was summoned at once to the sick bay, where the ship’s doctor commanded each recruit to strip. The order surprised him, as nobody stripped on a whaler, at least not for medical purposes. But the navy would not admit to its ranks the usual run of motley and diseased seamen who populated whalers. Venereal afflictions were deeply unwelcome on a naval ship, as they implied degeneracy and a lack of self-discipline. H.M. stood in embarrassment as the cadaverous surgeon poked and prodded him with a variety of cold instruments, looking for pubic lice, piles, hernias, and diseased gums.

“And how is thy urine, man?” asked the doctor.

“She is fine, sir,” said Herman. “Glorious, in fact.”

The medic didn’t like the attitude embodied there, and he remarked sternly, “Sailor, you will do well to keep yourself to yourself, and to mind your tongue in the company of officers.”

Herman held the man’s gaze for a long time.

The truth was, he liked being at sea again, feeling the sway of the ocean underfoot, the forward plunge of a ship at full sail. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to walk on spongy knees, absorbing the rhythm of the swells, feeling the pliability of the ocean, which wrapped the earth in its capacious silky shawl and changed colors minute by minute, its mood unreliable, shifting from sanguine to choleric, with few stops between. The green of the South Pacific, and its florid equatorial breezes, appealed to him; the Atlantic, by contrast, seemed gray and unyielding, the appropriate surround for discontented Separatists such as Governor Bradford and his puritanical lot.

Almost at once Herman found himself in a comfortable harness aboard this well-run ship, although he was a military man at present, subject to disciplines that were previously unimaginable. In fact, not two days after the United States moved into open water, a command rose from the boatswain: “Punishment, ahoy! All hands on deck!” The captain came forward from his cabin and shouted, without conviction, “Master-at-arms, bring up the prisoners!”

This was not a good way to begin a voyage, H.M. realized, having heard a good deal about ritual punishments that formed the basis of naval discipline. He had no wish to observe the flogging of unfortunate sailors, but the drill was set, and everyone must assemble as commanded before the hatchway, where the captain, Mr. Armstrong—a colorless man with a shock of prematurely white hair—presided in desultory fashion, as if the whole proceeding bored him. The day’s punishments began with two boys called Eli and Billy, accused of fighting and cursing. The smallest one, Billy, appeared no more than thirteen, although a faint mustache could be detected on his upper lip. He wept profusely, begging for a pardon. “I am not to fault!” he wailed, his high voice cracking. In a gesture that impressed H.M., Captain Armstrong put a hand on his shoulder, as if to say, “Not to worry, lad.”

The

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