Edward Beach - Around the World Submerged

MYSELF: I shall direct my engineer to attend to it at once, Your Majesty. I know it is hardly an excuse, but we are going pretty fast, and my engineer is a pollywog.

NEPTUNE: You can be sure that he’s in my book for extraordinary torture. Now, Captain, down to business, if you please. My Royal Prosecutor reports that great crimes and incredible wicked-nesses have been committed by the vast majority of your crew. You know very well that we cannot tolerate such tomfoolery in this domain. Besides, my Prosecutor hasn’t had a case in days and he’s getting a little rusty. As you know, he’s never lost a case.

MYSELF: Your Majesty, I’ve done my best with the trusty Shellbacks in my command, but these pollywogs are the worst of the lot, and once a pollywog, always a pollywog, until initiated into the mysteries of the deep.

NEPTUNE: Precisely why we are here, Captain. Now, as is customary, I call upon the assistance of yourself and your honorable Shellbacks in doing the duty of the great waters.

MYSELF: We are at your command, sir. But before we begin, I feel I must ask mercy for those of my crew who, unworthy characters though they be, have worked hard to make Triton a great ship and, through no fault of their own, come to your domain without credentials and in fear and trembling.

NEPTUNE: A standard request, Captain, and my answer is as always: “Nonsense!” In my domain, they can always be assured of a fair trial before being convicted. And now, sir, I assume command of this ship and direct that the first guilty pollywog show his unworthy carcass before my Court.

The little play here recounted did not go quite so smoothly as it might have, since no one had thought to provide extra copies of the script. King Neptune and I had to hand the solitary script back and forth so that each could read his lines.

Neptunus and his Queen then seated themselves at a long table. The clean-cut, well-combed, blindfolded accused had to kneel before them and present his plea as to the charges. He was legally assisted in his defense by the Royal Sea Lawyer, who unfortunately never won a case. Occasionally, during the trials, the Queen punctuated the learned discourse by drawing a water pistol from her ample bosom and squirting the accused in the face. This always discomfited the unhappy pollywog and caused him to assume a guilty look. The impartial dispensing of justice was thus made easier.

To the right of the Queen sat the hefty Royal Baby, whose real name was Harry Olsen. Babbling playfully between puffs on a large black cigar which he had bummed from his mother, the baby sat on a stool, with his large round belly completely bare except for a heavy coating of black, sticky grease. All pollywogs received a fair trial, were impartially convicted, and all received the maximum sentence. They were first required, in acknowledgment of their fealty, to kiss the Royal Baby’s greasy belly. Then, in penance for his many crimes, each one got a haircut at the hands of the Royal Barbers, before proceeding through the initiation line. For some reason, more than one seemed reluctant to kiss Olsen’s tummy and had to be assisted by a gentle shove from the Sheriff or sometimes from the Royal Defender and once or twice, it must be admitted, from their skipper.

The Royal Barbers looked an awful lot like Lieutenant Tom Thamm and Chief Engineman Alfred Abel, and the artistic jobs they did were beyond compare (since Thamm, the head Barber, was normally in charge of Triton’s auxiliary division, all pollywogs belonging to his own outfit came away with a large “A” cut in their heads). But aside from certain special cuts of this nature, ingenuity and esthetics were the order of the day, and many artfully sculptured pates ensued. Once in a while, to be sure, a bald pollywog came by, but this presented no particular problem. In such cases, the most effective way to improve a pollywog’s appearance was to add hair instead of removing what little there was. The Barbers found this easy to do, with plenty of extra hair lying about and black grease to paste it on with.

In the next compartment, the Royal Dentist squirted unmentionable substances into the shorn pollywog’s ears and awful-tasting concoctions into his mouth, accompanied all the while by an insane giggling as though the person administering the treatment were actually enjoying it instead of being engrossed in a most serious and important duty. The next stop was up a deck to the officer’s wardroom, where a lusty gang of Shellbacks with brand new shillelaghs speeded the pollywogs’ passage. Then, they painfully shambled aft to the Royal Bathroom, a canvas-enclosed space beneath a deck hatch, where a bucket of cold salt water cascaded down on each man in turn and ceremoniously removed the last vestiges of his erstwhile status as a pollywog.

It took some time to initiate all the new men, since there were so many of them. After a while, leaving Neptune and his Royal Party to dispense justice by themselves, I proceeded aft to see how things were faring.

The ship was a mess, all right. In some dismay, I realized it would take days to repair the mess which the fun-loving Shellbacks and pollywogs had made of our clean decks and immaculate bulkheads. But it was a price worth paying. Chief Electrician’s Mate Herbert Hardman, covered with grease, minus half his hair, dripping water, expressed it. “I’ve waited thirteen years for this,” said he. “Nobody is a real sailor until he’s been across the line!”

By this standard, the luckiest man on board was John Moulton, Fireman Apprentice, only seventeen years old, who became a Shellback three months after graduation from boot camp.

During the entire initiation ceremony, the identity of the Little Gray Fox remained a secret, despite occasional attempts by the Shellbacks to elicit information by judiciously applied torture. None, however, would give him away, but I have always personally believed that it was Lieutenant George Sawyer, Triton’s First Lieutenant and the youngest officer on board. He also happened to be an ex-Yale crew man, who looked capable of taking care of himself in almost any kind of situation.

I missed seeing Sawyer tried, but was later informed by eyewitnesses that when asked whether he pled guilty or not guilty to the charges, he shouted, “Banzai!” at the top of his voice, drew a water pistol of his own, and before anyone could stop him, shot the King, the Queen, and the Royal Prosecutor. He was finally overwhelmed by the Prosecutor, the Attorney for the Defense, and a number of other Shellbacks, who, with a right good will, hurled themselves upon his struggling grease-plastered body.

The shillelagh-swinging Shellbacks prepared for a tough battle when Sawyer appeared, but he scuttled between them so fast that they did more damage to themselves and the surrounding furniture than they managed to do to the thoroughly guilty Sawyer.

Finally, with all pollywogs properly initiated, King Neptune and his Royal Party announced they were cheered by the high caliber of our crew and that they had all been inducted and accepted into the august society of Trusty and Loyal Shellbacks. Promising at all times to be ready to assist his Loyal Shellbacks of the deep against pollywogs of the shallow coastal waters and especially pollywogs found on other ships, Neptune bade Triton farewell and returned to his watery realm.

Nowhere does it appear on the record, but the day before the ceremony, King Neptune had made a personal advance call on me to ask whether haircuts would be permitted. In 1952, when Trigger II crossed the line, I would not allow hair to be cut because within a few days we would be going ashore in Rio de Janeiro on liberty, and I didn’t want any of Trigger’ s sailors wandering around town with zany-looking haircuts.