Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Billy Budd and Other Stories
Billy Budd and Other Stories
Billy Budd and Other Stories
Ebook418 pages7 hours

Billy Budd and Other Stories

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

3.5/5

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Known best for his avant-garde and modernistic style, Herman Melville's stories come together in the compilation "Billy Budd and Other Stories." In "Billy Budd, Foretopman," Melville returns to the sea life and describes the tale of a well-liked sailor who is wrongly convicted of trying to enact mutiny against the ship's master at arms. Billy Budd accidentally kills his superior during a fight, and he is sentenced to death and hung in front of the whole crew. It is a story about good and evil, with Billy Budd representing the right, while his antagonist is frequently described as a snake, like the serpent in the Bible. The story is also about justice and how justice isn't always served in certain cases. In his other works, Melville leads his audience on journeys to uncover the identity of America; many of America's citizens were suffering an identity crisis due to the shifting social and political climate of the 1800's, and Melville personified these feelings in his shorter works. Melville had a difficult time finding an audience during his life, though, so many of his works went unnoticed and undiscovered until the 20th century during a "Melville Revival." It is because of this revival that works like "The Piazza" and "The Bell Tower" have found their place in the great canon of American literature.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 1, 2012
ISBN9781420946697
Billy Budd and Other Stories
Author

Herman Melville

Herman Melville was an American novelist, essayist, short story writer and poet. His most notable work, Moby Dick, is regarded as a masterpiece of American literature.

Read more from Herman Melville

Related to Billy Budd and Other Stories

Related ebooks

Short Stories For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Billy Budd and Other Stories

Rating: 3.5358972933333335 out of 5 stars
3.5/5

195 ratings7 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity.

    Billy and Bartleby are old friends, portraits of bejeweled philosophy. Strange as it may appear, the selection which punched me in the jaw was Cock-A-Doodle-Do: a tale told by a fellow traveler (he drinks porter and reads Rabelais) about a magical fowl which is a fount of bliss, an actual agent of earthly happiness.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Magnifieke verhalenbundel. Ongelofelijk beklemmende sfeer, erg verwant aan Poe en in sommige opzichten vooruitlopend op Kafka. Vooral Benito Cereno is adembenemend.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I read Billy Budd for a book club I belong to. (I didn't read the other stories.) I found it incredibly slow going. I wouldn't even attempt to read it without access to Wikipedia or some other such source. Especially at the beginning, it makes a lot of cultural references with which I was completely unacquainted, e.g., Anacharis Cloots, Kaspar Hauser and Titus Oates. This made the meaning of some passages incomprehensible without some research.The characters are all stereotypes. I found the plot unrealistic. I also found it just plain exasperating that we are not told what Vere said to Budd after Budd was condemned to death.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Good v Evil and the law. Also, not a bad movie with Peter Ustinov.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I happened upon this in a used bookshop in Yongsan station, in Seoul, just as I was working on a story called "Ogallala" that has more than one nod in the direction of the novella "Benito Cereno" which is in this collection. So I figured that was a hint from the universe, and bought it so I could reread Benito Cereno before finishing my revision.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Very difficult story to read, with Melville often distracted from the task at hand. However, if you can persevere the fabulous story manages to shine through the verbose prose.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    I had to read Billy Budd for school. That is not really a deal breaker for me, but I just did not get the point of the story and it really seems like it is suppose to have a point.

Book preview

Billy Budd and Other Stories - Herman Melville

cover.jpg

BILLY BUDD AND OTHER STORIES

By HERMAN MELVILLE

Billy Budd and Other Stories

By Herman Melville

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-4642-0

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-4669-7

This edition copyright © 2017. Digireads.com Publishing.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Please visit www.digireads.com

CONTENTS

Biographical Introduction

Billy Budd, Foretopman

Preface

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

Billy in the Darbies

Daniel Orme

The Piazza

The Encantadas Or Enchanted Isles

The Bell-Tower

Benito Cereno

Bartleby: The Scrivener. A Story of Wall-Street.

Biographical Introduction

HERMAN MELVILLE

Much of Herman Melville’s writing appears to chase after something. In concrete terms, this is seen in the pursuit of the whale in Moby Dick, but there is also a spiritual dimension to Melville’s writings which can be seen in metaphysical musings such as his description of the oil-painting at the Spouter Inn. Melville writes,

But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three, blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast. A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted. Yet there was a sort of indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to it… But stop; does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish? Even the great leviathan himself?

Here, we see that the search for the whale is actually a search for sublimity, a concept coined by Longinus, a Greek rhetorician who is thought to have lived in the first or third century AD. The sublime differs from the beautiful, because it inspires awe as opposed to mere admiration. The sublime is great, terrible and even, at times, unknowable, much like the whale that Ahab pursues in Moby Dick.

However, Melville did not begin his career with the same kind of philosophical preoccupations that abound in Moby Dick, now acknowledged to be his masterpiece. Instead, his first two books, Typee and Omoo tended to be very factual and were based on his first-hand knowledge of seafaring life. As Melville grew as a writer, he started to deviate from what he strictly knew and to write about other things, embroidering his sometimes fanciful narratives with his ideas about politics, ethics and eventually, metaphysics. However, since his reading public was not very receptive to such meanderings, he forced himself, at first, to return to the kind of real life narrative with which he had begun. Eventually, though, the thinker within the artist burst forth with great intensity in Moby Dick and The Confidence Man, the last two novels published in his lifetime.

Born in 1819, Melville came from a well-known Boston family with revolutionary heroes on both sides, something he acknowledged to be proud of. However, given the illustriousness of his ancestors, Melville’s childhood was relatively shabby-genteel. At first, he was sent to the New York Male School along with his brothers, but by 1830 his father was faring well and decided to move to Albany to go into the fur business. This venture was unsuccessful and Melville’s father died in 1832 after a mental and physical breakdown. Melville was pulled out of school at the age of twelve and forced to start working as a bank clerk.

For a while, Melville drifted from one job to another, working in the family business or on his uncle’s farm and occasionally teaching in various district schools. Finally, in 1839, he embarked on his first seafaring voyage on a merchant ship carrying a load of cotton, an experience which would inform the writing of Redburn ten years later. When he returned to the States he thought of going west with his uncle, a venture which proved fruitless due to a business recession. Finally, in 1840, Melville boarded a whaling ship and didn’t return home until 1844, at which point his sailing yarns enchanted his family so much that they encouraged him to write them down.

The result of these labors was Typee, the first of Melville’s novels, and also the one that would prove most popular in his lifetime. Typee was largely autobiographical, its protagonist, Tommo, exposed to the same experiences that Melville had in his whaling voyage. A couple of years into the voyage, Melville and his friend Toby Greene decided to leave their ship, the Acushnet, in the Marquesas Islands in the South Pacific. They were captured by the Typee tribe who were said to be cannibalistic, but who treated Melville and his friend with all the signs of hospitality. When Melville injured his leg, Greene was allowed to leave the island and go in search of medical assistance. Melville stayed with the Typee for three weeks until an Australian whaler rescued him.

Typee introduced a cannibalistic theme which Melville would return to in many of his future writings, including the character of Queequeg in Moby Dick. There’s a certain ambivalence evident in Melville’s view of these people. On the one hand, there’s an idyllic feel about the island and the people; the simplicity of their life appeals to Melville and he seeks to learn from it. However, he can’t get over certain other aspects of their culture, disliking their tattoos and modes of inebriation. Then, he comes across a pile of bones that he suspects might be human and suddenly, he’s ready to leave the island. In the book, the character Tommo, pursued by the men of the tribe, only just manages to escape by the skin of his teeth.

At first, Melville had some trouble publishing Typee as the tale seemed too fantastic to be true. However, Toby Greene eventually came forward and testified to the accuracy of the narrative. By this time, Typee had become very successful and Melville had agreed to write its sequel, Omoo, which followed as similar pattern as Typee, except that it was set in Tahiti and was concerned with the examination of a state that lay in-between what Melville considered the primitive and the civilized.

In 1847, after the publication of Omoo, Melville married Elizabeth Shaw, daughter of Lemuel Shaw, who was chief justice of the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court. They were to have two sons and two daughters and Melville’s relationship with his father-in-law was a close one. It was to Judge Shaw that he dedicated his first book, and it was he who helped the struggling couple buy a farm house in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Melville’s correspondence with Judge Shaw indicates that he felt free to open up to the older man about his literary ambitions, including the fact that he seemed to like writing books that were destined to fail, on account of what the reading public considered their redundant philosophical veins.

In 1849, Melville produced Mardi, and a Voyage Thither, his third book, which was wildly different from his first two and which showed glimpses of what was to come in terms of Melville’s final writing style. Unlike Typee and Omoo, Mardi was entirely fictional. The narrator, Taji, visits the allegorical archipelago of Mardi where he kills a priest who is taking a white girl, Yillah, to be sacrificed. When the girl disappears, he joins forces with a poet, a historian and a philosopher from the court of Mardi and wanders about the islands looking for the girl, who is never found. In this case, the journey becomes far more important than the destination (something we would also see in Moby Dick) and provides room for Melville’s commentary on various parts of the world which are represented as various islands. The theme of the book is reminiscent of Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels where the protagonist’s foreign adventures allow the author to satirize current events. However, unlike Gulliver’s Travels, Mardi was unsuccessful and Melville was advised to write about what he knew rather than indulging in flights of fancy.

Rather than wallowing in his troubles, Melville temporarily put aside his dream of writing a book that was more than merely factual and produced two works that his readers would no doubt appreciate. Redburn appeared in 1849, the same year as Mardi, and documents a young man’s experiences and growth in the Merchant Service. It is a coming of age book in which the young protagonist encounters several trials and tribulations onboard, but eventually walks away from the experience as a mature adult. White-Jacket, on the other hand, was a politically important work because of the stand it took on flogging, a common practice in the United States Navy at that time, and was instrumental in its legal abolition by Congress.

At this point in Melville’s life, he became acquainted with Nathaniel Hawthorne. This event would influence the course of his future writing. It all started when Melville reviewed Hawthorne’s Mosses from an Old Manse, which he praised to the skies, comparing Hawthorne to Shakespeare and lauding his grasp of Puritanism. Hawthorne, undone by Melville’s unabashed eulogy, threw off the yoke of his reserve and thus began an important literary alliance. Hawthorne was older than Melville and it’s possible that Melville saw him as something of a mentor. For a while, Melville had wanted to take more risks with his writing, but the reception of Mardi had thrown him off course. Due to Hawthorne’s influence, Melville once again decided to brave public opinion and this was how Moby Dick was born.

At first, Melville did not intend for Moby Dick to stray so widely from his previous true-to-life narratives.  He had not yet exploited his experience onboard a whaling ship, and so he thought of this as another aspect of sea life that he could present to his readers. In fact, he commented on the idea while in the early stages of writing, saying, It will be a strange sort of book, tho', I fear; blubber is blubber you know ... and to cook the thing up, one must needs throw in a little fancy, which from the nature of the things, must be ungainly as the gambols of the whales themselves (Cohen). This indicates that Melville didn’t have any clear idea of writing an epic; in fact, he thought of this project as beginning with a handicap, since whales were not thought of as romantic creatures that immediately strike the fancy.

However, Melville’s interaction with Hawthorne set the book on a different path, and Melville was overcome by a flurry of creativity which caused him to combine his knowledge of whaling and his experiences on a whaler with his reflections on all and sundry, in a quest to discover, one might say, the meaning of life itself. Tony Tanner compares Melville to Homer, arguing that America was, at this time, ripe for the generation of its own epic and myth (viii) since all the frontiers had been overcome and the dominance of England had been repudiated. This America had achieved the means necessary for survival, which made intellectual and cultural development possible. In other words, circumstances in Melville's life mirrored those of his homeland: he had been successful so far but he still had a long way to go to become all that he could be.

The plot of Moby Dick is by now known to most of us, revolving as it does around Captain Ahab’s need for revenge on the whale who destroyed his ship and claimed his leg, and his subsequent downfall as a result of his obsession. The narrator, Ishmael, in this case is merely an observer – someone who must live and learn based on what he sees in others. Queequeg the cannibal plays an important role, but it must be noted that the ship is a microcosm, with men of different nationalities and backgrounds working together, not unlike the melting pot of America itself, and the whale lurking in the background like a threat of things to come.

Moby Dick was not well received, Melville’s audience being predisposed to appreciate work that was less reflective in nature. However, Melville didn’t succumb to public opinion at this time but went on to write Pierre; or, the Ambiguities, a romance with religious and philosophical underpinnings. Pierre’s failure, however, led him to publish some short fiction in magazines which did fairly well. It was not so for his last great finished work, The Confidence-Man, a darkly comic, sometimes confusing work based on the idea that life is a kind of joke or, perhaps, a con, where the arrival on the scene of one confidence-man leads to the popping up of several others.

In the next few years Melville did some traveling, wrote some verse and even had it published to meet, yet again, with failure. He had family problems, some of his relations even went so far as to claim that he was insane. In addition, both his sons met with untimely deaths. He started working at a customhouse and continued to do so until 1885, after which he started work on Billy Budd, the story of a sailor who is hanged at sea for mutiny, in which he probed the delicate ethical questions surrounding such an arrangement. Billy Budd remained unpublished at the time of his death in 1891.

By the time Melville passed away, his reputation had waned considerably, but it was revived in the 1920’s due to a greater interest in myth, prompted by the writings of Sigmund Freud. Moby Dick, as one can see, is a wonderful example of myth-creation as well as a collection of folklore that Melville culled from various sources. In 1921, Raymond Weaver wrote a biography on Melville and essays on Typee, Omoo and Moby Dick were featured in D. H. Lawrence’s Studies in Classic American Literature. Since then, Melville has taken his rightful place in the literary canon and his much neglected Moby Dick has become an American classic. Dedicated to Hawthorne, Moby Dick was, at first, appreciated by very few, something which Melville had anticipated to a certain extent. However, it was, at least, appreciated by Hawthorne, and as history now documents, Melville was justified in writing to Hawthorne to say, A sense of unspeakable security is in me at this moment, on account of your having understood the book. I have written a wicked book, and feel spotless as the lamb (Cohen).

RUHI JIWANI

2011.

Billy Budd, Foretopman

WHAT BEFELL HIM IN THE YEAR OF

THE GREAT MUTINY, Etc.

Friday, Nov. 16, 1888—begun.

Revision begun—March. 2, 1889.

Finished—April 19, 1891.

DEDICATED

TO

JACK CHASE

ENGLISHMAN

WHEREVER THAT GREAT HEART MAY NOW BE

HERE ON EARTH OB HARBOURED IN PARADISE

CAPTAIN OF THE MAIN-TOP

IN THE YEAR 1843

IN THE U.S. FRIGATE

‘UNITED STATES’

Preface

The year 1797, the year of this narrative, belongs to a period which, as every thinker now feels, involved a crisis for Christendom, not exceeded in its undetermined momentousness at the time by any other era whereof there is record. The opening proposition made by the Spirit of that Age,{1} involved a rectification of the Old World’s hereditary wrongs. In France, to some extent, this was bloodily effected. But what then? Straightway the Revolution itself became a wrongdoer, one more oppressive than the kings. Under Napoleon it enthroned upstart kings, and initiated that prolonged agony of continual war whose final throe was Waterloo. During those years not the wisest could have foreseen that the outcome of all would be what to some thinkers apparently it has since turned out to be, a political advance along nearly the whole line for Europeans.

Now, as elsewhere hinted, it was something caught from the Revolutionary Spirit that at Spithead emboldened the man-of-war’s men to rise against real abuses, long-standing ones, and afterwards at the Nore to make inordinate and aggressive demands, successful resistance to which was confirmed only when the ringleaders were hung for an admonitory spectacle to the anchored fleet. Yet in a way analogous to the operation of the Revolution at large, the Great Mutiny, though by Englishmen naturally deemed monstrous at the time, doubtless gave the first latent prompting to most important reforms in the British Navy.

BILLY BUDD, FORETOPMAN

I

(An inside Narrative)

In the time before steamships, or then more frequently than now, a stroller along the docks of any considerable seaport would occasionally have his attention arrested by a group of bronzed marines, man-of-war’s men or merchant sailors in holiday attire ashore on liberty. In certain instances they would flank, or, like a bodyguard, quite surround some superior figure of their own class, moving along with them like Aldebaran among the lesser lights of his constellation. That signal object was the ‘Handsome Sailor’ of the less prosaic time alike of the military and merchant navies. With no perceptible trace of the vainglorious about him, rather with the off-hand unaffectedness of natural regality, he seemed to accept the spontaneous homage of his shipmates. A somewhat remarkable instance recurs to me. In Liverpool, now half a century ago, I saw under the shadow of the great dingy street-wall of Prince’s Dock (an obstruction long since removed) a common sailor, so intensely black that he must needs have been a native African of the unadulterated blood of Ham. A symmetric figure much above the average height. The two ends of a gay silk handkerchief thrown loose about the neck danced upon the displayed ebony of his chest; in his ears were big hoops of gold, and a Scotch Highland bonnet with a tartan band set off his shapely head.

It was a hot noon in July; and his face, lustrous with perspiration, beamed with barbaric good-humor. In jovial sallies right and left, his white teeth flashing into view, he rollicked along, the centre of a company of his shipmates. These were made up of such an assortment of tribes and complexions as would have well fitted them to be marched up by Anacharsis Cloots before the bar of the first French Assembly as Representatives of the Human Race. At each spontaneous tribute rendered by the wayfarers to this black pagod of a fellow—the tribute of a pause and stare, and less frequent an exclamation—the motley retinue showed that they took that sort of pride in the evoker of it which the Assyrian priests doubtless showed for their grand sculptured Bull when the faithful prostrated themselves. To return——

If in some cases a bit of a nautical Murat in setting forth his person ashore, the Handsome Sailor of the period in question evinced nothing of the dandified Billy-be-Dam, an amusing character all but extinct now, but occasionally to be encountered, and in a form yet more amusing than the original, at the tiller of the boats on the tempestuous Erie Canal or, more likely, vaporing in the groggeries along the tow-path. Invariably a proficient in his perilous calling, he was also more or less of a mighty boxer or wrestler. It was strength and beauty. Tales of his prowess were recited. Ashore he was the champion, afloat the spokesman; on every suitable occasion always foremost. Close-reefing top-sails in a gale, there he was, astride the weather yard-arm-end, foot in ‘stirrup,’ both hands tugging at the ‘ear-ring’ as at a bridle, in very much the attitude of young Alexander curbing the fiery Bucephalus. A superb figure, tossed up as by the horns of Taurus against the thunderous sky, cheerily ballooning to the strenuous file along the spar.

The moral nature was seldom out of keeping with the physical make. Indeed, except as toned by the former, the comeliness and power, always attractive in masculine conjunction, hardly could have drawn the sort of homage the Handsome Sailor in some examples received from his less gifted associates.

Such a cynosure, at least in aspect, and something such too in nature, though with important variations made apparent as the story proceeds, was welkin-eyed Billy Budd, or Baby Budd, as more familiarly, under circumstances hereafter to be given, he at last came to be called, aged twenty-one, a foretopman of the fleet toward the close of the last decade of the eighteenth century. It was not very long prior to the time of the narration that follows that he had entered the King’s Service, having been impressed on the Narrow Seas from a homeward-bound English merchantman into a seventy-four outward-bound, H.M.S. Indomitable; which ship, as was not unusual in those hurried days, had been obliged to put to sea short of her proper complement of men. Plump upon Billy at first sight in the gangway the boarding-officer, Lieutenant Ratcliffe, pounced, even before the merchantman’s crew formally was mustered on the quarter-deck for his deliberate inspection. And him only he selected. For whether it was because the other men when ranged before him showed to ill advantage after Billy, or whether he had some scruples in view of the merchantman being rather short-handed; however it might be, the officer contented himself with his first spontaneous choice. To the surprise of the ship’s company, though much to the Lieutenant’s satisfaction, Billy made no demur. But indeed any demur would have been as idle as the protest of a goldfinch popped into a cage.

Noting this uncomplaining acquiescence, all but cheerful one might say, the shipmates turned a surprised glance of silent reproach at the sailor. The shipmaster was one of those worthy mortals found in every vocation even the humbler ones—the sort of person whom everybody agrees in calling ‘a respectable man.’ And—nor so strange to report as it may appear to be—though a ploughman of the troubled waters, life-long contending with the intractable elements, there was nothing this honest soul at heart loved better than simple peace and quiet. For the rest, he was fifty or thereabouts, a little inclined to corpulence, a prepossessing face, unwhiskered, and of an agreeable color, a rather full face, humanely intelligent in expression. On a fair day with a fair wind and all going well, a certain musical chime in his voice seemed to be the veritable unobstructed outcome of the innermost man. He had much prudence, much conscientiousness, and there were occasions when these virtues were the cause of overmuch disquietude in him. On a passage, so long as his craft was in any proximity to land, no sleep for Captain Graveling. He took to heart those serious responsibilities not so heavily borne by some shipmasters.

Now while Billy Budd was down in the forecastle getting his kit together, the Indomitables lieutenant, burly and bluff, nowise disconcerted by Captain Graveling’s omitting to proffer the customary hospitalities on an occasion so unwelcome to him, an omission simply caused by preoccupation of thought, unceremoniously invited himself into the cabin, and also to a flask from the spirit locker, a receptacle which his experienced eye instantly discovered. In fact, he was one of those sea-dogs in whom all the hardship and peril of naval life in the great prolonged wars of his time never impaired the natural instinct for sensuous enjoyment. His duty he always faithfully did; but duty is sometimes a dry obligation, and he was for irrigating its aridity whensoever possible with a fertilizing decoction of strong waters. For the cabin’s proprietor there was nothing left but to play the part of the enforced host with whatever grace and alacrity were practicable. As necessary adjuncts to the flask, he silently placed tumbler and water-jug before the irrepressible guest. But excusing himself from partaking just then, dismally watched the unembarrassed officer deliberately diluting his grog a little, then tossing it off in three swallows, pushing the empty tumbler away, yet not so far as to be beyond easy reach, at the same time settling himself in his seat, and smacking his lips with high satisfaction, looking straight at the host.

These proceedings over, the Master broke the silence; and there lurked a rueful reproach in the tone of his voice: ‘Lieutenant, you are going to take my best man from me, the jewel of ’em.’

‘Yes, I know,’ rejoined the other, immediately drawing back the tumbler, preliminary to a replenishing; ‘yes, I know. Sorry.’

‘Beg pardon, but you don’t understand, Lieutenant. See here now. Before I shipped that young fellow, my forecastle was a rat-pit of quarrels. It was black times, I tell you, aboard the Rights here. I was worried to that degree my pipe had no comfort for me. But Billy came; and it was like a Catholic priest striking peace in an Irish shindy. Not that he preached to them or said or did anything in particular; but a virtue went out of him, sugaring the sour ones. They took to him like hornets to treacle; all but the bluffer of the gang, the big, shaggy chap with the fire-red whiskers. He indeed, out of envy, perhaps, of the newcomer, and thinking such a sweet and pleasant fellow, as he mockingly designated him to the others, could hardly have the spirit of a game-cock, must needs bestir himself in trying to get up an ugly row with him. Billy forbore with him, and reassured with him in a pleasant way—he is something like myself, Lieutenant, to whom aught like a quarrel is hateful—but nothing served. So, in the second dog-watch one day the Red Whiskers, in presence of the others, under pretence of showing Billy just whence a sirloin steak was cut—for the fellow had once been a butcher—insultingly gave him a dig under the ribs. Quick as lightning Billy let fly his arm. I dare say he never meant to do quite as much as he did, but anyhow he gave the burly fool a terrible drubbing. It took about half a minute, I should think. And, Lord bless you, the lubber was astonished at the celerity. And will you believe it, Lieutenant, the Red Whiskers now really loves Billy—loves him, or is the biggest hypocrite that ever I heard of. But they all love him. Some of ’em do his washing, darn old trousers for him; the carpenter is at odd times making a pretty little chest of drawers for him. Anybody will do anything for Billy Budd; and it’s the happy family here. Now, Lieutenant, if that young fellow goes, I know how it will be aboard the Rights. Not again very soon shall I, coming up from dinner, lean over the capstan smoking a quiet pipe—no, not very soon again, I think. Ay, Lieutenant, you are going to take away the jewel of ’em; you are going to take away my peacemaker.’ And with that the good soul had really some ado in checking a rising sob.

‘Well,’ said the Lieutenant, who had listened with amused interest to all this, and now waxing merry with his tipple, ‘well, blessed are the peacemakers, especially the fighting peacemakers! And such are the seventy-four beauties, some of which you see poking their noses out of the port-holes of yonder warship lying-to for me,’ pointing through the cabin windows at the Indomitable. ‘But courage! don’t look so downhearted, man. Why, I pledge you in advance the royal approbation. Rest assured that His Majesty will be delighted to know that in a time when his hard-tack is not sought for by sailors with such avidity as should be; a time also when some shipmasters privily resent the borrowing from them of a tar or two for the service; His Majesty, I say, will be delighted to learn that one shipmaster at least cheerfully surrenders to the King the flower of his flock, a sailor who with equal loyalty makes no dissent. But where’s my Beauty? Ah,’ looking through the cabin’s open door, ‘here he comes; and, by Jove! lugging along his chest—Apollo with his portmanteau! My man,’ stepping out to him, ‘you can’t take that big box aboard a warship. The boxes there are mostly shot-boxes. Put your duds in a bag, lad. Boot and saddle for the cavalry man, bag and hammock for the man-of-war’s man.’

The transfer from chest to bag was made. And, after seeing his man into the cutter, and then following him down, the Lieutenant pushed off from the Rights-of-Man. That was the merchant ship’s name; though by her master and crew abbreviated in sailor fashion into the Rights. The hard-headed Dundee owner was a staunch admirer of Thomas Paine, whose book in rejoinder to Burke’s arraignment of the French Revolution had then been published for some time, and had gone everywhere. In christening his vessel after the title of Paine’s volume, the man of Dundee was something like his contemporary ship-owner, Stephen Girard of Philadelphia, whose sympathies alike with his native land and its liberal philosophies he evinced by naming his ships after Voltaire, Diderot, and so forth.

But now when the boat swept under the merchantman’s stern, and officer and oarsmen were noting, some bitterly and others with a grin, the name emblazoned there; just then it was that the new recruit jumped up from the bow where the coxswain had directed him to sit, and, waving his hat to his silent shipmates sorrowfully looking over at him from the taffrail, bade the lads a genial good-bye. Then making a salutation as to the ship herself, ‘And good-bye to you too, old Rights-of-Man!’

‘Down, sir,’ roared the Lieutenant, instantly assuming all the rigor of his rank, though with difficulty repressing a smile.

To be sure, Billy’s action was a terrible breach of naval decorum. But in that decorum he had never been instructed; in consideration of which the Lieutenant would hardly have been so energetic in reproof but for the concluding farewell to the ship. This he rather took as meant to convey a covert sally on the new recruit’s part, a sly slur at impressment in general, and that of himself in especial. And yet, more likely, if satire it was in effect, it was hardly so by intention, for Billy, though happily endowed with the gaiety of high health, youth, and a free heart, was yet by no means of a satirical turn. The will to it and the sinister dexterity were alike wanting. To deal in double meaning and insinuations of any sort was quite foreign to his nature.

As to his enforced enlistment, that he seemed to take pretty much as he was wont to take any vicissitudes of weather. Like the animals, though no philosopher he was, without knowing it, practically a fatalist. And, it may be, that he rather liked this adventurous turn in his affairs which promised an opening into novel scenes and martial excitements.

Aboard the Indomitable our merchant-sailor was forthwith rated as an able seaman, and assigned to the starboard watch of the foretop. He was soon at home in the service, not at all disliked for his unpretentious good looks, and a sort of genial happy-go-lucky air. No merrier man in his mess; in marked contrast to certain other individuals included like himself among the impressed portion of the ship’s company; for these, when not actively employed were sometimes, and more particularly in the last dog-watch when the drawing near of twilight induced reverie, apt to fall into a saddish mood which in some partook of sullenness. But they were not so young as our foretopman, and no few of them must have known a hearth of some sort, others may have had wives and children left, too probably, in uncertain circumstances, and hardly any but must have acknowledged kith and kin; while for Billy, as will shortly be seen, his entire family was practically invested in himself.

II

Though our new-made foretopman was well received in the top and on the gun-decks, hardly here was he that cynosure he had previously been among those minor ships’ companies of the merchant marine, with which companies only had he hitherto consorted.

He was young; and despite his all but fully developed frame, in aspect looked even younger than he really was. This was owing to a lingering adolescent expression in the as yet smooth face, all but feminine in purity of natural complexion, but where, thanks to his sea-going, the lily was quite suppressed, and the rose had some ado visibly to flush through the tan.

To one essentially such a novice in the complexities of factitious life, the abrupt transition from his former and simpler sphere to the ampler and more knowing world of a great warship—this might well have abashed him had there been any conceit or vanity in his composition. Among her miscellaneous multitude, the Indomitable mustered several individuals who, however inferior in grade, were of no common natural stamp, sailors more signally susceptive of that air which continuous martial discipline and repeated presence in battle can in some degree impart even to the average man. As the Handsome Sailor Billy Budd’s position aboard the seventy-four was something analogous to that of a rustic beauty transplanted from the provinces and brought into competition with the high-born dames of the court. But this change of circumstances he scarce noted. As little did he observe that something about him provoked an ambiguous smile in one or two

Enjoying the preview?
Page 1 of 1