Billy Budd, Sailor. Herman Melville

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      Billy Budd, Sailor

      Billy Budd, Sailor

      An inside narrative

      Herman Melville

      W

      Herman Melville

      Billy Budd, Sailor

      W

      Wisehouse Classics

      © 2020 Wisehouse Publishing | Sweden

      All rights reserved without exception.

      ISBN 978-91-7637-858-8

       Half-Title Page

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Contents

       Dedication

       Chapter I

       Chapter II

       Chapter III

       Chapter IV

       Chapter V

       Chapter VI

       Chapter VII

       Chapter VIII

       Chapter IX

       Chapter X

       Chapter XI

       Chapter XII

       Chapter XIII

       Chapter XIV

       Chapter XV

       Chapter XVI

       Chapter XVII

       Chapter XVIII

       Chapter XIX

       Chapter XX

       Chapter XXI

       Chapter XXII

       Chapter XXIII

       Chapter XXIV

       Chapter XXV

       Chapter XXVI

       Chapter XXVII

       Chapter XXVIII

       Chapter XXIX

       Chapter XXX

       Dedicated To Jack Chase Englishman

       Wherever that great heart may now be Here on Earth or harbored in Paradise

       Captain of the Maintop in the year 1843 in the U.S. Frigate United States

      In the time before steamships, or then more frequently than now, a stroller along the docks of any considerable seaport would occasionally have his attention arrested by a group of bronzed mariners, man-of-war’s men or merchant sailors in holiday attire, ashore on liberty. In certain instances they would flank, or like a bodyguard quite surround, some superior figure of their own class, moving along with them like Aldebaran among the lesser lights of his constellation. That signal object was the “Handsome Sailor” of the less prosaic time alike of the military and merchant navies. With no perceptible trace of the vainglorious about him, rather with the offhand unaffectedness of natural regality, he seemed to accept the spontaneous homage of his shipmates.

      A somewhat remarkable instance recurs to me. In Liverpool, now half a century ago, I saw under the shadow of the great dingy street-wall of Prince’s Dock (an obstruction long since removed) a common sailor, so intensely black that he must

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