Chapter 14

by Herman Melville

　　Passion, and passion in its profoundest, is not a thing demanding apalatial stage whereon to play its part. Down among the groundlings,among the beggars and rakers of the garbage, profound passion isenacted. And the circumstances that provoke it, however trivial or mean,are no measure of its power. In the present instance the stage is ascrubbed gun deck, and one of the external provocations aman-of-war's-man's spilled soup.Now when the Master-at-arms noticed whence came that greasy fluidstreaming before his feet, he must have taken it -- to some extentwilfully, perhaps -- not for the mere accident it assuredly was, but forthe sly escape of a spontaneous feeling on Billy's part more or lessanswering to the antipathy on his own. In effect a foolish demonstrationhe must have thought, and very harmless, like the futile kick of aheifer, which yet were the heifer a shod stallion, would not be soharmless. Even so was it that into the gall of Claggart's envy heinfused the vitriol of his contempt. But the incident confirmed to himcertain tell-tale reports purveyed to his ear by Squeak, one of his morecunning Corporals, a grizzled little man, so nicknamed by the sailors onaccount of his squeaky voice, and sharp visage ferreting about the darkcorners of the lower decks after interlopers, satirically suggesting tothem the idea of a rat in a cellar.From his Chief's employing him as an implicit tool in laying littletraps for the worriment of the Foretopman -- for it was from theMaster-at-arms that the petty persecutions heretofore adverted to hadproceeded -- the Corporal having naturally enough concluded that hismaster could have no love for the sailor, made it his business, faithfulunderstrapper that he was, to foment the ill blood by perverting to hisChief certain innocent frolics of the goodnatured Foretopman, besidesinventing for his mouth sundry contumelious epithets he claimed to haveoverheard him let fall. The Master-at-arms never suspected the veracityof these reports, more especially as to the epithets, for he well knewhow secretly unpopular may become a master-at-arms, at least amaster-at-arms of those days zealous in his function, and how theblue-jackets shoot at him in private their raillery and wit; thenickname by which he goes among them (Jimmy Legs) implying under theform of merriment their cherished disrespect and dislike.But in view of the greediness of hate for patrolmen, it hardlyneeded a purveyor to feed Claggart's passion. An uncommon prudence ishabitual with the subtler depravity, for it has everything to hide. Andin case of an injury but suspected, its secretiveness voluntarily cutsit off from enlightenment or disillusion; and, not unreluctantly, actionis taken upon surmise as upon certainty. And the retaliation is apt tobe in monstrous disproportion to the supposed offence; for when inanybody was revenge in its exactions aught else but an inordinateusurer? But how with Claggart's conscience? For though consciences areunlike as foreheads, every intelligence, not excluding the Scripturaldevils who "believe and tremble," has one. But Claggart's consciencebeing but the lawyer to his will, made ogres of trifles, probablyarguing that the motive imputed to Billy in spilling the soup just whenhe did, together with the epithets alleged, these, if nothing more, madea strong case against him; nay, justified animosity into a sort ofretributive righteousness. The Pharisee is the Guy Fawkes prowling inthe hid chambers underlying the Claggarts. And they can really form noconception of an unreciprocated malice. Probably, the Master-at-arms'clandestine persecution of Billy was started to try the temper of theman; but it had not developed any quality in him that enmity could makeofficial use of or even pervert into plausible self-justification; sothat the occurrence at the mess, petty if it were, was a welcome one tothat peculiar conscience assigned to be the private mentor of Claggart.And, for the rest, not improbably it put him upon new experiments.