CHAPTER XVI.
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] ---- [Footnote-1] For the benefit of a Quaker reader here and there, a word or two in explanation of a carronade may not be amiss.