How few ships
have they ever carried by the board - that true criterion of naval
courage! But not a word against French bravery - there is plenty of
it; but not of the right sort. A Yankee's, or an Englishman's, is the
downright Waterloo "game." The French fight better on land; and not
being essentially a maritime people, they ought to stay there. The
best of shipwrights, they are no sailors.
And this carries me back to the Reine Blanche, as noble a specimen of
what wood and iron can make as ever floated.
She was a new ship: the present her maiden cruise. The greatest pains
having been taken in her construction, she was accounted the "crack"
craft in the French navy. She is one of the heavy sixty-gun frigates
now in vogue all over the world, and which we Yankees were the first
to introduce. In action these are the most murderous vessels ever
launched.
The model of the Reine Blanche has all that warlike comeliness only to
be seen in a fine fighting ship. Still, there is a good deal of
French flummery about her - brass plates and other gewgaws stuck on
all over, like baubles on a handsome woman.
Among other things, she carries a stern gallery resting on the
uplifted hands of two Caryatides, larger than life. You step out upon
this from the commodore's cabin. To behold the rich hangings, and
mirrors, and mahogany within, one is almost prepared to see a bevy of
ladies trip forth on the balcony for an airing.
But come to tread the gun-deck, and all thoughts like these are put to
flight. Such batteries of thunderbolt hurlers! with a
sixty-eight-pounder or two thrown in as make-weights. On the
spar-deck, also, are carronades of enormous calibre.
Recently built, this vessel, of course, had the benefit of the latest
improvements. I was quite amazed to see on what high principles of
art some exceedingly simple things were done. But your Gaul is
scientific about everything; what other people accomplish by a few
hard knocks, he delights in achieving by a complex arrangement of the
pulley, lever, and screw.
What demi-semi-quavers in a French air! In exchanging naval
courtesies, I have known a French band play "Yankee Doodle" with such
a string of variations that no one but a "pretty 'cute" Yankee could
tell what they were at.
In the French navy they have no marines; their men, taking turns at
carrying the musket, are sailors one moment, and soldiers the next; a
fellow running aloft in his line frock to-day, to-morrow stands
sentry at the admiral's cabin door. This is fatal to anything like
proper sailor pride. To make a man a seaman, he should be put to no
other duty. Indeed, a thorough tar is unfit for anything else; and
what is more, this fact is the best evidence of his being a true
sailor.
