Chapter Four.Down at Portsmouth.Next morning, ere I seemed to have been asleep five minutes, it came upon my dreams so suddenly, I was awakened by a terrible din of drumming and bugling from the adjacent barracks close to the line of fortifications which at that time enclosed Portsmouth—but whose moats and ramparts were pulled to pieces, as I have already said, some few years ago to make room for the officers’ and men’s recreation grounds and gymnasium, with other modern improvements.Then, I could hear the heavy tramp of men marching, followed by the hoarse sound of words of command in the distance, “Halt! Front! Dress!”I assure you, I really thought for the moment that the long-talked-of French invasion, about which I had been recently reading in my historical researches, had actually come at last and that the garrison had been hurriedly called to arms to resist some unexpected attack on the town.This reminiscence of my cramming experiences, mixed up in hotch-potch fashion with the martial echoes that caught my ear from the banging drum and brazen bugle, at once recalled the gruesome fact that this was the eventful day fixed for my examination on board theExcellent; so, dreading lest I should be late, I incontinently jumped out of bed in a jiffy, proceeding; albeit unconsciously, to obey the last gruff order of the sergeant of the guard, relieving the sentries.This, as Dad subsequently explained, was the reason for all the commotion, the sergeant parading his men as he came up to each “post” in turn, with the usual stereotyped formula, “Halt! Front! Dress!”Dear me! I did “dress;” though in rather a different sense to that implied by the sergeant’s mandate, huddling on my clothes in my haste so carelessly that I broke the button off my shirt collar and put on my jacket the wrong way!All my hurry, too, was to very little purpose; for, when I reached the coffee-room of the hotel below, after getting confused and losing my proper course amongst the many intricate passages and curving corkscrew staircases that led downwards from the little dormitory I had occupied right under the tiles at the back of the building, I found that neither Dad nor mother had yet put in an appearance for breakfast.I was in such good time, indeed, that old Saint Thomas’s clock in High Street was only just chiming Eight; while the ships’ bells over the water were repeating the same piece of information in various tones and the shrill steam whistle from the dockyard workshops hard by screeching its confirmation of the story.There was no fear of my being late, therefore; so, consoling myself with this satisfactory reflection, I was making my way to the nearest window of the coffee-room to look out on the harbour beyond as I had done the evening before when, like as then, a big bouncing “Bang!” came from theVictory, making me jump back and feel almost as nervous as poor mother was on the previous occasion.“Yezsir, court-martial gun, sir, aboard the flagship, sir,” said the wiry little cock-eyed head waiter, who was hopping about the room “like a parched pea on a griddle,” as dad expressed it, stopping to flick the dust from the mantelpiece with his napkin as he replied to the mute inquiry he could read in my glance. “Look, sir! They’ve h’isted the Jack at the peak, sir, yezsir.”“Oh, yes, I see,” said I, as if I had not observed this before and was perfectly familiar with the signal. “I did not notice it at first.”“No, sir? W’y, in course not, sir, or else ye’d ha’ known wot it were,” answered the sly old fellow, ascribing to me a knowledge of naval matters which he knew as well as myself I did not possess, thus pandering, with the ulterior view, no doubt, of a substantial tip, to a common weakness of human nature to which most of us, man and boy alike, are prone—that of wishing to appear wiser than we really are!“But, as I was a-saying only last night to Jim Marksby, the hall-porter, sir,” he continued, “court-martials, sir, isn’t wot they used to was. Lord-sakes! sir, I remembers, as if it were yesterday, in old Sir Titus Fitzblazes’s time, sir, when they was as plentiful as the blackberries on Browndown!“W’y, sir, b’lieve me or not if yer likes, but there wasn’t a mornin’—barring Sundays in course—as yer wouldn’t hear that theer blessed gun a-firin’ for a court-martial, sir, j’est the same as ye heerd j’est now, sir, yezsir! Ah, them was fine times, they was, for the watermen on Hardway; for they usest to make a rare harvest a-taking off witnesses and prisoners’ ‘friends,’ as they calls ’em, and lawyers and noospaper chaps to the flagship, they did. The old chaps called the signal gun ‘old Fitzblazes’s Eight o’clock Gun,’ sir. They did so, sir, yezsir!”“Indeed, waiter?” said I, feeling quite proud of his thus speaking to me as if I were a grown-up person. “But who was this gentleman, old Fitz—what did you call him?”“Old Sir Titus Fitzblazes, sir,” glibly replied the coffee-room factotum, flicking off a fly as he spoke from the table-cloth whereon he had just arranged all the paraphernalia of our breakfast. “Lord-sakes, sir, yer doesn’t mean for to say, sir, as a well-growed young gen’leman like yerself, sir, as is a naval gent, sir, as I can see with arf an eye, haven’t heard tell o’ he? Well, sir, he were port admiral here, sir, a matter of eight or ten year ago, sir, yezsir; and, wot’s more, sir, he were the tautest old sea porkypine ye’d fetch across ‘in a blue moon,’ as sailor folk say!“Yezsir, I’ve heerd when he were commodore on the West Coast, he used for to turn up the hands every mornin’ regular and give ’em four dozen apiece for breakfast, sir!”“Good gracious me, waiter!” I exclaimed, aghast at this statement. “Four dozen lashes?”“Yezsir. Lor’! four dozen lashings was nothink to old Sir Titus, for he were pertickeler partial to noggin’, he were, and took it out of the men like steam, he did!“The ossifers, in course, he couldn’t sarve out in the same way, not being allowed for to do so by the laws of the service, sir; but he’d court-martial ’em, sir, as many on ’em as would give him arf a chance, and the court-martial gun used for to fire in his time here as reg’lar as clock-work every mornin’ at eight, winter and summer alike, jest the same as when the flag’s h’isted at sunrise, yezsir!”“What an old martinet he must have been!” I said in response to this. “Perhaps, though, the poor old admiral suffered from bad health, and that made him cross and easily put out?”“Bad health, sir? Not a bit of it!” exclaimed my friend, the waiter, repudiating such an excuse with scorn. “It were bad temper as werehiscomplaint.“Lord-sakes, though, sir, he were bad all over, was Sir Titus; ay, that he were, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. As bad as they makes ’em!“W’y, he ’ad the temper, sir, of old Nick hisself, ay, that he had!“I don’t mean the Czar of Roosia, sir. Don’t you run away with that there notion! No, sir, I means the rale old gent as ye’ve heerd tell on, wot hangs out down below when he’s at home and allers dresses in black to look genteel-like. Wears top-boots for to hide his cloven feet, sir, and carries a fine tail under his arm with a fluke at the end of it, same as that on a sheet-anchor—ah, yer knows the gent I means, sir!“Well, yezsir, old Sir Titus wer him all over and must ha’ been his twin-brother; barring the tail, the admiral being shaky about the feet, too, and his boots a’most as big as the dinghy of that sloop. They wos like as two peas, sir, old Nick and he!“Lord-sakes, though, yer must have heerd tell of him, sir, a young and gallant naval ossifer like yerself, ’specially that yarn consarnin’ him and the washerwoman as was going into the dockyard one mornin’ when he were a-spyin’ round the gates?”“No, waiter, I never heard the old gentleman’s name before you told it me,” I replied, curious to learn some further disclosures concerning so celebrated a character. “What was this story?”“W’y, sir, it’s enuff a’most for to make a cat laugh, sir,” he said with a snigger, which he immediately flicked away, as it were, with his napkin, resuming his whilom solemn demeanour. “It happen’d, if yer must know, sir, in this way, sir, yezsir.“Old Blazes—that wer the name he allers went by in the yard—was a-hangin’ round the main gate a-lookin’ out for to see who comes along, w’en all of a sudding he spies this good woman as was a-takin’ in the clothes from the wash for Admiralty House.“That were where, yer knows, sir, he himself lived with Lady Fitz, close by the College and jest to the right as yer goes in the yard?“Lord-sakes, sir! The old admiral thinks he’d made a fine haul and that the woman were a-smuggling in sperrits or somethin’ ‘contraband,’ as they calls it, for the sailors who is allers stationed round the commander-in-chief’s office; and so, he orders her for to turn out her big baskets there in the gateway afore all the grinning policemen and men who was jest a-comin’ into the yard.“Ye never see such a show, sir in all yer born days; and the beauty on it were that as he was in the middle of it sir, overhaulin’ all the things from the wash, and a-pokin’ ’em about with his gold-headed stick and turnin’ over the ladies’ fal-de-rals and all sorts of women’s gear that they don’t like men for to see, sir, up comes Lady Fitzblazes herself, a-going out for a walk.“Seein’ what he were after, she axes him wot he means by treating her clothes like that there.“Lord-sakes, sir, if he were old Nick, she had a temper, too, and were as fiery as a she-tiger cat, she were; and, wot between the two, there was then—Breakfast, sir? Yezsir, comin’, sir!”The wiry little cock-eyed waiter rushed off, with his napkin over his shoulder, as he uttered the last words; and, wondering what had caused him to break off so unexpectedly in the middle of his yarn, apparently just when he was approaching the most interesting part of it, I turned my head and saw mother and Dad were within the coffee-room, having entered the doorway just behind me.“Hullo, Jack!” said my father, “what was that waiter chap yarning about? You seemed very much taken up with what he was saying.”I thereupon told him as much as I had heard of the old port admiral.“Pooh, nonsense, the rascal has only been ‘pulling your leg’ with a cock-and-a-bull story, Jack,” said dad in a contemptuous tone when I had finished—for he was an officer of the old school and always believed in the obligations of discipline, invariably “sticking up” for those superior to him in rank in the service—“I knew old Admiral Fitzblazes myself very well, and a better officer and gentleman never wore the Queen’s uniform!”While he was speaking to this effect, the “cock-eyed rascal,” as Dad called him, came in with our breakfast, giving me a sly wink with his sound eye behind Dad’s back as he passed him; so, sitting down, we hurried through the meal without any further conversation, I feeling more and more nervous the nearer the hour fixed for the examination approached, and mother and Dad both keeping silent, in sympathy with me.Breakfast accomplished, Dad accompanied me to the dockyard, and saw me off to theExcellent; where, on getting on board, with my certificate of birth and moral character in my pocket and my heart in my mouth, I was ushered into the wardroom, with some twenty other aspirants for naval honours like myself.All of us, of course, were mostly of the same age, but, naturally, of various builds and size; some tall, some short; some thin, some fat; some ugly, some handsome.One little chap whom I noticed was much smaller than I was, although Dad had expressly drawn Admiral Napier’s attention to the fact of my being rather short for my age.This youngster had a bright merry face and smiled in a friendly way to me; but the others looked at me generally as a collection of strange dogs appear to regard any new comer suddenly brought amongst them, eyeing and sniffing him suspiciously before they can make up their minds whether to treat him as friend or foe—though, generally, preferring, as a rule, the latter footing!On entering the wardroom, which had a sort of scholastic look mingled with its ordinary nautical surroundings, we were summoned in turn to the further end of the apartment.Here, on a raised portion of the deck abutting on the stern gallery, three gentlemen in clerical garb were seated behind a semi-circular green baize table, in front of which we stood, respectively, like so many prisoners on trial, while answering various questions appertaining to our Christian and surnames, age and so on.We also handed in at the same time our baptismal and medical and character certificates, all of which were duly inspected, docketed and filed, in regular official style.These preliminaries gone through, we were then directed to take our seats on either side of a long table that ran fore and aft the cabin, whose normal purpose was for the messing of the officers of the ship, but which on the present occasion was supplied with folios of foolscap paper and bundles of quill pens and bottles of ink, systematically distributed along its length, instead of the more palatable viands it more generally and generously displayed.We were immediately under the eyes of the senior chaplain of the trio forming the board of examiners, a gentleman whose position at the centre of the cross table at the top of the room enabled him to command a full view of the double line of boys and detect at once any attempt at cribbing or unfair assistance given by one to the other; and our ordeal began punctually on the ship’s bell striking Ten o’clock, dictation being the first subject set us “to test our spelling and handwriting,” as my Lords of the Admiralty were good enough to inform us.Thanks to my mother’s persistency in keeping me up to the mark with regard to my lessons, long before I had recourse to the crammer, this introductory stage of the examination presented no difficulties to me; and I was able not only to keep pace with the gentleman who dictated a portion of one of Macaulay’s Essays to us, but also found time to look round me occasionally to see how my companions fared with the big words, the faces of some of them presenting quite a study when a portentous polysyllable was given them to spell.The little chap with the curly hair who had smiled at me on coming in, I observed, did not smile now.His whilom merry countenance, on the contrary, was all puckered up in the most comical way; while his brows were knit as he chewed the feather end of his quill pen trying to get inspiration from that source how to properly write some long word—I think it was “Mesopotamia!”Poor little fellow! he had a fearful struggle over it; but, although I should have dearly liked to have helped him, it was against the rules, so I could only watch his growing despair with a mute sympathy that was mingled with amusement at the funny faces he made over the, to him, serious business.A little later on, however, if this victim of the stiff dictation paper had looked at me when ruthless old Euclid, my former antagonist, came on the scene, he would in like fashion have pitied me; for I was quite fogged by an easy proposition that I had thought I knew by heart the night before, but now found I had not the slightest glimmering of, although I answered most of the other questions.Thus the examination proceeded, until the hour came for us to hand in our papers; the lot of us then filing before the presiding genii seated behind the green baize table at the end of the wardroom, and each giving up his roll of spoilt foolscap in turn as he came up abreast of the reverend trio.I was nearly the last of the file; and, as I approached the table, the chaplain occupying the middle seat looked up.He had a jolly, round, benevolent sort of face, which wore at the moment such a good-humoured expression that, I suppose, it became reflected on mine causing me to smile.“Hullo, my boy!” said he, smiling, too. “You seem in a very happy frame of mind, I’m sure. Answered all your questions right, eh?”“I’m afraid not all, sir,” I replied diffidently; “but I hope for the best.”“That’s right, youngster! There’s no good to be got by despairing over things, and remember, you can have another try, you know, if you fail now,” said he encouragingly. “‘Never say die,’ you know, as an old friend of mine used always to say, ‘care once killed a cat!’”“Why, sir,” I exclaimed at this, “that’s what my father always tells me. It’s his favourite expression when any difficulty arises. He never gives in, sir!”“Indeed!” said the fat gentleman, while the others on either side of him looked interested. “Who is your father, my boy, if you’ll excuse my asking you the question?”“Francis Vernon,” I answered promptly. “A captain in the Royal Navy, now on half-pay, sir.”The fat clergyman laughed at my laconic reply.“Vernon, ha!” he repeated after me. “I wonder if he is the Frank Vernon I once knew?”“Can’t say, sir,” said I, cautiously. “My mother, though, always calls him ‘Frank.’”My new friend laughed again.“Ah, I’m sure he is the same, if only from your manner, which is just like what I remember in the Frank Vernon who was in thePelicanwith me,” said he, looking at me all over with his twinkling round eyes. “Was your father ever up the Mediterranean with old Charley Napier, my boy?”“Oh yes, sir,” I replied, glib enough now. “It was Admiral Napier who gave me my nomination the other day, sir.”“Really, you don’t say so?”“I do, though, sir,” I said sturdily, thinking he doubted my assertion. “Dad and I met him in Pall Mall, and I got my nomination from the Admiralty, sir, the very next morning as he promised!”“All right, my boy, all right,” he observed in an absent way, turning to whisper to the two other gentlemen something, I think, about “old Charley,” and “must be passed for my old shipmate’s sake.”—“I quite believe what you say: I do not doubt your word for an instant; for Frank Vernon’s son, I am sure, could not but always speak the truth. Did your father come down with you for your examination?”“Yes, sir,” I answered. “He and my mother came with me; and we’re all staying at the old ‘Keppel’s Head Hotel,’ on Hardway, sir.”“Humph! I think I know the place you mention, youngster,” said he, with a significant twinkle in his eye which made the other two chaplains grin, I could see, at some joke they had between them. “I’ll try and call on your father, if I can find time before he leaves Portsmouth. Tell him when you get back, that old Tangent asked after him, please.”“I’ll make a point of doing so, sir,” I replied, with a bow, repeating the name after him to make certain. “I will tell him, sir, about Old Tangent.”“Old Tangent, indeed!” cried the old fellow, shaking his fat sides, while the other two examiners roared outright. “You’ve a pretty good stock of impudence of your own, I’m sure! Be off with you, you young rascal, or I’ll pluck you as certain as I’m that Old Tangent with whom you dare to be so familiar!”His jovial face, however, belied the threat, so it did not occasion me any alarm; and, bowing again politely to the three clerical gentlemen collectively, I bent my steps, on the grin all the way, to the door of the wardroom, which was opened and shut behind me by a marine standing without.I was Last of the Mohicans, all the other fellows having taken their departure and gone ashore long before I got my own happy dismissal.“By Jove, Jack, I think you may put yourself down as passed!” said my father when I subsequently detailed the incidents of my examination, drawing a good augury from my description of what had occurred on board the gunnery ship. “He was always a knowing hand was Old Tangent; and such a remark from him to his brother examiners, would be as efficacious as a whisper in ear of the First Lord’s Secretary on your behalf, my boy!”“Do you remember him, Frank? I mean the gentleman who spoke to Jack.”“Oh, yes, my dear,” replied Dad to this question of my mother’s, “I recollect Old Tangent quite well. He was always a good-natured fellow and a capital shipmate. Why, he sang the best song of any of us in the mess on board the oldPelican!”“What!” exclaimed my mother, holding up her hands in pious horror at the mention of such an unclerical characteristic. “A clergyman sing songs?”“Yes, why not?” retorted Dad, who was in his jolliest mood at the prospect of my having passed my examination successfully. “They were spiritual songs of course, my dear, I assure you!”“No doubt,” said mother, drily. “I think, my dear, you can ‘tell that yarn to the marines,’ as you say in your favourite sea slang.Iknow what sort of spirits you refer to!”At which observation they both laughed; and, naturally, I laughed too.
Next morning, ere I seemed to have been asleep five minutes, it came upon my dreams so suddenly, I was awakened by a terrible din of drumming and bugling from the adjacent barracks close to the line of fortifications which at that time enclosed Portsmouth—but whose moats and ramparts were pulled to pieces, as I have already said, some few years ago to make room for the officers’ and men’s recreation grounds and gymnasium, with other modern improvements.
Then, I could hear the heavy tramp of men marching, followed by the hoarse sound of words of command in the distance, “Halt! Front! Dress!”
I assure you, I really thought for the moment that the long-talked-of French invasion, about which I had been recently reading in my historical researches, had actually come at last and that the garrison had been hurriedly called to arms to resist some unexpected attack on the town.
This reminiscence of my cramming experiences, mixed up in hotch-potch fashion with the martial echoes that caught my ear from the banging drum and brazen bugle, at once recalled the gruesome fact that this was the eventful day fixed for my examination on board theExcellent; so, dreading lest I should be late, I incontinently jumped out of bed in a jiffy, proceeding; albeit unconsciously, to obey the last gruff order of the sergeant of the guard, relieving the sentries.
This, as Dad subsequently explained, was the reason for all the commotion, the sergeant parading his men as he came up to each “post” in turn, with the usual stereotyped formula, “Halt! Front! Dress!”
Dear me! I did “dress;” though in rather a different sense to that implied by the sergeant’s mandate, huddling on my clothes in my haste so carelessly that I broke the button off my shirt collar and put on my jacket the wrong way!
All my hurry, too, was to very little purpose; for, when I reached the coffee-room of the hotel below, after getting confused and losing my proper course amongst the many intricate passages and curving corkscrew staircases that led downwards from the little dormitory I had occupied right under the tiles at the back of the building, I found that neither Dad nor mother had yet put in an appearance for breakfast.
I was in such good time, indeed, that old Saint Thomas’s clock in High Street was only just chiming Eight; while the ships’ bells over the water were repeating the same piece of information in various tones and the shrill steam whistle from the dockyard workshops hard by screeching its confirmation of the story.
There was no fear of my being late, therefore; so, consoling myself with this satisfactory reflection, I was making my way to the nearest window of the coffee-room to look out on the harbour beyond as I had done the evening before when, like as then, a big bouncing “Bang!” came from theVictory, making me jump back and feel almost as nervous as poor mother was on the previous occasion.
“Yezsir, court-martial gun, sir, aboard the flagship, sir,” said the wiry little cock-eyed head waiter, who was hopping about the room “like a parched pea on a griddle,” as dad expressed it, stopping to flick the dust from the mantelpiece with his napkin as he replied to the mute inquiry he could read in my glance. “Look, sir! They’ve h’isted the Jack at the peak, sir, yezsir.”
“Oh, yes, I see,” said I, as if I had not observed this before and was perfectly familiar with the signal. “I did not notice it at first.”
“No, sir? W’y, in course not, sir, or else ye’d ha’ known wot it were,” answered the sly old fellow, ascribing to me a knowledge of naval matters which he knew as well as myself I did not possess, thus pandering, with the ulterior view, no doubt, of a substantial tip, to a common weakness of human nature to which most of us, man and boy alike, are prone—that of wishing to appear wiser than we really are!
“But, as I was a-saying only last night to Jim Marksby, the hall-porter, sir,” he continued, “court-martials, sir, isn’t wot they used to was. Lord-sakes! sir, I remembers, as if it were yesterday, in old Sir Titus Fitzblazes’s time, sir, when they was as plentiful as the blackberries on Browndown!
“W’y, sir, b’lieve me or not if yer likes, but there wasn’t a mornin’—barring Sundays in course—as yer wouldn’t hear that theer blessed gun a-firin’ for a court-martial, sir, j’est the same as ye heerd j’est now, sir, yezsir! Ah, them was fine times, they was, for the watermen on Hardway; for they usest to make a rare harvest a-taking off witnesses and prisoners’ ‘friends,’ as they calls ’em, and lawyers and noospaper chaps to the flagship, they did. The old chaps called the signal gun ‘old Fitzblazes’s Eight o’clock Gun,’ sir. They did so, sir, yezsir!”
“Indeed, waiter?” said I, feeling quite proud of his thus speaking to me as if I were a grown-up person. “But who was this gentleman, old Fitz—what did you call him?”
“Old Sir Titus Fitzblazes, sir,” glibly replied the coffee-room factotum, flicking off a fly as he spoke from the table-cloth whereon he had just arranged all the paraphernalia of our breakfast. “Lord-sakes, sir, yer doesn’t mean for to say, sir, as a well-growed young gen’leman like yerself, sir, as is a naval gent, sir, as I can see with arf an eye, haven’t heard tell o’ he? Well, sir, he were port admiral here, sir, a matter of eight or ten year ago, sir, yezsir; and, wot’s more, sir, he were the tautest old sea porkypine ye’d fetch across ‘in a blue moon,’ as sailor folk say!
“Yezsir, I’ve heerd when he were commodore on the West Coast, he used for to turn up the hands every mornin’ regular and give ’em four dozen apiece for breakfast, sir!”
“Good gracious me, waiter!” I exclaimed, aghast at this statement. “Four dozen lashes?”
“Yezsir. Lor’! four dozen lashings was nothink to old Sir Titus, for he were pertickeler partial to noggin’, he were, and took it out of the men like steam, he did!
“The ossifers, in course, he couldn’t sarve out in the same way, not being allowed for to do so by the laws of the service, sir; but he’d court-martial ’em, sir, as many on ’em as would give him arf a chance, and the court-martial gun used for to fire in his time here as reg’lar as clock-work every mornin’ at eight, winter and summer alike, jest the same as when the flag’s h’isted at sunrise, yezsir!”
“What an old martinet he must have been!” I said in response to this. “Perhaps, though, the poor old admiral suffered from bad health, and that made him cross and easily put out?”
“Bad health, sir? Not a bit of it!” exclaimed my friend, the waiter, repudiating such an excuse with scorn. “It were bad temper as werehiscomplaint.
“Lord-sakes, though, sir, he were bad all over, was Sir Titus; ay, that he were, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. As bad as they makes ’em!
“W’y, he ’ad the temper, sir, of old Nick hisself, ay, that he had!
“I don’t mean the Czar of Roosia, sir. Don’t you run away with that there notion! No, sir, I means the rale old gent as ye’ve heerd tell on, wot hangs out down below when he’s at home and allers dresses in black to look genteel-like. Wears top-boots for to hide his cloven feet, sir, and carries a fine tail under his arm with a fluke at the end of it, same as that on a sheet-anchor—ah, yer knows the gent I means, sir!
“Well, yezsir, old Sir Titus wer him all over and must ha’ been his twin-brother; barring the tail, the admiral being shaky about the feet, too, and his boots a’most as big as the dinghy of that sloop. They wos like as two peas, sir, old Nick and he!
“Lord-sakes, though, yer must have heerd tell of him, sir, a young and gallant naval ossifer like yerself, ’specially that yarn consarnin’ him and the washerwoman as was going into the dockyard one mornin’ when he were a-spyin’ round the gates?”
“No, waiter, I never heard the old gentleman’s name before you told it me,” I replied, curious to learn some further disclosures concerning so celebrated a character. “What was this story?”
“W’y, sir, it’s enuff a’most for to make a cat laugh, sir,” he said with a snigger, which he immediately flicked away, as it were, with his napkin, resuming his whilom solemn demeanour. “It happen’d, if yer must know, sir, in this way, sir, yezsir.
“Old Blazes—that wer the name he allers went by in the yard—was a-hangin’ round the main gate a-lookin’ out for to see who comes along, w’en all of a sudding he spies this good woman as was a-takin’ in the clothes from the wash for Admiralty House.
“That were where, yer knows, sir, he himself lived with Lady Fitz, close by the College and jest to the right as yer goes in the yard?
“Lord-sakes, sir! The old admiral thinks he’d made a fine haul and that the woman were a-smuggling in sperrits or somethin’ ‘contraband,’ as they calls it, for the sailors who is allers stationed round the commander-in-chief’s office; and so, he orders her for to turn out her big baskets there in the gateway afore all the grinning policemen and men who was jest a-comin’ into the yard.
“Ye never see such a show, sir in all yer born days; and the beauty on it were that as he was in the middle of it sir, overhaulin’ all the things from the wash, and a-pokin’ ’em about with his gold-headed stick and turnin’ over the ladies’ fal-de-rals and all sorts of women’s gear that they don’t like men for to see, sir, up comes Lady Fitzblazes herself, a-going out for a walk.
“Seein’ what he were after, she axes him wot he means by treating her clothes like that there.
“Lord-sakes, sir, if he were old Nick, she had a temper, too, and were as fiery as a she-tiger cat, she were; and, wot between the two, there was then—Breakfast, sir? Yezsir, comin’, sir!”
The wiry little cock-eyed waiter rushed off, with his napkin over his shoulder, as he uttered the last words; and, wondering what had caused him to break off so unexpectedly in the middle of his yarn, apparently just when he was approaching the most interesting part of it, I turned my head and saw mother and Dad were within the coffee-room, having entered the doorway just behind me.
“Hullo, Jack!” said my father, “what was that waiter chap yarning about? You seemed very much taken up with what he was saying.”
I thereupon told him as much as I had heard of the old port admiral.
“Pooh, nonsense, the rascal has only been ‘pulling your leg’ with a cock-and-a-bull story, Jack,” said dad in a contemptuous tone when I had finished—for he was an officer of the old school and always believed in the obligations of discipline, invariably “sticking up” for those superior to him in rank in the service—“I knew old Admiral Fitzblazes myself very well, and a better officer and gentleman never wore the Queen’s uniform!”
While he was speaking to this effect, the “cock-eyed rascal,” as Dad called him, came in with our breakfast, giving me a sly wink with his sound eye behind Dad’s back as he passed him; so, sitting down, we hurried through the meal without any further conversation, I feeling more and more nervous the nearer the hour fixed for the examination approached, and mother and Dad both keeping silent, in sympathy with me.
Breakfast accomplished, Dad accompanied me to the dockyard, and saw me off to theExcellent; where, on getting on board, with my certificate of birth and moral character in my pocket and my heart in my mouth, I was ushered into the wardroom, with some twenty other aspirants for naval honours like myself.
All of us, of course, were mostly of the same age, but, naturally, of various builds and size; some tall, some short; some thin, some fat; some ugly, some handsome.
One little chap whom I noticed was much smaller than I was, although Dad had expressly drawn Admiral Napier’s attention to the fact of my being rather short for my age.
This youngster had a bright merry face and smiled in a friendly way to me; but the others looked at me generally as a collection of strange dogs appear to regard any new comer suddenly brought amongst them, eyeing and sniffing him suspiciously before they can make up their minds whether to treat him as friend or foe—though, generally, preferring, as a rule, the latter footing!
On entering the wardroom, which had a sort of scholastic look mingled with its ordinary nautical surroundings, we were summoned in turn to the further end of the apartment.
Here, on a raised portion of the deck abutting on the stern gallery, three gentlemen in clerical garb were seated behind a semi-circular green baize table, in front of which we stood, respectively, like so many prisoners on trial, while answering various questions appertaining to our Christian and surnames, age and so on.
We also handed in at the same time our baptismal and medical and character certificates, all of which were duly inspected, docketed and filed, in regular official style.
These preliminaries gone through, we were then directed to take our seats on either side of a long table that ran fore and aft the cabin, whose normal purpose was for the messing of the officers of the ship, but which on the present occasion was supplied with folios of foolscap paper and bundles of quill pens and bottles of ink, systematically distributed along its length, instead of the more palatable viands it more generally and generously displayed.
We were immediately under the eyes of the senior chaplain of the trio forming the board of examiners, a gentleman whose position at the centre of the cross table at the top of the room enabled him to command a full view of the double line of boys and detect at once any attempt at cribbing or unfair assistance given by one to the other; and our ordeal began punctually on the ship’s bell striking Ten o’clock, dictation being the first subject set us “to test our spelling and handwriting,” as my Lords of the Admiralty were good enough to inform us.
Thanks to my mother’s persistency in keeping me up to the mark with regard to my lessons, long before I had recourse to the crammer, this introductory stage of the examination presented no difficulties to me; and I was able not only to keep pace with the gentleman who dictated a portion of one of Macaulay’s Essays to us, but also found time to look round me occasionally to see how my companions fared with the big words, the faces of some of them presenting quite a study when a portentous polysyllable was given them to spell.
The little chap with the curly hair who had smiled at me on coming in, I observed, did not smile now.
His whilom merry countenance, on the contrary, was all puckered up in the most comical way; while his brows were knit as he chewed the feather end of his quill pen trying to get inspiration from that source how to properly write some long word—I think it was “Mesopotamia!”
Poor little fellow! he had a fearful struggle over it; but, although I should have dearly liked to have helped him, it was against the rules, so I could only watch his growing despair with a mute sympathy that was mingled with amusement at the funny faces he made over the, to him, serious business.
A little later on, however, if this victim of the stiff dictation paper had looked at me when ruthless old Euclid, my former antagonist, came on the scene, he would in like fashion have pitied me; for I was quite fogged by an easy proposition that I had thought I knew by heart the night before, but now found I had not the slightest glimmering of, although I answered most of the other questions.
Thus the examination proceeded, until the hour came for us to hand in our papers; the lot of us then filing before the presiding genii seated behind the green baize table at the end of the wardroom, and each giving up his roll of spoilt foolscap in turn as he came up abreast of the reverend trio.
I was nearly the last of the file; and, as I approached the table, the chaplain occupying the middle seat looked up.
He had a jolly, round, benevolent sort of face, which wore at the moment such a good-humoured expression that, I suppose, it became reflected on mine causing me to smile.
“Hullo, my boy!” said he, smiling, too. “You seem in a very happy frame of mind, I’m sure. Answered all your questions right, eh?”
“I’m afraid not all, sir,” I replied diffidently; “but I hope for the best.”
“That’s right, youngster! There’s no good to be got by despairing over things, and remember, you can have another try, you know, if you fail now,” said he encouragingly. “‘Never say die,’ you know, as an old friend of mine used always to say, ‘care once killed a cat!’”
“Why, sir,” I exclaimed at this, “that’s what my father always tells me. It’s his favourite expression when any difficulty arises. He never gives in, sir!”
“Indeed!” said the fat gentleman, while the others on either side of him looked interested. “Who is your father, my boy, if you’ll excuse my asking you the question?”
“Francis Vernon,” I answered promptly. “A captain in the Royal Navy, now on half-pay, sir.”
The fat clergyman laughed at my laconic reply.
“Vernon, ha!” he repeated after me. “I wonder if he is the Frank Vernon I once knew?”
“Can’t say, sir,” said I, cautiously. “My mother, though, always calls him ‘Frank.’”
My new friend laughed again.
“Ah, I’m sure he is the same, if only from your manner, which is just like what I remember in the Frank Vernon who was in thePelicanwith me,” said he, looking at me all over with his twinkling round eyes. “Was your father ever up the Mediterranean with old Charley Napier, my boy?”
“Oh yes, sir,” I replied, glib enough now. “It was Admiral Napier who gave me my nomination the other day, sir.”
“Really, you don’t say so?”
“I do, though, sir,” I said sturdily, thinking he doubted my assertion. “Dad and I met him in Pall Mall, and I got my nomination from the Admiralty, sir, the very next morning as he promised!”
“All right, my boy, all right,” he observed in an absent way, turning to whisper to the two other gentlemen something, I think, about “old Charley,” and “must be passed for my old shipmate’s sake.”—“I quite believe what you say: I do not doubt your word for an instant; for Frank Vernon’s son, I am sure, could not but always speak the truth. Did your father come down with you for your examination?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “He and my mother came with me; and we’re all staying at the old ‘Keppel’s Head Hotel,’ on Hardway, sir.”
“Humph! I think I know the place you mention, youngster,” said he, with a significant twinkle in his eye which made the other two chaplains grin, I could see, at some joke they had between them. “I’ll try and call on your father, if I can find time before he leaves Portsmouth. Tell him when you get back, that old Tangent asked after him, please.”
“I’ll make a point of doing so, sir,” I replied, with a bow, repeating the name after him to make certain. “I will tell him, sir, about Old Tangent.”
“Old Tangent, indeed!” cried the old fellow, shaking his fat sides, while the other two examiners roared outright. “You’ve a pretty good stock of impudence of your own, I’m sure! Be off with you, you young rascal, or I’ll pluck you as certain as I’m that Old Tangent with whom you dare to be so familiar!”
His jovial face, however, belied the threat, so it did not occasion me any alarm; and, bowing again politely to the three clerical gentlemen collectively, I bent my steps, on the grin all the way, to the door of the wardroom, which was opened and shut behind me by a marine standing without.
I was Last of the Mohicans, all the other fellows having taken their departure and gone ashore long before I got my own happy dismissal.
“By Jove, Jack, I think you may put yourself down as passed!” said my father when I subsequently detailed the incidents of my examination, drawing a good augury from my description of what had occurred on board the gunnery ship. “He was always a knowing hand was Old Tangent; and such a remark from him to his brother examiners, would be as efficacious as a whisper in ear of the First Lord’s Secretary on your behalf, my boy!”
“Do you remember him, Frank? I mean the gentleman who spoke to Jack.”
“Oh, yes, my dear,” replied Dad to this question of my mother’s, “I recollect Old Tangent quite well. He was always a good-natured fellow and a capital shipmate. Why, he sang the best song of any of us in the mess on board the oldPelican!”
“What!” exclaimed my mother, holding up her hands in pious horror at the mention of such an unclerical characteristic. “A clergyman sing songs?”
“Yes, why not?” retorted Dad, who was in his jolliest mood at the prospect of my having passed my examination successfully. “They were spiritual songs of course, my dear, I assure you!”
“No doubt,” said mother, drily. “I think, my dear, you can ‘tell that yarn to the marines,’ as you say in your favourite sea slang.Iknow what sort of spirits you refer to!”
At which observation they both laughed; and, naturally, I laughed too.
Chapter Five.In which I really “Join the Service.”“Letter for yer, sir, yezsir,” said my friend the cock-eyed waiter a week or two later, while we were at luncheon, bringing in a long, official-looking document on a salver, which he proceeded to hand me with a smirk and a squint from his cock-eye, that seemed to roam all over the apartment, taking in everything and everyone present in one comprehensive glance. “It’s jest come in, sir. It were brought by a messenger, sir, from the commander-in-chief’s h’office, sir; and I thinks as ’ow it’s a horder for yer sir, for to jine yer ship, sir, yezsir!”“All right my man, that’ll do,” interposed my father, who from his service-training had a rooted objection to anything approaching to familiarity from servants and other subordinates, besides which he particularly disliked the waiter’s “vulgar curiosity” as he styled it, saying he was always prying and poking his nose into other people’s affairs; although, I honestly believe my worthy old cock-eyed friend only took a laudable interest in my welfare, as indeed he did in the business of everybody who patronised the hotel. “You can leave the letter, waiter, and likewise the room!”“For me?” said I, taking up the missive, which was inscribed on the outside in large printed characters “On Her Majesty’s Service,” similarly to the one which had brought my nomination from the Admiralty. “I wonder Dad, what it contains! I suppose, it will tell whether I have passed my examination or not?”“Open it, Jack,” said Dad, as soon as the waiter had left the room, flicking his napkin viciously over the sideboard which he passed on his way to the door as if he was considerably huffed at not being admitted to our confidence. “Let us hear the news at once, good or bad. Suspense, you know, my boy, is worse than hanging.”“No, I can’t, Dad, I feel too nervous,” I replied, not laughing at his joke, as I might have done another time, although the pun was a regular old stager, passing the yet unopened letter across the table. “You read it, mother, please.”“You need not be alarmed Jack,” said she, smiling, and pointing to the superscription. “See, the direction on it is to ‘John Vernon, Esquire, R.N.’”“Which means, Master Jack, that you have passed!” cried Dad, anticipating her explanation, and jumping up at once from his seat in great excitement, the contagion of which the next instant spread to me. “You’ve passed, my boy, there’s no doubt about that from this address; and, now, you really belong to Her Majesty’s service, hurrah!”Mother, though, did not say anything, and her hands trembled as she fumbled with the letter, trying to open the envelope without tearing it.“My boy, my boy!” she exclaimed presently, her eyes filling with tears as she glanced at the contents of the enclosure, which she could only dimly see; albeit, she learnt enough to know that I had passed for cadet and was directed to join theIllustrioustraining-ship, then stationed at Portsmouth, like as her successor theBritanniawas for a long while prior to her removal to Dartmouth. “It is as we thought, and as you hoped, Jack. You are going to have your wish at last and leave your father and me for your new home on the sea.”The cock-eyed waiter broke the rather melancholy silence that ensued.“Them’s outfitters’ cards, sir, yezsir,” he said, bringing in his salver again presently, piled up with circulars and square pieces of pasteboard which he placed before Dad. “Parties” as heerd tell young gents “as passed and wants fer to get the horder for his h’uniforms, sir, yezsir!”Having thus eased his mind, my old friend bustled out of the room as quickly as he had entered, no doubt afraid of my father giving him another “dressing-down.”Dad, however, was not thinking of the waiter or his cheeky manner for the moment.“By Jove, Jack!” he cried, “you’re getting quite an important personage. Why, we’ll have all the tradesmen of Portsea struggling for your lordly custom if we stop here much longer! Do they say anything about the boy’s outfit in that letter, my dear?”“Oh, yes,” replied my mother, taking up the missive, which she had dropped on her knee, and going on to read it over to herself again. “There’s a long list of things that he is ordered to get.”“Then, the sooner we see about getting them the better,” said Dad, looking over the letter, too. “We’ll go round to Richardson’s this afternoon if you like, my dear. I think he’s the best man to rig-out Jack, and, besides, I’ve had dealings with him before.”“Very well, I’ll go and put on my bonnet at once,” said mother, rising from the table as she spoke. “You must tell the man, Frank, to have the poor boy’s things ready as quickly as possible, for I must mark them all before he goes to sea. Ah! there’ll be nobody to look after his clothes there!”“No, my dear, no one but his messmates in the midshipmen’s berth,” said Dad, jokingly, with a wink to me, wishing to get mother out of her sorrowful mood. “Theywill take precious good care of his wardrobe for him, I wager; that is, unless he keeps his weather eye open and a sharp look-out and never leaves his sea-chest unlocked. All the marking in the world won’t save his gear if he does that, I can tell you and him!”Mother was not to be put off her purpose, however, despite Dad’s chaff.So, when the outfitter sent home my elaborate kit, quite complete in every detail, within a couple of days after our visit to his shop, she carefully marked every article with my name in full, adding some numerical hieroglyph of her own that denoted how many of each description of garment I possessed.Poor thing! She was firmly convinced in her innocent mind that I would be able to trace, by this means, anything missing from my stock of wearing apparel!But, notwithstanding all her elaborate precautions, Dad proved a true prophet; for, on my return home from my first commission, I do not believe I had any two of a set out of the dozens of shirts and collars and handkerchiefs I was originally supplied with and which she had so neatly marked.On the contrary, the scanty contents of my battered old donkey of a chest, whilom gorgeously painted in blue and gold, consisted but of a scant lot of half-worn-out items of clothing, not one of which matched the other, and the owners whereof, judging by the different inscribed initials thereon were as various as their respective conditions of wear!On the same evening my things came from the outfitter’s, and even while my poor mother was engaged on the fruitless task she had imposed on herself of ensuring my continual possession, as she vainly thought of the same, I stole, away from the dinner-table and retired for a brief space to the little bedroom I still occupied at the top of the hotel, with the way to and from which I was now better acquainted than on the morning after I first slept “under the tiles.”“Ain’t we grand!” sang out Dad, chaffingly, when I presently reappeared below in all the glory of my new uniform as a naval cadet.This was the same then as now:—blue trousers and jacket with crown and anchor buttons and a cunningly-shaped little collar, that had a white facing to the lapel and the buttonholes of the turn-back worked with twisted cord of the same colour in proper regulation fashion; not to speak of my cap with its golden badge, and the formidable-looking carving-knife of a dirk, twenty inches long in its black scabbard, which I wore at my belt!“Why, Master Jack, you’ll be ‘topping the officer’ over me now in your war paint,” added Dad, after turning me round twice to inspect me. “You are rigged out smart, and no mistake!”“Don’t tease the poor boy, my dear,” said my mother, looking at me with fond admiration as most mothers would do, probably, under similar circumstances. “He looks very nice—very nice, indeed. I’m sure he is the very image of what you were when I first saw you, Frank!”“Thanks, my dear, for the compliment,” replied Dad, bowing to her half-jocularly, half-seriously, while he heaved a deep sigh. “I’m not making fun of Jack at all. I really was thinking how long ago it is since I donned the same uniform like him for the first time. Ah me, thirty years and more have passed since then; and I’m an old fogey, while he’s just beginning life! I hope, my dear Jack, you’ll never do anything to make you ashamed of having put on the Queen’s livery!”“That I won’t, Dad,” said I emphatically; and I meant it! “I’ll try to follow your example, and always recollect I am your son.”“You cannot do better, my dear Jack,” said mother, putting one of her arms round my neck caressingly, and stretching out her other hand to take Dad’s. “Your father was always known in the service as a gallant officer and an honourable gentleman; and if you follow his example, my boy, you will neither disgrace the name you bear nor do discredit to Her Majesty’s uniform! I look forwards, Jack, to your being a credit, not only to us, but to your country and profession!”I uttered no reply to my mother’s little speech, though it made a deep impression on me, for she was seldom given to expressing herself at such length, her words being generally few and to the point; but, I formed there and then a resolve, which I have endeavoured to adhere to all my life, that I would never do anything to make her ashamed of me, nor cause pain to her and Dad, the latter of whom remained silent like myself.He was thinking, I felt sure, of the approaching parting between us, when I should be beyond his care and only have to trust to the training he had given me.He knew, however, that I would still be under the watchful eye of another Father, who guards and guides the sailor afloat amidst the stormy waters of the deep as well as the landsman ashore, and whose love and forethought are more to be trusted even than that of our earthly parents, prize us as dearly as they will.On the following morning, to make a long story short, I bade adieu to Dad and mother, both of them accompanying me to the landing steps at the foot of Hardway to see me off in the waterman’s wherry that Dad hailed for the conveyance of myself and sea-chest to theIllustrious.She was lying in the stream near the mouth of the harbour, as I mentioned I believe before when speaking of my first view of Portsmouth; and as the tide was then at the ebb and running out fast, we were very soon alongside the training-ship, whose huge, black hull glistened in the bright sunshine.There was a little chap standing by the marine sentry at the entry port on the main deck, where I noticed as I went up the accommodation ladder a little chap only about my own age, but looking as “cocksy” as you please.He was dressed in a similarly smart new uniform to my own, and his face, somehow or other, seemed familiar to me. I could see, too, that he looked as if he recognised me in some sort of way, or was anxious to make my acquaintance.“Hullo!” he cried, as I gained the deck and returned, with much conscious dignity, the marine’s salute, “why, you’re the fellow who nearly got stranded in Euclid!”This remark of his brought back to my mind in an instant the scene in the examination room on board the gunnery ship, and I identified him in an instant, giving him a “Roland” for his “Oliver.”“Oh, you’re the little chap who was so awfully stumped in spelling at dictation eh, old fellow?” I retorted, making the marine sentry grin as the ship’s corporal on duty hailed my waterman to pull forward under the main yard for my chest to be hoisted inboard. “How did you manage to scramble through, eh?”“Only by the skin of my teeth,” he answered, smiling all over his face in such a good-humoured way that I could not help taking a liking to him. “Just the same as you did, I suppose, Mr Sharp!”“That isn’t my name,” said I, laughing, “but we won’t quarrel about that. Let us make friends instead.”“Agreed,” said he, laughing too. “I liked the cut of your jib when I first saw you in that awful place the other day. I was so sorry I couldn’t help you with your Euclid.”“Really? Well, I was sorry I couldn’t help you with your spelling, you looked so woe-begone over the big words,” I replied, giving him another dig for his unkind reminiscence of my old nightmare. “I think it was ‘Mesopotamia’ that finally finished you, wasn’t it?”“Pax!” cried he, beseechingly. “You’re a bit too sharp for me, I see, to try chaffing with. Let us be chums, as you suggest, old boy. My name is Tom Mills.”“All right, old chap,” I rejoined, gripping the hand he stretched out to me as cordially as he had offered this gage of friendship. “I am Jack Vernon. That’s my name!”“Well, Jack,” said he, addressing me as familiarly as if we had known each other for years. “You seem a jolly sort of fellow, and I think I shall like you.”“Ditto, Master Tom,” said I, much amused at his hearty frankness of speech, for I had never come across such a free and easy fellow before. “You’re another—that’s all I can say, old chap!”This set us off both laughing again; and, in the midst of our glee, up came a tall man in a long frock-coat with a black sword-belt, but no epaulets or other distinguishing ornaments, whom I afterwards learnt was the master-at-arms. He asked me my name; and, informing me that I was to report myself to the commanding officer, he led the way up the main hatch to the quarter-deck above.This interview having been satisfactorily got through, I was then escorted to the quarters of the naval instructor, who received me most graciously, telling me the hours of study and drill, and coaching me generally in the routine of my duties.He catechised me all the while, I noticed, in a sly way in respect of my knowledge of mathematics, putting a series of innocent questions that I saw were meant to test my acquirements.He did this, however, in such an insidious manner as to disarm me at the outset, preventing my feeling that I was being examined and “turned inside out,” so to speak.He was a nice fat old fellow like Mr Tangent.Indeed, the majority of naval chaplains I have come across in my time in the service have as a rule been fat, the sea air apparently exercising as beneficial an effect on the clerical constitution as a snug living ashore.This gentleman now, after telling me he thought I should do very well, excused me from any lessons that day, it being the first I was on board. He then dismissed me to join my messmates, whom, he said, I would probably find below in the gunroom, as it was “close on the luncheon hour!”This reflection seemed to give him some inward satisfaction; for, he patted his waistcoat with a sort of pleasurable anticipation as I left him, asking the wardroom steward, who just then entered the cabin, whether there wasn’t a veal and ham pie, I recollect.When I got down to the lower deck I had no need to inquire as to the whereabouts of the gunroom. Such a din and babel of voices proceeded from the after part of the ship that I was certain, from what Dad had let out to me of his former experiences at sea, the noise could only have been made by a batch of middies and naval cadets in their moments of relaxation from the stern discipline of the quarter-deck, when they were allowed to give their superabundance of animal spirits full play.I was positive I must be in the near vicinity of the gunroom, the “happy hunting ground” of my messmates. Luncheon was evidently either over or not yet begun; for, a crowd of youngsters, amongst whom I at once perceived my friend Tom Mills, were grouped together on the open deck in front of the gunroom, where, as I afterwards heard, their hammocks were slung at night.The lot were amusing themselves at some game I was not as yet acquainted with, but which evidently was one of the most boisterous character, a “rough and tumble” fight being nothing to it.“Hullo, Jack, here you are at last!” shouted out Tom Mills, on seeing me. “Come and join us, old fellow. We’re playing at ‘piling the sacks.’”“Piling the sacks?” I repeated. “What game is that?”“Come along,” cried he, “you’ll soon learn it. Here’s a new hand, Master Miller. Sacks to the mill! sacks to the mill!”Thereupon he and a couple of other fellows seized me by my arms and legs and put me on top of a pile of other johnnies, who were scrambling and struggling and yelling on the deck in a confused mass, like an animated roly-poly pudding just turned out of the pot!Another chap was then tossed on above me, and then another and another, till I was well-nigh suffocated; and then, when the pile had reached the top of the hatchway, the “Master Miller” toppled the lot of us over.On this, we all scrambled to our feet again, laughing and shouting in high glee; with collars torn and shirts crushed and the buttons wrenched off our jackets by the dozen. Only to begin the game again as before—until, finally, the master-at-arms made his appearance below with the compliments of the first lieutenant to the “young gentlemen,” and a polite request for them to “make less noise.”It was a jolly game, though, I can tell you!The next day, we all commenced in earnest our studies in navigation and seamanship, the naval instructor with his assistants working us up in our mathematics and imparting to us the elements of plane and spherical trigonometry; while the boatswain and his mates gave us practical lessons in the setting up of rigging and making of knots, so that there should be no chance of our mistaking a “sheepshank” for a “cat’s paw,” or a “Flemish eye” for a “grommet!”Here I at once gained the good opinion of the boatswain by making a “Matthew Walker” knot which, I may mention for the benefit of the uninitiated, is used generally on ship board for the standing part of the lanyards of lower rigging.This I managed to achieve successfully at my first attempt, thanks to Dad’s previous instruction; and I not only “got to win’ard” of the old seaman by the knowledge I thus displayed, but added to my laurels by showing that I knew something also of the somewhat intricate arts of “worming” and “parcelling” and “serving” ropes when occasion arose for dealing with them in such fashion, repeating aloud, to the great satisfaction of my teacher, the distich which guides the tyro and tells him how to do his work properly:—“Wormandparcelwith the lay,Andservethe rope the other way!”With my mathematical studies, too, I made equal progress, in spite of my original dislike to friend Euclid and his vexatious propositions.I also learnt how to find my latitude, by “bringing down the sun” with the sextant; and was taught the bearings and deviation of the compass, as well as the mastery of the log-line and other similar little niceties of navigation.These preliminaries achieved, I was reported by the naval instructor to the captain of the training-ship as “efficient” long before my probationary period of three months had expired.The captain of the training-ship, in due course, reported me to the Admiralty; and one fine morning I received official notice from the Secretary informing me that I was to go to sea, being appointed to theCandahar, line-of-battle ship, just commissioned for service on the China station; where, it was reported, matters were getting a little ticklish at the time, our government being at loggerheads with that of the emperor of the sun, moon and stars, and war imminent between the two countries.It was certainly a splendid opening for me!“By jingo! you’re a lucky johnny,” said little Tom Mills when I told him the news, my chum heaving a sigh of disappointment at this early severance of our friendship. He was, I could see, also a little jealous of my going to sea before him. “I’ll write to my father and see if he cannot get me appointed to the same ship!”“I hope you will, Tom,” cried I, as I wrung his hand at the gangway, parting company at the same time with the rest of my old messmates, who had not yet passed through the course of the training-ship, all of whom gathered round to see the last of me. “I promise you, old chap, I sha’n’t have any other chum if you don’t come with me!”With these words, I ran down the ladderway; and, the next moment, was seated with three other cadets, who were leaving like myself to go afloat, in the sternsheets of the second cutter.This last had been detailed by the commander to take us off to theCandahar; then lying alongside the oldBlakehulk and moored in the stream, about midway between the Sheer Jetty and the King’s Stairs, where she was “fitting out for sea” as speedily as possible, the authorities having urged the utmost haste in her preparation.“Shove off!” sang out the coxswain; and, impelled by her twelve oars, that were manned by as many pairs of stalwart arms, the boat sprang through the water.The last sound I heard, beyond the wash of the tide against the side of the cutter and the subdued breathing of the men pulling, was little Tom Mills’ voice in the distance shouting until I got out of earshot, “Good-bye, Jack, old fellow, good-bye!”
“Letter for yer, sir, yezsir,” said my friend the cock-eyed waiter a week or two later, while we were at luncheon, bringing in a long, official-looking document on a salver, which he proceeded to hand me with a smirk and a squint from his cock-eye, that seemed to roam all over the apartment, taking in everything and everyone present in one comprehensive glance. “It’s jest come in, sir. It were brought by a messenger, sir, from the commander-in-chief’s h’office, sir; and I thinks as ’ow it’s a horder for yer sir, for to jine yer ship, sir, yezsir!”
“All right my man, that’ll do,” interposed my father, who from his service-training had a rooted objection to anything approaching to familiarity from servants and other subordinates, besides which he particularly disliked the waiter’s “vulgar curiosity” as he styled it, saying he was always prying and poking his nose into other people’s affairs; although, I honestly believe my worthy old cock-eyed friend only took a laudable interest in my welfare, as indeed he did in the business of everybody who patronised the hotel. “You can leave the letter, waiter, and likewise the room!”
“For me?” said I, taking up the missive, which was inscribed on the outside in large printed characters “On Her Majesty’s Service,” similarly to the one which had brought my nomination from the Admiralty. “I wonder Dad, what it contains! I suppose, it will tell whether I have passed my examination or not?”
“Open it, Jack,” said Dad, as soon as the waiter had left the room, flicking his napkin viciously over the sideboard which he passed on his way to the door as if he was considerably huffed at not being admitted to our confidence. “Let us hear the news at once, good or bad. Suspense, you know, my boy, is worse than hanging.”
“No, I can’t, Dad, I feel too nervous,” I replied, not laughing at his joke, as I might have done another time, although the pun was a regular old stager, passing the yet unopened letter across the table. “You read it, mother, please.”
“You need not be alarmed Jack,” said she, smiling, and pointing to the superscription. “See, the direction on it is to ‘John Vernon, Esquire, R.N.’”
“Which means, Master Jack, that you have passed!” cried Dad, anticipating her explanation, and jumping up at once from his seat in great excitement, the contagion of which the next instant spread to me. “You’ve passed, my boy, there’s no doubt about that from this address; and, now, you really belong to Her Majesty’s service, hurrah!”
Mother, though, did not say anything, and her hands trembled as she fumbled with the letter, trying to open the envelope without tearing it.
“My boy, my boy!” she exclaimed presently, her eyes filling with tears as she glanced at the contents of the enclosure, which she could only dimly see; albeit, she learnt enough to know that I had passed for cadet and was directed to join theIllustrioustraining-ship, then stationed at Portsmouth, like as her successor theBritanniawas for a long while prior to her removal to Dartmouth. “It is as we thought, and as you hoped, Jack. You are going to have your wish at last and leave your father and me for your new home on the sea.”
The cock-eyed waiter broke the rather melancholy silence that ensued.
“Them’s outfitters’ cards, sir, yezsir,” he said, bringing in his salver again presently, piled up with circulars and square pieces of pasteboard which he placed before Dad. “Parties” as heerd tell young gents “as passed and wants fer to get the horder for his h’uniforms, sir, yezsir!”
Having thus eased his mind, my old friend bustled out of the room as quickly as he had entered, no doubt afraid of my father giving him another “dressing-down.”
Dad, however, was not thinking of the waiter or his cheeky manner for the moment.
“By Jove, Jack!” he cried, “you’re getting quite an important personage. Why, we’ll have all the tradesmen of Portsea struggling for your lordly custom if we stop here much longer! Do they say anything about the boy’s outfit in that letter, my dear?”
“Oh, yes,” replied my mother, taking up the missive, which she had dropped on her knee, and going on to read it over to herself again. “There’s a long list of things that he is ordered to get.”
“Then, the sooner we see about getting them the better,” said Dad, looking over the letter, too. “We’ll go round to Richardson’s this afternoon if you like, my dear. I think he’s the best man to rig-out Jack, and, besides, I’ve had dealings with him before.”
“Very well, I’ll go and put on my bonnet at once,” said mother, rising from the table as she spoke. “You must tell the man, Frank, to have the poor boy’s things ready as quickly as possible, for I must mark them all before he goes to sea. Ah! there’ll be nobody to look after his clothes there!”
“No, my dear, no one but his messmates in the midshipmen’s berth,” said Dad, jokingly, with a wink to me, wishing to get mother out of her sorrowful mood. “Theywill take precious good care of his wardrobe for him, I wager; that is, unless he keeps his weather eye open and a sharp look-out and never leaves his sea-chest unlocked. All the marking in the world won’t save his gear if he does that, I can tell you and him!”
Mother was not to be put off her purpose, however, despite Dad’s chaff.
So, when the outfitter sent home my elaborate kit, quite complete in every detail, within a couple of days after our visit to his shop, she carefully marked every article with my name in full, adding some numerical hieroglyph of her own that denoted how many of each description of garment I possessed.
Poor thing! She was firmly convinced in her innocent mind that I would be able to trace, by this means, anything missing from my stock of wearing apparel!
But, notwithstanding all her elaborate precautions, Dad proved a true prophet; for, on my return home from my first commission, I do not believe I had any two of a set out of the dozens of shirts and collars and handkerchiefs I was originally supplied with and which she had so neatly marked.
On the contrary, the scanty contents of my battered old donkey of a chest, whilom gorgeously painted in blue and gold, consisted but of a scant lot of half-worn-out items of clothing, not one of which matched the other, and the owners whereof, judging by the different inscribed initials thereon were as various as their respective conditions of wear!
On the same evening my things came from the outfitter’s, and even while my poor mother was engaged on the fruitless task she had imposed on herself of ensuring my continual possession, as she vainly thought of the same, I stole, away from the dinner-table and retired for a brief space to the little bedroom I still occupied at the top of the hotel, with the way to and from which I was now better acquainted than on the morning after I first slept “under the tiles.”
“Ain’t we grand!” sang out Dad, chaffingly, when I presently reappeared below in all the glory of my new uniform as a naval cadet.
This was the same then as now:—blue trousers and jacket with crown and anchor buttons and a cunningly-shaped little collar, that had a white facing to the lapel and the buttonholes of the turn-back worked with twisted cord of the same colour in proper regulation fashion; not to speak of my cap with its golden badge, and the formidable-looking carving-knife of a dirk, twenty inches long in its black scabbard, which I wore at my belt!
“Why, Master Jack, you’ll be ‘topping the officer’ over me now in your war paint,” added Dad, after turning me round twice to inspect me. “You are rigged out smart, and no mistake!”
“Don’t tease the poor boy, my dear,” said my mother, looking at me with fond admiration as most mothers would do, probably, under similar circumstances. “He looks very nice—very nice, indeed. I’m sure he is the very image of what you were when I first saw you, Frank!”
“Thanks, my dear, for the compliment,” replied Dad, bowing to her half-jocularly, half-seriously, while he heaved a deep sigh. “I’m not making fun of Jack at all. I really was thinking how long ago it is since I donned the same uniform like him for the first time. Ah me, thirty years and more have passed since then; and I’m an old fogey, while he’s just beginning life! I hope, my dear Jack, you’ll never do anything to make you ashamed of having put on the Queen’s livery!”
“That I won’t, Dad,” said I emphatically; and I meant it! “I’ll try to follow your example, and always recollect I am your son.”
“You cannot do better, my dear Jack,” said mother, putting one of her arms round my neck caressingly, and stretching out her other hand to take Dad’s. “Your father was always known in the service as a gallant officer and an honourable gentleman; and if you follow his example, my boy, you will neither disgrace the name you bear nor do discredit to Her Majesty’s uniform! I look forwards, Jack, to your being a credit, not only to us, but to your country and profession!”
I uttered no reply to my mother’s little speech, though it made a deep impression on me, for she was seldom given to expressing herself at such length, her words being generally few and to the point; but, I formed there and then a resolve, which I have endeavoured to adhere to all my life, that I would never do anything to make her ashamed of me, nor cause pain to her and Dad, the latter of whom remained silent like myself.
He was thinking, I felt sure, of the approaching parting between us, when I should be beyond his care and only have to trust to the training he had given me.
He knew, however, that I would still be under the watchful eye of another Father, who guards and guides the sailor afloat amidst the stormy waters of the deep as well as the landsman ashore, and whose love and forethought are more to be trusted even than that of our earthly parents, prize us as dearly as they will.
On the following morning, to make a long story short, I bade adieu to Dad and mother, both of them accompanying me to the landing steps at the foot of Hardway to see me off in the waterman’s wherry that Dad hailed for the conveyance of myself and sea-chest to theIllustrious.
She was lying in the stream near the mouth of the harbour, as I mentioned I believe before when speaking of my first view of Portsmouth; and as the tide was then at the ebb and running out fast, we were very soon alongside the training-ship, whose huge, black hull glistened in the bright sunshine.
There was a little chap standing by the marine sentry at the entry port on the main deck, where I noticed as I went up the accommodation ladder a little chap only about my own age, but looking as “cocksy” as you please.
He was dressed in a similarly smart new uniform to my own, and his face, somehow or other, seemed familiar to me. I could see, too, that he looked as if he recognised me in some sort of way, or was anxious to make my acquaintance.
“Hullo!” he cried, as I gained the deck and returned, with much conscious dignity, the marine’s salute, “why, you’re the fellow who nearly got stranded in Euclid!”
This remark of his brought back to my mind in an instant the scene in the examination room on board the gunnery ship, and I identified him in an instant, giving him a “Roland” for his “Oliver.”
“Oh, you’re the little chap who was so awfully stumped in spelling at dictation eh, old fellow?” I retorted, making the marine sentry grin as the ship’s corporal on duty hailed my waterman to pull forward under the main yard for my chest to be hoisted inboard. “How did you manage to scramble through, eh?”
“Only by the skin of my teeth,” he answered, smiling all over his face in such a good-humoured way that I could not help taking a liking to him. “Just the same as you did, I suppose, Mr Sharp!”
“That isn’t my name,” said I, laughing, “but we won’t quarrel about that. Let us make friends instead.”
“Agreed,” said he, laughing too. “I liked the cut of your jib when I first saw you in that awful place the other day. I was so sorry I couldn’t help you with your Euclid.”
“Really? Well, I was sorry I couldn’t help you with your spelling, you looked so woe-begone over the big words,” I replied, giving him another dig for his unkind reminiscence of my old nightmare. “I think it was ‘Mesopotamia’ that finally finished you, wasn’t it?”
“Pax!” cried he, beseechingly. “You’re a bit too sharp for me, I see, to try chaffing with. Let us be chums, as you suggest, old boy. My name is Tom Mills.”
“All right, old chap,” I rejoined, gripping the hand he stretched out to me as cordially as he had offered this gage of friendship. “I am Jack Vernon. That’s my name!”
“Well, Jack,” said he, addressing me as familiarly as if we had known each other for years. “You seem a jolly sort of fellow, and I think I shall like you.”
“Ditto, Master Tom,” said I, much amused at his hearty frankness of speech, for I had never come across such a free and easy fellow before. “You’re another—that’s all I can say, old chap!”
This set us off both laughing again; and, in the midst of our glee, up came a tall man in a long frock-coat with a black sword-belt, but no epaulets or other distinguishing ornaments, whom I afterwards learnt was the master-at-arms. He asked me my name; and, informing me that I was to report myself to the commanding officer, he led the way up the main hatch to the quarter-deck above.
This interview having been satisfactorily got through, I was then escorted to the quarters of the naval instructor, who received me most graciously, telling me the hours of study and drill, and coaching me generally in the routine of my duties.
He catechised me all the while, I noticed, in a sly way in respect of my knowledge of mathematics, putting a series of innocent questions that I saw were meant to test my acquirements.
He did this, however, in such an insidious manner as to disarm me at the outset, preventing my feeling that I was being examined and “turned inside out,” so to speak.
He was a nice fat old fellow like Mr Tangent.
Indeed, the majority of naval chaplains I have come across in my time in the service have as a rule been fat, the sea air apparently exercising as beneficial an effect on the clerical constitution as a snug living ashore.
This gentleman now, after telling me he thought I should do very well, excused me from any lessons that day, it being the first I was on board. He then dismissed me to join my messmates, whom, he said, I would probably find below in the gunroom, as it was “close on the luncheon hour!”
This reflection seemed to give him some inward satisfaction; for, he patted his waistcoat with a sort of pleasurable anticipation as I left him, asking the wardroom steward, who just then entered the cabin, whether there wasn’t a veal and ham pie, I recollect.
When I got down to the lower deck I had no need to inquire as to the whereabouts of the gunroom. Such a din and babel of voices proceeded from the after part of the ship that I was certain, from what Dad had let out to me of his former experiences at sea, the noise could only have been made by a batch of middies and naval cadets in their moments of relaxation from the stern discipline of the quarter-deck, when they were allowed to give their superabundance of animal spirits full play.
I was positive I must be in the near vicinity of the gunroom, the “happy hunting ground” of my messmates. Luncheon was evidently either over or not yet begun; for, a crowd of youngsters, amongst whom I at once perceived my friend Tom Mills, were grouped together on the open deck in front of the gunroom, where, as I afterwards heard, their hammocks were slung at night.
The lot were amusing themselves at some game I was not as yet acquainted with, but which evidently was one of the most boisterous character, a “rough and tumble” fight being nothing to it.
“Hullo, Jack, here you are at last!” shouted out Tom Mills, on seeing me. “Come and join us, old fellow. We’re playing at ‘piling the sacks.’”
“Piling the sacks?” I repeated. “What game is that?”
“Come along,” cried he, “you’ll soon learn it. Here’s a new hand, Master Miller. Sacks to the mill! sacks to the mill!”
Thereupon he and a couple of other fellows seized me by my arms and legs and put me on top of a pile of other johnnies, who were scrambling and struggling and yelling on the deck in a confused mass, like an animated roly-poly pudding just turned out of the pot!
Another chap was then tossed on above me, and then another and another, till I was well-nigh suffocated; and then, when the pile had reached the top of the hatchway, the “Master Miller” toppled the lot of us over.
On this, we all scrambled to our feet again, laughing and shouting in high glee; with collars torn and shirts crushed and the buttons wrenched off our jackets by the dozen. Only to begin the game again as before—until, finally, the master-at-arms made his appearance below with the compliments of the first lieutenant to the “young gentlemen,” and a polite request for them to “make less noise.”
It was a jolly game, though, I can tell you!
The next day, we all commenced in earnest our studies in navigation and seamanship, the naval instructor with his assistants working us up in our mathematics and imparting to us the elements of plane and spherical trigonometry; while the boatswain and his mates gave us practical lessons in the setting up of rigging and making of knots, so that there should be no chance of our mistaking a “sheepshank” for a “cat’s paw,” or a “Flemish eye” for a “grommet!”
Here I at once gained the good opinion of the boatswain by making a “Matthew Walker” knot which, I may mention for the benefit of the uninitiated, is used generally on ship board for the standing part of the lanyards of lower rigging.
This I managed to achieve successfully at my first attempt, thanks to Dad’s previous instruction; and I not only “got to win’ard” of the old seaman by the knowledge I thus displayed, but added to my laurels by showing that I knew something also of the somewhat intricate arts of “worming” and “parcelling” and “serving” ropes when occasion arose for dealing with them in such fashion, repeating aloud, to the great satisfaction of my teacher, the distich which guides the tyro and tells him how to do his work properly:—
“Wormandparcelwith the lay,Andservethe rope the other way!”
“Wormandparcelwith the lay,Andservethe rope the other way!”
With my mathematical studies, too, I made equal progress, in spite of my original dislike to friend Euclid and his vexatious propositions.
I also learnt how to find my latitude, by “bringing down the sun” with the sextant; and was taught the bearings and deviation of the compass, as well as the mastery of the log-line and other similar little niceties of navigation.
These preliminaries achieved, I was reported by the naval instructor to the captain of the training-ship as “efficient” long before my probationary period of three months had expired.
The captain of the training-ship, in due course, reported me to the Admiralty; and one fine morning I received official notice from the Secretary informing me that I was to go to sea, being appointed to theCandahar, line-of-battle ship, just commissioned for service on the China station; where, it was reported, matters were getting a little ticklish at the time, our government being at loggerheads with that of the emperor of the sun, moon and stars, and war imminent between the two countries.
It was certainly a splendid opening for me!
“By jingo! you’re a lucky johnny,” said little Tom Mills when I told him the news, my chum heaving a sigh of disappointment at this early severance of our friendship. He was, I could see, also a little jealous of my going to sea before him. “I’ll write to my father and see if he cannot get me appointed to the same ship!”
“I hope you will, Tom,” cried I, as I wrung his hand at the gangway, parting company at the same time with the rest of my old messmates, who had not yet passed through the course of the training-ship, all of whom gathered round to see the last of me. “I promise you, old chap, I sha’n’t have any other chum if you don’t come with me!”
With these words, I ran down the ladderway; and, the next moment, was seated with three other cadets, who were leaving like myself to go afloat, in the sternsheets of the second cutter.
This last had been detailed by the commander to take us off to theCandahar; then lying alongside the oldBlakehulk and moored in the stream, about midway between the Sheer Jetty and the King’s Stairs, where she was “fitting out for sea” as speedily as possible, the authorities having urged the utmost haste in her preparation.
“Shove off!” sang out the coxswain; and, impelled by her twelve oars, that were manned by as many pairs of stalwart arms, the boat sprang through the water.
The last sound I heard, beyond the wash of the tide against the side of the cutter and the subdued breathing of the men pulling, was little Tom Mills’ voice in the distance shouting until I got out of earshot, “Good-bye, Jack, old fellow, good-bye!”
Chapter Six.On Board the Old “Candahar.”“In bows!” cried the coxswain of the cutter as we neared the starboard side of the old hulk to which theCandaharwas lashed; and, the next minute, when close up to the foot of the accommodation ladder, the same functionary shouted the usual orders on approaching to board a ship. “Way enough. Oars!”The oars were at once tossed, while the bowman gripped a projecting ringbolt in the side of the hulk with his boathook to hold on by; and the other cadets and myself, jumping out on to the ladderway, made our way nimbly enough up to the deck of the mastlessBlake, passing over her by a gangway to theCandaharthat lay on her further side.Here all was apparent confusion, stores of all sorts being hoisted in by a derrick amidships from the dockyard lighters alongside and struck down the main hatchway, while ropes and tackle of every description lumbered the upper deck fore and aft.Groups of men, clad in dirty overalls, were busy setting up the rigging and getting the yards into position; and hoarse orders were shouted ever and anon, followed by the shrill pipe of the boatswain’s whistle and the steady tramp of the hands as they walked round with the capstan and swayed the heavy spars aloft, or hauled away at the gantlines and steadying guys and purchase falls and other tackle.The commander, the presiding spirit of the scene, if a smart officer, has never a better opportunity for showing his smartness than when a ship is fitting for sea; all the burthen of the work then falls upon his shoulders, for he has to be here and there and everywhere, directing a hundred different jobs at one and the same time.As I went aft, and approached the hallowed ground of the quarter-deck, I saw him standing under the break of the poop.He was a fine, big, broad-shouldered west-countryman with the voice of a stentor; and, although he was dressed in a somewhat shabby old uniform coat and had his trousers tucked into his boots, he looked every inch a gentleman, as he was, indeed, not only by birth, but by breeding.“Come on board, sir,” said I touching my cap, when a slight lull occurred in the general din caused by the creaking blocks and groaning tackle as the heavy spars were swayed aloft, and the continual tramp of men along the deck “walking up the capstan” or hoisting at the whips leading down into the hold. “I’ve just come on board, sir.”“Oh, you’ve come on board, youngster, eh?” he repeated questioningly, slewing round in his tracks and bringing his piercing black eyes to bear on my small person; when he looked me through and through, “taking my measure” at a glance. “Ah, I see, you’re one of our new cadets from theIllustriouscome to report yourself, eh?”“Yes, sir,” I replied, smiling in response to the pleasant look on his face. “I’ve come to join theCandahar, sir.”“What’s your name, young gentleman?”I told him.“Ah, you’re the little shaver Mr Tangent spoke of to me the other night when I dined with the Admiral! He said he knew your father, and thought you would turn out a smart officer; so, I hope you’ll support the good character he gave you. Belay there, bosun’s mate, you’ll let that cask down by the run if you don’t look out!” he cried out suddenly to a stout petty officer who was superintending a gang of men who were taking in provisions from one of the lighters alongside, and lowering the same into the after hold. “Steady, you may carry on, now; that’s better!”“Now, my little friend,” he continued, resuming his conversation with me. “We’ll see how smart you can be. Run forruds and tell the bosun I want the sail burton brought aft, and an up and down tackle fitted to the mainyard, if you are able to recollect all that?”“Oh, yes, sir,” I replied, touching my cap again, “I know what a sail burton is, sir.”“And an up and down tackle, too?”“Yes, sir; it is used for setting up the lower rigging.”“Bravo, youngster! You’ll be a man before your mother if you go on at that rate!” said he, with a hearty laugh at my assurance, which seemed to frighten the other cadets who came with me, for they looked as meek as mice.But, as I trotted away at a sign of dismissal from him to seek the boatswain on the forecastle, where I knew his especial domain lay, I heard Commander Nesbitt say in an undertone to one of the lieutenants who just then stepped down from the poop to join him. “That’s a sharp lad, Cheffinch, and one who’ll make his mark, if I’m not mistaken. He’s quite a contrast to the sucking Nelsons they generally send us from the training-ship, who don’t, as a rule, know a goose from a gridiron!”What the lieutenant said in reply to this complimentary allusion to my whilom comrades of theIllustrious, and the system of instruction pursued on board that vessel, I cannot tell, for I was out of earshot, hastening forward as speedily as I could, so as to deserve the good opinion the commander seemed to have already formed of me.This, I may here add, I succeeded in doing; for, I made my reappearance on the quarter-deck in a brace of shakes, with the boatswain in person and a party of topmen bringing aft the respective “purchases” the commander had specified—blocks and strops and running gear of all sorts, all ready for instant service.“Mr Hawser,” said Commander Nesbitt to the boatswain as we got near, giving me a kindly nod to express his approval of my having carried out his orders so promptly, “I must have that main-tops’l yard up before you pipe to dinner.”“Very good, sir,” replied the warrant officer, touching his cap again, as he had done when approaching the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck. “The spar, sir, is fitted all right for going up; but, sir, it’s getting on now for Seven Bells.”“I don’t care what the time is, bosun; it’s got to be done, and that’s the long and the short of it,” retorted the commander sharply, flashing his eyes in a way that showed he was not to be put off when he had once made up his mind. “Maintop, there!”“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the captain of the top, looking over the rail instantly and leaving off the work of fitting the upper standing rigging, on which he and his men were engaged when this vigorous hail reached the top, thundered out with all the power of the commander’s lungs. “Want me down, sir?”“Down? No, my man; but lower a whip at once for the sail burton, and you can lower the tops’l tye as well. I’m going to send up the yard at once!”“Ay, ay, sir.”Promptitude begets like promptness.Before you could say “Jack Robinson,” the whip was down and the purchase in the top; then, the standing part of the tackle was made fast to the yard pendant and the spar swayed up, as the men walked away with the fall, which was rove through a snatchblock hooked on to a ringbolt fixed in the deck and led to the capstan.Ere a quarter-of-an-hour had elapsed, the yard was slung and firmly secured, with the halliards and braces rigged in proper fashion.In the middle of the operation, however, the attention of the hard-worked commander was called in another direction.A fat, heavy, seafaring-looking man in a short pilot jacket came up to him as he was uttering rapid commands to the sailors aloft in stentorian accents from the poop-rail.“Beg pardon, sir,” said this gentleman, whom I presently learnt was Mr Quadrant, the master, or navigating officer of the ship; one who used in the old days to have charge of all the material on board a man-of-war, just as the commander looks after the crew. “None of those stores, sir, have come off from the dockyard that were promised this morning, and all my hands are idle below. What am I to do, sir?”“Send a boat at once to the storekeeper, to lodge a complaint.”“Yes, sir. But, there’s only the jollyboat left, sir, now, besides the dinghy. All the others are ashore.”“Well, send the jollyboat; and, I say, Mr Quadrant,” added Commander Nesbitt as the master was waddling off down the companionway, “tell the midshipman who goes with the boat that if the things are not sent aboard at once, he is to make application at the Admiral’s office, complaining of the delay. P’raps, though, you’d better go yourself, eh?”“I will if you like, sir,” sighed the master, who had already had too much exercise between decks and up and down the hatchways to feel enamoured of a walk ashore over the rough cobblestones of the dockyard. “But, I don’t think they’ll hurry any the more for me than they would for a middy, sir. He would be able, too, sir, to cheek the yard people all the better, sir.”“Just as you please, Mr Quadrant,” returned the commander in a decided tone. “I should prefer, however, your going yourself to sending any other officer.” This was equivalent to an order; and the master with a deep groan disappeared, only to make room for Mr Nipper, the purser.This gentleman came across the gangway from the hulk—on board of which we were all berthed while our own ship was fitting out. He seemed in a great heat, as if something had put him out very much indeed, looking worried beyond endurance.“Captain Nesbitt, sir,” said he to the commander, touching his cap like the others, “what am I to do, sir?”“I’m sure I can’t say, Mr Nipper,” rejoined the commander in an off-hand way, for he had just given the order to sway the yard aloft, and was watching whether the spar cleared the top and keeping a wary eye that it did not get foul of the mainstay, or something else aloft. “What’s the matter?”“Those people at the victualling yard haven’t sent our fresh beef yet aboard, sir,” answered the purser, a thin, fussy little man, in a whining way, as if he were going to cry, “and there’s nothing to serve out for the men’s dinners—at least, not enough for all.”“That’s too bad!” cried the commander, indignantly; “why did you not tell me of this before?”“I was expecting the boat would come with the meat every minute, sir.”“Is there no beef at all on board?”“Only the wardroom and gunroom supply.”“Then serve that out at once to the men—they sha’n’t go without their dinner if I can help it.”“But, sir, what will the officers do?”“Ah, you must settle that as best as you can with the wardroom steward, sir! Let this, Mr Nipper, be a lesson to you in future not to put off things until the last moment! You may take the dinghy, if you like, by-and-by and go to Clarence yard yourself, to see what can be done for getting some more beef for the wardroom and gunroom mess; but, I cannot spare another officer or man. We’re much too short-handed already!”This was true enough, for we had only about a couple of hundred men of our crew, including the seamen, gunners and petty officers, as yet aboard.In those days only the marines and boys were drafted to ships when first commissioned, the compliment having to be made up as hands volunteered to join in response to the bills inviting enrolment that were stuck up in some selected public-house or tavern ashore, which, as the master-at-arms told me, was called the “Randy-woo!”The continuous service system now in vogue was not adopted until within a comparatively recent period, say some thirty years ago at the outside; prior to this all bluejackets on their discharge from a ship when she was paid off, instead of being merely granted leave according to the present custom, became absolutely free men and having the right to quit the service, if they so wished, for good and all.Although, should they change their minds after their money was all spent and come forward to join another ship about to be commissioned, the different periods they might have previously served afloat counted towards the time required to qualify them for a pension.When, therefore, theCandaharwas ordered to hoist the pennant and her captain and other officers appointed, she only received a certain percentage of trained gunnery hands from theExcellent, with a few boys and marines.She had to go into the open market, as it were, for the rest of her crew, like any ordinary ship about to sail on a trading voyage.Such being the case, following the usual practice at the time, the “Earl Saint Vincent,” a tavern on Common Hard, was chosen for our rallying-place, or rendezvous.A large broadsheet was exposed in the window of this tavern inviting able-bodied seamen and artificers to join the battleship; one of our lieutenants attending each day for a certain number of hours at the little shipping office which was established in the bar parlour of the tavern to inspect the discharge notices and certificates of any sailors or landsmen who might wish to join.The officer relegated to this duty took care to satisfy himself that any candidates he selected should pass muster with the commander before sending them on board.He knew well enough that if the men had previously served in the navy and their characters were marked “very good,” or even “good,” there was little doubt of their acceptance.Up to the date of my going on board the ship, though, our recruiting agency had not been very successful.Not half our required number of men, had, indeed, as yet volunteered for theCandahar; for, most of the old hands worth their salt fought shy of the station she was reported to be going to, on account less of its unhealthiness, which to Jack is of small account, than to the absence of any prize-money or extra pay, such as might be gained even on the deadly West Coast, with its malarial fever and pestiferous mangrove swamps that form the white man’s grave.But, all of a sudden, public opinion, so far as the sailor world was concerned, veered round in our favour.It had leaked out that there was a prospect of our having a scrimmage with the mandarins.In this case, of course, there would be dollars and other sorts of “loot” knocking about.So, that very day, volunteers began to come off to the ship; not by threes and fours as they had done before, but by twenties and more at a stretch.Of these the launch brought off a large cargo alongside immediately after the commander’s interview with the purser; and I thus had the opportunity of seeing how the men were scrutinised and sorted for the “watch bill,” which the chief of our executive made out himself—as indeed he seemed to do everything, looking after everybody else all the while.The coxswain of the launch, with a touch of his forelock, handed over the discharge notes and certificates of such of the motley group that came up the side that had these documents, which the second lieutenant, a knowing fellow, who was in charge of our shipping office that morning, had pocketed when he engaged the men; doing this as a sort of preventative to their backing out of the bargain afterwards.These greasy papers, which he did not open, were then passed on to the midshipman on duty on the quarter-deck, with orders to take them to the purser’s office; and the commander then proceeded to muster the lot abaft the mainmast bitts.“What were you aboard your last ship?” asked he of a smart-looking seaman on the right of the line as they stood across the deck facing him, who appeared neater and nattier than the rest. “What rating did you take up?”“Cap’en of the foretop, sir.”“All right, you’re the very man I want!” said the commander. “You may go and do the duty, and if you are diligent and active you shall have the rate.”The next chap stated he had been an able seamen in his previous ship, so he was sent on to the forecastle to add to the long roll already there.So was another and another, till Commander Nesbitt lighted on a man who said he had been a shipwright in the dockyard, whom he marked down to join the carpenter’s crew.Several ordinary seamen followed, until the fag end of the lot was reached, consisting of a number of greenhorns who had never been to sea previously; and these, on declaring their willingness to serve Her Gracious Majesty, were sent down into the steerage to join the after-guard.“What are you?” inquired the commander of a sooty sort of gentleman, who, with another more morose personage, stood at the extreme rear of this group. “I mean, what did you do ashore for a livelihood, my man?”“Wot hev h’I been a-doin’ of fur a lively-hood, sir?” repeated the sooty gentleman, who evidently was a wag, speaking, albeit with a comical expression on his countenance, with a native dignity that would have won the praise of Lord Chesterfield. “W’y, sir, h’I’m a ‘h’upright,’ sir, that’s wot h’I h’am!”“An ‘upright’!” exclaimed Commander Nesbitt, with a smile. “I’ve heard of wheelwrights, and millwrights and shipwrights, of course, but never of such a calling as an ‘upright’—what’s that, eh?”“I thought as ’ow I’d puzzle you, sir,” replied the man with a grin. “I’m a chimbly-sweeper by trade.”“Oh, a chimney-sweeper? Then you ought to be good at climbing, and I cannot do better than send you aloft. You can go forrud now.”Saying this, the commander turned to the last man the morose one, questioning him in like fashion.“And what have you been?”“I’m a ‘downright,’ sir,” said he, as grave as a judge. “Wot they calls a ‘downright,’ sir.”“Now, don’t you try on any of your jokes with me, my man, or you’ll find yourself in the wrong box, which is the strong box on board ship, and vulgarly called chokey!”“I ain’t a-joking,” replied the other, speaking as gravely as before and without even the shadow of a smile on his face. “I’m a ‘downright,’ that’s what I am.”“Pray, what profession is that,” asked the commander, sarcastically. “I would not like to hurt your feelings by calling your avocation a trade!”“You’re right, sir,” returned the other, as calmly as possible, without turning a hair; “I’m a gravedigger.”This fairly made the commander collapse.“You may muster with the after-guard,” was the only reply he made, but we all could see that he had hard work to keep his gravity, as he turned towards the boatswain’s mate and ordered him to pipe the men to dinner in a sharp tone; and he said to Mr Cheffinch, the gunnery lieutenant, when he crossed over the deck to go on board the oldBlaketo lunch, “He had me nicely there, like that other joker the chimney-sweeper. It must have been a planned thing between the two rascals!”
“In bows!” cried the coxswain of the cutter as we neared the starboard side of the old hulk to which theCandaharwas lashed; and, the next minute, when close up to the foot of the accommodation ladder, the same functionary shouted the usual orders on approaching to board a ship. “Way enough. Oars!”
The oars were at once tossed, while the bowman gripped a projecting ringbolt in the side of the hulk with his boathook to hold on by; and the other cadets and myself, jumping out on to the ladderway, made our way nimbly enough up to the deck of the mastlessBlake, passing over her by a gangway to theCandaharthat lay on her further side.
Here all was apparent confusion, stores of all sorts being hoisted in by a derrick amidships from the dockyard lighters alongside and struck down the main hatchway, while ropes and tackle of every description lumbered the upper deck fore and aft.
Groups of men, clad in dirty overalls, were busy setting up the rigging and getting the yards into position; and hoarse orders were shouted ever and anon, followed by the shrill pipe of the boatswain’s whistle and the steady tramp of the hands as they walked round with the capstan and swayed the heavy spars aloft, or hauled away at the gantlines and steadying guys and purchase falls and other tackle.
The commander, the presiding spirit of the scene, if a smart officer, has never a better opportunity for showing his smartness than when a ship is fitting for sea; all the burthen of the work then falls upon his shoulders, for he has to be here and there and everywhere, directing a hundred different jobs at one and the same time.
As I went aft, and approached the hallowed ground of the quarter-deck, I saw him standing under the break of the poop.
He was a fine, big, broad-shouldered west-countryman with the voice of a stentor; and, although he was dressed in a somewhat shabby old uniform coat and had his trousers tucked into his boots, he looked every inch a gentleman, as he was, indeed, not only by birth, but by breeding.
“Come on board, sir,” said I touching my cap, when a slight lull occurred in the general din caused by the creaking blocks and groaning tackle as the heavy spars were swayed aloft, and the continual tramp of men along the deck “walking up the capstan” or hoisting at the whips leading down into the hold. “I’ve just come on board, sir.”
“Oh, you’ve come on board, youngster, eh?” he repeated questioningly, slewing round in his tracks and bringing his piercing black eyes to bear on my small person; when he looked me through and through, “taking my measure” at a glance. “Ah, I see, you’re one of our new cadets from theIllustriouscome to report yourself, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, smiling in response to the pleasant look on his face. “I’ve come to join theCandahar, sir.”
“What’s your name, young gentleman?”
I told him.
“Ah, you’re the little shaver Mr Tangent spoke of to me the other night when I dined with the Admiral! He said he knew your father, and thought you would turn out a smart officer; so, I hope you’ll support the good character he gave you. Belay there, bosun’s mate, you’ll let that cask down by the run if you don’t look out!” he cried out suddenly to a stout petty officer who was superintending a gang of men who were taking in provisions from one of the lighters alongside, and lowering the same into the after hold. “Steady, you may carry on, now; that’s better!”
“Now, my little friend,” he continued, resuming his conversation with me. “We’ll see how smart you can be. Run forruds and tell the bosun I want the sail burton brought aft, and an up and down tackle fitted to the mainyard, if you are able to recollect all that?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” I replied, touching my cap again, “I know what a sail burton is, sir.”
“And an up and down tackle, too?”
“Yes, sir; it is used for setting up the lower rigging.”
“Bravo, youngster! You’ll be a man before your mother if you go on at that rate!” said he, with a hearty laugh at my assurance, which seemed to frighten the other cadets who came with me, for they looked as meek as mice.
But, as I trotted away at a sign of dismissal from him to seek the boatswain on the forecastle, where I knew his especial domain lay, I heard Commander Nesbitt say in an undertone to one of the lieutenants who just then stepped down from the poop to join him. “That’s a sharp lad, Cheffinch, and one who’ll make his mark, if I’m not mistaken. He’s quite a contrast to the sucking Nelsons they generally send us from the training-ship, who don’t, as a rule, know a goose from a gridiron!”
What the lieutenant said in reply to this complimentary allusion to my whilom comrades of theIllustrious, and the system of instruction pursued on board that vessel, I cannot tell, for I was out of earshot, hastening forward as speedily as I could, so as to deserve the good opinion the commander seemed to have already formed of me.
This, I may here add, I succeeded in doing; for, I made my reappearance on the quarter-deck in a brace of shakes, with the boatswain in person and a party of topmen bringing aft the respective “purchases” the commander had specified—blocks and strops and running gear of all sorts, all ready for instant service.
“Mr Hawser,” said Commander Nesbitt to the boatswain as we got near, giving me a kindly nod to express his approval of my having carried out his orders so promptly, “I must have that main-tops’l yard up before you pipe to dinner.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the warrant officer, touching his cap again, as he had done when approaching the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck. “The spar, sir, is fitted all right for going up; but, sir, it’s getting on now for Seven Bells.”
“I don’t care what the time is, bosun; it’s got to be done, and that’s the long and the short of it,” retorted the commander sharply, flashing his eyes in a way that showed he was not to be put off when he had once made up his mind. “Maintop, there!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the captain of the top, looking over the rail instantly and leaving off the work of fitting the upper standing rigging, on which he and his men were engaged when this vigorous hail reached the top, thundered out with all the power of the commander’s lungs. “Want me down, sir?”
“Down? No, my man; but lower a whip at once for the sail burton, and you can lower the tops’l tye as well. I’m going to send up the yard at once!”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
Promptitude begets like promptness.
Before you could say “Jack Robinson,” the whip was down and the purchase in the top; then, the standing part of the tackle was made fast to the yard pendant and the spar swayed up, as the men walked away with the fall, which was rove through a snatchblock hooked on to a ringbolt fixed in the deck and led to the capstan.
Ere a quarter-of-an-hour had elapsed, the yard was slung and firmly secured, with the halliards and braces rigged in proper fashion.
In the middle of the operation, however, the attention of the hard-worked commander was called in another direction.
A fat, heavy, seafaring-looking man in a short pilot jacket came up to him as he was uttering rapid commands to the sailors aloft in stentorian accents from the poop-rail.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said this gentleman, whom I presently learnt was Mr Quadrant, the master, or navigating officer of the ship; one who used in the old days to have charge of all the material on board a man-of-war, just as the commander looks after the crew. “None of those stores, sir, have come off from the dockyard that were promised this morning, and all my hands are idle below. What am I to do, sir?”
“Send a boat at once to the storekeeper, to lodge a complaint.”
“Yes, sir. But, there’s only the jollyboat left, sir, now, besides the dinghy. All the others are ashore.”
“Well, send the jollyboat; and, I say, Mr Quadrant,” added Commander Nesbitt as the master was waddling off down the companionway, “tell the midshipman who goes with the boat that if the things are not sent aboard at once, he is to make application at the Admiral’s office, complaining of the delay. P’raps, though, you’d better go yourself, eh?”
“I will if you like, sir,” sighed the master, who had already had too much exercise between decks and up and down the hatchways to feel enamoured of a walk ashore over the rough cobblestones of the dockyard. “But, I don’t think they’ll hurry any the more for me than they would for a middy, sir. He would be able, too, sir, to cheek the yard people all the better, sir.”
“Just as you please, Mr Quadrant,” returned the commander in a decided tone. “I should prefer, however, your going yourself to sending any other officer.” This was equivalent to an order; and the master with a deep groan disappeared, only to make room for Mr Nipper, the purser.
This gentleman came across the gangway from the hulk—on board of which we were all berthed while our own ship was fitting out. He seemed in a great heat, as if something had put him out very much indeed, looking worried beyond endurance.
“Captain Nesbitt, sir,” said he to the commander, touching his cap like the others, “what am I to do, sir?”
“I’m sure I can’t say, Mr Nipper,” rejoined the commander in an off-hand way, for he had just given the order to sway the yard aloft, and was watching whether the spar cleared the top and keeping a wary eye that it did not get foul of the mainstay, or something else aloft. “What’s the matter?”
“Those people at the victualling yard haven’t sent our fresh beef yet aboard, sir,” answered the purser, a thin, fussy little man, in a whining way, as if he were going to cry, “and there’s nothing to serve out for the men’s dinners—at least, not enough for all.”
“That’s too bad!” cried the commander, indignantly; “why did you not tell me of this before?”
“I was expecting the boat would come with the meat every minute, sir.”
“Is there no beef at all on board?”
“Only the wardroom and gunroom supply.”
“Then serve that out at once to the men—they sha’n’t go without their dinner if I can help it.”
“But, sir, what will the officers do?”
“Ah, you must settle that as best as you can with the wardroom steward, sir! Let this, Mr Nipper, be a lesson to you in future not to put off things until the last moment! You may take the dinghy, if you like, by-and-by and go to Clarence yard yourself, to see what can be done for getting some more beef for the wardroom and gunroom mess; but, I cannot spare another officer or man. We’re much too short-handed already!”
This was true enough, for we had only about a couple of hundred men of our crew, including the seamen, gunners and petty officers, as yet aboard.
In those days only the marines and boys were drafted to ships when first commissioned, the compliment having to be made up as hands volunteered to join in response to the bills inviting enrolment that were stuck up in some selected public-house or tavern ashore, which, as the master-at-arms told me, was called the “Randy-woo!”
The continuous service system now in vogue was not adopted until within a comparatively recent period, say some thirty years ago at the outside; prior to this all bluejackets on their discharge from a ship when she was paid off, instead of being merely granted leave according to the present custom, became absolutely free men and having the right to quit the service, if they so wished, for good and all.
Although, should they change their minds after their money was all spent and come forward to join another ship about to be commissioned, the different periods they might have previously served afloat counted towards the time required to qualify them for a pension.
When, therefore, theCandaharwas ordered to hoist the pennant and her captain and other officers appointed, she only received a certain percentage of trained gunnery hands from theExcellent, with a few boys and marines.
She had to go into the open market, as it were, for the rest of her crew, like any ordinary ship about to sail on a trading voyage.
Such being the case, following the usual practice at the time, the “Earl Saint Vincent,” a tavern on Common Hard, was chosen for our rallying-place, or rendezvous.
A large broadsheet was exposed in the window of this tavern inviting able-bodied seamen and artificers to join the battleship; one of our lieutenants attending each day for a certain number of hours at the little shipping office which was established in the bar parlour of the tavern to inspect the discharge notices and certificates of any sailors or landsmen who might wish to join.
The officer relegated to this duty took care to satisfy himself that any candidates he selected should pass muster with the commander before sending them on board.
He knew well enough that if the men had previously served in the navy and their characters were marked “very good,” or even “good,” there was little doubt of their acceptance.
Up to the date of my going on board the ship, though, our recruiting agency had not been very successful.
Not half our required number of men, had, indeed, as yet volunteered for theCandahar; for, most of the old hands worth their salt fought shy of the station she was reported to be going to, on account less of its unhealthiness, which to Jack is of small account, than to the absence of any prize-money or extra pay, such as might be gained even on the deadly West Coast, with its malarial fever and pestiferous mangrove swamps that form the white man’s grave.
But, all of a sudden, public opinion, so far as the sailor world was concerned, veered round in our favour.
It had leaked out that there was a prospect of our having a scrimmage with the mandarins.
In this case, of course, there would be dollars and other sorts of “loot” knocking about.
So, that very day, volunteers began to come off to the ship; not by threes and fours as they had done before, but by twenties and more at a stretch.
Of these the launch brought off a large cargo alongside immediately after the commander’s interview with the purser; and I thus had the opportunity of seeing how the men were scrutinised and sorted for the “watch bill,” which the chief of our executive made out himself—as indeed he seemed to do everything, looking after everybody else all the while.
The coxswain of the launch, with a touch of his forelock, handed over the discharge notes and certificates of such of the motley group that came up the side that had these documents, which the second lieutenant, a knowing fellow, who was in charge of our shipping office that morning, had pocketed when he engaged the men; doing this as a sort of preventative to their backing out of the bargain afterwards.
These greasy papers, which he did not open, were then passed on to the midshipman on duty on the quarter-deck, with orders to take them to the purser’s office; and the commander then proceeded to muster the lot abaft the mainmast bitts.
“What were you aboard your last ship?” asked he of a smart-looking seaman on the right of the line as they stood across the deck facing him, who appeared neater and nattier than the rest. “What rating did you take up?”
“Cap’en of the foretop, sir.”
“All right, you’re the very man I want!” said the commander. “You may go and do the duty, and if you are diligent and active you shall have the rate.”
The next chap stated he had been an able seamen in his previous ship, so he was sent on to the forecastle to add to the long roll already there.
So was another and another, till Commander Nesbitt lighted on a man who said he had been a shipwright in the dockyard, whom he marked down to join the carpenter’s crew.
Several ordinary seamen followed, until the fag end of the lot was reached, consisting of a number of greenhorns who had never been to sea previously; and these, on declaring their willingness to serve Her Gracious Majesty, were sent down into the steerage to join the after-guard.
“What are you?” inquired the commander of a sooty sort of gentleman, who, with another more morose personage, stood at the extreme rear of this group. “I mean, what did you do ashore for a livelihood, my man?”
“Wot hev h’I been a-doin’ of fur a lively-hood, sir?” repeated the sooty gentleman, who evidently was a wag, speaking, albeit with a comical expression on his countenance, with a native dignity that would have won the praise of Lord Chesterfield. “W’y, sir, h’I’m a ‘h’upright,’ sir, that’s wot h’I h’am!”
“An ‘upright’!” exclaimed Commander Nesbitt, with a smile. “I’ve heard of wheelwrights, and millwrights and shipwrights, of course, but never of such a calling as an ‘upright’—what’s that, eh?”
“I thought as ’ow I’d puzzle you, sir,” replied the man with a grin. “I’m a chimbly-sweeper by trade.”
“Oh, a chimney-sweeper? Then you ought to be good at climbing, and I cannot do better than send you aloft. You can go forrud now.”
Saying this, the commander turned to the last man the morose one, questioning him in like fashion.
“And what have you been?”
“I’m a ‘downright,’ sir,” said he, as grave as a judge. “Wot they calls a ‘downright,’ sir.”
“Now, don’t you try on any of your jokes with me, my man, or you’ll find yourself in the wrong box, which is the strong box on board ship, and vulgarly called chokey!”
“I ain’t a-joking,” replied the other, speaking as gravely as before and without even the shadow of a smile on his face. “I’m a ‘downright,’ that’s what I am.”
“Pray, what profession is that,” asked the commander, sarcastically. “I would not like to hurt your feelings by calling your avocation a trade!”
“You’re right, sir,” returned the other, as calmly as possible, without turning a hair; “I’m a gravedigger.”
This fairly made the commander collapse.
“You may muster with the after-guard,” was the only reply he made, but we all could see that he had hard work to keep his gravity, as he turned towards the boatswain’s mate and ordered him to pipe the men to dinner in a sharp tone; and he said to Mr Cheffinch, the gunnery lieutenant, when he crossed over the deck to go on board the oldBlaketo lunch, “He had me nicely there, like that other joker the chimney-sweeper. It must have been a planned thing between the two rascals!”