cient. We have skulkers and
idlers all round, and brow-beaten waisters, who, for a pittance, do our
craft's shabby work. Nevertheless, among our people we have gallant
fore, main, and mizzen top-men aloft, who, well treated or ill, still
trim our craft to the blast.

We have a _brig_ for trespassers; a bar by our main-mast, at which they
are arraigned; a cat-o'-nine-tails and a gangway, to degrade them in
their own eyes and in ours. These are not always employed to convert
Sin to Virtue, but to divide them, and protect Virtue and legalised Sin
from unlegalised Vice.

We have a Sick-bay for the smitten and helpless, whither we hurry them
out of sight, and however they may groan beneath hatches, we hear
little of their tribulations on deck; we still sport our gay streamer
aloft. Outwardly regarded, our craft is a lie; for all that is
outwardly seen of it is the clean-swept deck, and oft-painted planks
comprised above the waterline; whereas, the vast mass of our fabric,
with all its storerooms of secrets, for ever slides along far under the
surface.

When a shipmate dies, straightway we sew him up, and overboard he goes;
our world-frigate rushes by, and never more do we behold him again;
though, sooner or later, the everlasting under-tow sweeps him toward
our own destination.

We have both a quarter-deck to our craft and a gun-deck; subterranean
shot-lockers and gunpowder magazines; and the Articles of War form our
domineering code.

Oh, shipmates and world-mates, all round! we the people suffer many
abuses. Our gun-deck is full of complaints. In vain from Lieutenants do
we appeal to the Captain; in vain--while on board our world-frigate--to
the indefinite Navy Commissioners, so far out of sight aloft. Yet the
worst of our evils we blindly inflict upon ourselves; our officers
cannot remove them, even if they would. From the last ills no being can
save another; therein each man must be his own saviour. For the rest,
whatever befall us, let us never train our murderous guns inboard; let
us not mutiny with bloody pikes in our hands. Our Lord High Admiral
will yet interpose; and though long ages should elapse, and leave our
wrongs unredressed, yet, shipmates and world-mates! let us never
forget, that,

Whoever afflict us, whatever surround,
Life is a voyage that's homeward-bound!

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of White Jacket, by Herman Melville

*** END OF THIS PROJECT