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 the Illustrious training-ship, then stationed at Portsmouth, like as her successor the Britannia was 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. “They will 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 the Illustrious.
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:—
“Worm and parcel with the lay,
And serve the 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 the Candahar, 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 the Candahar; then lying alongside the old Blake hulk 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!”