Chapter Eleven.
“Shortening in Cable.”
“Rouse out, port watch and idlers! Rouse out! rouse out!” hoarsely shouted out the boatswain’s mates along the lower deck; and this call, mingled with the shrill piping wail of their whistles and the tramp of hurrying feet as the men straggled up the hatchway to stow their hammocks in the nettings above, awoke me from my slumbers next morning in the dreary semi-darkness of the so-called daylight.
I was so tired and sleepy that I was hardly half-roused even by all this uproar. Indeed, I was just dropping off again, when Dick Andrews, one of my fellow cadets from the training-ship, who had joined the Candahar the same time as myself and was rather a bumptious and overbearing sort of chap, shook me violently.
“Turn out, you lazy lubber, turn out,” he shouted. “It’s long past Eight Bells, and old Bitpin, who has taken Joe Jellaby’s watch and is looking after the men scrubbing decks, has been asking for you. He’s in a fine temper this morning, Master John Vernon, I can tell you; so, you’d better look sharp, my lad, or you’ll ‘catch Tommy’ when he sees you.”
“Oh, bother!” I cried, with a yawn that nearly dislocated my jaw, shoving a leg over the side of my hammock lazily enough, loth to leave my snug, warm nest for the cold, uncomfortable quarter-deck, where I knew there would be a lot of water sluicing about and the men holystoning, to make it more unpleasant. “I wish you wouldn’t call me names, Andrews! You’re not so awfully smart at rousing out yourself, that you can afford to brag about it! Why, Larkyns had to drag you round the gunroom last night in your nightshirt before he could make you wake up.”
“Larkyns is a bully!” exclaimed Andrews, angrily. “He’s a mean, cowardly bully!”
“Is he, my joker?” said that identical individual, whose approach was unnoticed by either of us, catching his slanderer a crack on the head which sent him spinning. “There, take that in proof of your statement! If I’m a bully, Mr Andrews, I must act as such, or you’ll call me a liar next!”
“I was only joking,” snivelled Dick, picking himself up and rubbing his cheek ruefully. “I didn’t mean anything.”
“Neither did I,” replied Larkyns, drily, as he peeled off his jacket and the thick woollen comforter he had wrapped round his neck to keep out the chilly night air, and prepared to turn in after his watch on deck so as to have a nice snooze before breakfast. “I only gave you a striking proof of my devoted friendship for you, old chappie, that’s all!”
With which parting words, he dexterously jumped into his hammock, rolling himself up like a worm in the blankets within; and, such was the facility of habit, I declare he was snoring like a grampus ere I had completed my dressing, although I scrambled into my clothes as quickly as I could, and hurried out of the steerage.
I left Dick Andrews still rubbing his cheek disconsolately and muttering impotent threats against his now unconscious assailant; but, he didn’t do this until he was certain Larkyns could not hear good wishes on his behalf!
On going up the hatchway, I found all hands busy scrubbing and washing down the decks, which were in a precious mess.
There was a fair division of labour in carrying out the operation, the topmen and after-guard scouring the planks with sand; after which the decks were flushed fore and aft with floods of water pumped up by the “idlers.”
Those are really a most useful and industrious class of misnamed men consisting of the carpenters, sailmakers, coopers, blacksmiths and other artificers, besides the cook’s mates and yeomen of stores.
In our ship the lot numbered no less than some seventy in all, who every morning assisted in this praiseworthy task!
Creeping up as quietly as I could and trying to avoid observation from the squinting eye of Mr Bitpin, our fourth lieutenant, who was the oldest in seniority although he occupied such a subordinate position, I made my way to the side of Ned Anstruther, the midshipman of the watch, who stood on the weather side of the quarter-deck on a coil of rope so as to keep his feet out of the way of the water that was swishing round.
Ned nodded me a greeting; and, I fancied myself safe, when in an instant my presence was noted by the lieutenant, who turned on me.
“Hullo, youngster!” he called out, looking down from the break of the poop, whence he had been surveying operations, finding fault with the men beneath in quick succession, according to his general wont, and having a snap and a snarl at everyone. His temper, never a good one originally, had been soured by a bad digestion and ill luck in the way of promotion, the poor beggar having been passed over repeatedly by men younger than himself. “How is it you were not here when the watch was mustered?”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” said I, apologetically. “I overslept myself, sir.”
“Oh, indeed? You’d better not be late again when I’m officer of the watch, or I’ll have you spread-eagled in the mizzen rigging as a warning to others, like they nail up crows against a barn door ashore. That’ll make you sharper next time, my joker! Do you hear me, youngster?”
“Yes, sir,” said I, touching my cap. “I hear you, sir.”
“Very well, then. Mind you heed as well as hear!” he replied snappishly, rather disappointed, I thought, at my making no further answer, or trying to argue the point with him. “You can go down now to the wardroom steward and tell him to get me a cup of coffee as quickly as he can. Now, don’t be a month of Sundays about it! Say it must be hot and strong, and not like that dish-water he brought me yesterday; or, I’ll put him in the list and stop his grog! Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” I said respectfully as before, giving no occasion for offence so as to come in for more grumbling on his part. “I hear you, sir.”
“Confound that youngster, I can’t catch him anyhow!” I heard him mutter to himself as if uttering his thoughts aloud, as I turned away with another touch of my cap and left the quarter-deck to fulfil my errand. “He’s like those monkeys at the Rock—too artful to speak. Keeps his tripping lines too taut for that!”
He was quite right; for, three weeks’ association on board, though I had been brought little in contact with him, had taught me to know his character pretty well. I had learnt that the best way to get on with Mr Bitpin was, to let him do all the talking and only to answer him when necessity required.
It was advisable also that the reply should be made in the fewest words possible, such a course giving him no ground for further complaint.
When I returned, some few minutes later, with the desired refreshment for the lieutenant, which I brought up myself, thus saving the wardroom steward, who was a very decent fellow, a probable wigging besides getting a cup of coffee myself as a bonus for performing the service, I found the decks swabbed and almost dry; the ropes, too, were all coiled and flemished down handsomely, and everything around looking as neat as a new pin.
Mr Bitpin, also, was in a better humour, a sip of the smoking coffee, which apparently was just to his taste, adding to his content at the scrubbing operations having been accomplished to his satisfaction.
“Thank you, my boy, for bringing this,” he said, with a smack of his lips as he took a good long gulp of the grateful fluid, giving an approving nod to me. “That lazy steward would have taken half-an-hour at least if you had left it to him. When I’m as young as you are, I’ll do as much for you.”
I grinned at this, as did Ned Anstruther, who likewise winked in a knowing way to me behind Mr Bitpin’s broad back; but, before I could reply to the lieutenant’s complimentary speech, Commander Nesbitt made his appearance on the poop, having come up the after-hatchway and gone into and out of the captain’s cabin again, without either of us seeing him.
“Ah, good morning, Mr Bitpin,” he said, looking somewhat surprised at seeing that gentleman there. “I thought Mr Jellaby had the morning watch to-day?”
“So he had, sir,” answered the lieutenant, hastily putting down his empty cup under the binnacle out of sight of the commander, who he knew disliked anything out of order on deck. “But, sir, Mr Jellaby was late off last night from the admiral’s ball, and he begged me to take the duty for him. It is a great nuisance; for, I only turned in at Two Bells in the middle watch, myself. Of course, though, I couldn’t be disobliging, you know, sir.”
“Of course not, Mr Bitpin,” said Commander Nesbitt, amused at this unexpected piece of good nature from one who very seldom put himself out for anybody. “It does not matter in the least; but, I told Jellaby I wished to shorten in cable as soon as the decks were washed down.”
“He didn’t tell me anything about that, sir, when he came on board this morning; for I met him at the gangway,” growled out the crusty lieutenant in his usual surly way. “He was full of some Miss Thingamy’s dancing and made me sick by telling me at least twenty times over what a ‘chawming gurl’ she was!”
“No doubt of that. He’s a rare chap amongst the ladies, is our friend Jellaby!” said Commander Nesbitt laughing at Mr Bitpin’s imitation of Joe’s favourite expression. “We must see now, though, about shortening in without any further delay, for time’s getting on.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the lieutenant, dropping his unwonted jocularity and relapsing into his matter-of-fact official manner. “I’d better go on the fo’c’s’le and join Mr Morgan, the mate of the watch, who’s already there.”
“Thank you, Mr Bitpin,” briefly said the commander by way of dismissal; and then, bending over the poop-rail, he called out, “Bosun’s mate! Pipe all hands to shorten cable!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the petty officer addressed, putting his whistle to his mouth and blowing a shrill, ear-piercing call that echoed through the ship and was taken up by his brother mates below on the main and lower decks, whose voices could be heard, in every key, gruffly shouting out fore and aft, until the sound gradually died away in the distant recesses of the hold, “All hands, shorten cable!”
Immediately, as if touched by an enchanter’s wand, the quiet that had reigned on board since the decks had been washed down disappeared, and all was bustle and apparent confusion; although, it need hardly be said, order was paramount everywhere.
Such, indeed, is always on board a man-of-war, where each man knows his place and takes care to be in it as quickly as he can; especially when “all hands” are called as in the present instance.
In this case, as now, all the crew turn out and come on deck to their stations, whether it be their watch below or not.
Up, therefore, tumbled the men of the starboard watch, who had only been relieved from duty an hour before, at the same time I was first roused out by the obliging Dick Andrews.
After the men, but a little more leisurely, came the other officers not already on deck.
Amongst these were, the Honourable Digby Lanyard, our swell first lieutenant, eyeglass in eye as usual, and dressed as neatly as if going to divisions, although he had only such very short notice for his toilet; Joe Jellaby, the proper officer of my watch, whose place Mr Bitpin had taken for the nonce, rubbing his eyes and only half awake from his dreams of “that chawming gurl” at the admiral’s ball; Charley Gilham, our third lieutenant, a manly, blue-eyed sailor and fond of his profession, but no bookworm and bad at head-work; Mr Cheffinch, or “Gunnery Jack” as he was styled; the three other mates; and, all the middies and cadets, including Larkyns.
The latter was wroth at his ante-prandial snooze being so suddenly cut short; while Andrews, who followed in his rear, was savage at meeting his late antagonist so soon again, his friendly feelings towards whom were not increased by the foot of Larkyns giving him a “lift” up the hatchway as the pair scrambled on deck together, the cadet, unfortunately for himself, being a trifle ahead of the midshipman.
The first lieutenant, or “glass-eye” as the men called him, went out at once on the forecastle, where a number of the hands, under the superintendence of Mr Hawser, the boatswain, were already engaged rigging the fish davit and overhauling the anchor gear, with Mr Bitpin and Morgan looking on to see that everything was done properly.
“Charley” Gilham, and “Gunnery Jack,” stopped down on the main deck to look after the capstan, which was soon surrounded by a squad of “jollies” under the command of one of the marine officers, Lieutenant Wagstaff, a fellow as tall as a maypole and with a headpiece of very similar material!
Mr Jellaby, however, not knowing where his deputy, Mr Bitpin, might be, came up on the quarter-deck; but he had no sooner appeared there than the commander despatched him to another station.
“Please go down at once to the lower deck, Mr Jellaby,” said he, on catching sight of him. “I want you to attend to the working of the cables. See how smart you can be with those new hands we have from the foretop!”
“Very good, sir,” replied “Joe,” all on the alert in an instant. “I will go down directly.”
Away he accordingly went; whereupon, I, having nothing special to do, and seeing everyone else appointed to some station or other, was just scuttling down the hatchway after him when the Commander called me back.
“Stop here, Mr Vernon,” he cried. “I want you to act as my messenger again. Try if you can be as useful as the one they have to bring in the cable with. I suppose you know what sort of ‘messenger’ that is, eh?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” I replied glibly enough. “It is a species of endless chain, passing round the base of the capstan amidships, and through a stationary block called a ‘controller’ on the forepart of the lower deck, to which the cable is attached by nippers as it comes through the hawse-hole inboard; and, as the capstan is hove round, the messenger drags the cable up, the nippers being released and taken forward again to get a fresh grip, while the slack of the cable passes down the deck pipes into the cable lockers below, sir.”
“Very well answered, youngster,” said Commander Nesbitt, approvingly, when I had reeled off this long yarn. “But, I think, it’s about time for Mr Jellaby to give us the signal for heaving round now.”
He liked things done smartly, did the commander, for he knew how they should be done; and, being prompt and ready in his own actions, judged others by himself.
Barely five minutes had elapsed since “all hands” had been piped, and in that interval the cable had to be unbitted and the “slip” stopping it to the deck knocked off by the blacksmith.
In addition to this, the messenger had to be brought up to the unbitted end and the nippers gripped on before those working the capstan on the main deck above could commence heaving round in order to “bring in the shekels, like unto the Israelites of old and the Hebrews of the present day,” as Master Larkyns explained to me later; and yet, the commander grew impatient at the delay, in spite of all this having to be done in such a short space of time.
But, at last, the signal was given.
“Heave round!” snouted Mr Jellaby from the extreme fore-end of the lower deck, where he had been bustling up the topmen and seeing to the messenger being properly attached to the cable.
“Heave round,” also cried Sylvester, one of the midshipmen with him.
“Heave round,” repeated the boatswain’s mate further aft; while his fellow mates stationed along the hatchways above passed on the cry, till it reached the commander on the poop, who in his full-toned voice now transformed what was merely a signal that all was ready into an order.
This gave the required impetus to the working party on the main deck, who were waiting for this order, really to “Heave round!”
At once, the drummer and bugler, in attendance on the eager marines and after-guard, struck up with fife and drum the festive strains of “Judy Calaghan,” which Corporal Macan said “did his sowl good to hear, faith!”
Then, the bars having been previously shipped by Mr Cleete, the carpenter and his crew, round tramped the “jollies,” round went the capstan; and, with it, the messenger, the endless chain of which, revolving slowly, hauled the cable foot by foot inboard, the “lengths” dropping down the deck pipes out of the way as the slack was released from the messenger, and the nippers passed forwards again; and so on, over and over again!
I had ample opportunity for noticing this, the commander sending me on another errand down to the scene of operations almost as soon as the drumming and fifing began. This was much to my delight; for I enjoyed the strains of the jolly air played as much as Corporal Macan, as well as the steady tramp of the marines and after-guard round the capstan, the men stamping on the deck in time to the music, as if they would smash through the planking.
“Go and tell Mr Jellaby,” said he, “to shorten in to two shackles.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
With which response to Commander Nesbitt’s order, I sprang down the after-hatchway on to the main deck, proceeding thence below to where old “Joe” and his topmen were working.
Of course I gave the lieutenant the mandate with which I had been charged; but I remaining, boylike, to watch what was going on, the commander not having told me to return immediately, though I ought to have done so.
The capstan, however, was spun round so merrily by the marines while the nippers, in the hands of the active seamen, passed so freely; that, ere I knew how far the task had progressed, so as to be able to report to the commander the state of things, Mr Jellaby suddenly sang out “Belay!”
Instantly, the word being passed by the boatswain’s mates as before, so that the order reached the lieutenant in charge of the working party at the capstan above almost as soon as Mr Jellaby sang out from the lower deck forward, the music stopped suddenly, as if the drummer and fifer had both been shot on the spot.
With it, too, ceased the monotonous tramp, tramp, tramp of the men above our heads, which sounded through the thickness of the deck like a band of Ethiopian minstrels dancing a flap dance and marching “round the mulberry bush” afterwards, to “show their muscle,” as is the wont of these negro “entertainers,” so-called!
“You may go up now to the commander,” said Mr Jellaby to me, as a polite hint to be off, “and tell him that the second shackle’s just inside our hawse.”
“Very good, sir,” I replied, moving away as the blacksmith went to put the slip on the cable to secure it from running out until we were ready to weigh anchor later on. “I’ll tell him at once, sir.”
“All right,” said Commander Nesbitt, when I reached the poop and repeated Mr Jellaby’s message, the import of which he already knew from the stoppage of all movement below, and the report of the boatswain from the forecastle that the anchor was “a short stay apeak”; when, advancing to the rail, he called out in a louder key, “Bosun’s mate, pipe the hands to breakfast!”