Chapter Nine.
My Dip gains me a Dinner.
Fortunately, though, as I fell, my outstretched hands, clutching wildly in the air, came in contact with the identical rope whose sudden descent from the gangway above had been the unwitting cause of the disaster, the tail end of the “whip” Mr Triggs had ordered to be rigged up from the lee yardarm, in readiness to hoist in the powder when the hoy bringing the same was made fast alongside.
This naturally yielded to my weight as I clung to it, on account of the other end, which passed through a block fastened to the yard, not being secured.
However, it let me down easy into the water, my unexpected immersion making no noise to speak of and hardly causing a ripple on the surface of the tide as it gurgled past the ship’s counter and eddied away in ripples under her stem.
Not a soul on board, indeed, knew of my mishap save those merry messmates of mine, all of whom doubtless, I thought, as soon as I regained my composure after the fright and knew that I was comparatively safe, would be in a great funk, fearing the worst had happened.
Glancing upward, my head being just clear of the water, which I trod to keep myself in an erect position, holding on, though, all the while, “like grim death,” to the rope, of which I had taken a turn round my wrist, I saw Larkyns, the ringleader of the frolic, leaning out over the port sill as pale as a ghost.
He was looking downwards, in every direction but the right one, seeking vainly to discover me; and he evidently dreaded that I was drowned, his face being the picture of misery and despair.
“Hist, old chap, don’t call out,” I whispered in a low voice, as he was about to give up the search and rouse the ship. “I’m all right, my boy.”
“My goodness Vernon, is that you? I thought you were lost, old chap,” he hailed back in the same key, the expression of his face changing instantly to one of heartfelt relief. “Thank God you’re not drowned! But, where are you, old fellow; I can’t see you?”
“Right under your very nose, you blind old mole! I am bent on to a bight of the whip falls,” I answered, with a chuckle. “Keep the other end of the rope taut, old chap, and I’ll be able to climb up back into the port without anybody being the wiser but ourselves, my hearty, and so we’ll all escape going into the report.”
He grasped the situation in an instant; and, likewise, saw the advisability of keeping the matter quiet now that I was not in any imminent peril.
Master Larkyns knew as well as myself that if the tragic result of their skylarking should get wind and reach the ears of Captain Farmer, he and his brother mids would have a rough time of it, and probably all be had up on the quarter-deck.
“All serene, Vernon, I under-constubble,” he softly whispered back to me, in our gunroom slang. “Do you think you can manage to climb up by yourself, or shall I come down and help you?”
“Fiddlesticks, you duffer! I can get up right enough on my own cheek,” I said with a titter, though my mouth was full of the brackish water into which I had plunged at first head and ears over, while my teeth were chattering with cold, the frosty November air being chilly. “I shall fancy I’m climbing the greasy pole at a regatta and that you’re the pig on the top, old fellow. How’s that, umpire, for your ‘Squaretoes,’ eh?”
“Ah, pax! You’re a trump, Jack Vernon, and I promise never to call you by that name any more as it annoys you,” he replied, chuckling at my joke, though it was at his own expense. He then leant out of the port further so as to get a tight grip of the whip fall, the other fellows holding on to him in turn to prevent his toppling over and joining me below, singing out as soon as their preparations were completed, calling out to me, “Are you ready?”
“Ready?” I repeated, quoting my favourite Napierian motto again. “Ay ready!”
“Then, up you come, my joker! Put your feet in the bight and hold on to the slack of the rope above your head and we’ll hoist you up in regular man-of-war fashion. Now, my lads, pull baker, pull devil!”
He spoke under his breath; and yet, I heard every word he said, not only to me, but to the others inboard, grouped behind him within the port.
Quick as lightning I followed out his directions, clinging to the lower end of the rope like an eel; and, as soon as I gave the word, Larkyns and the rest of the mids clapping on to the running part of the whip falls, which ran through the block above, hoisted me up in a twinkling, as if I were a sack of flour, to the level of the port sill.
Once there, I was clutched by a dozen eager hands, and my whilom tormenters dragged me in, all dripping, and landed me on the deck beside them—“very like a fish,” according to the old adage; and bearing just then the most unmistakable evidence of having come “out of water!”
After thus “landing me,” the ends of the whip tackle were dropped again over the side in the same stealthy manner in which my rescue was effected, and as promptly.
My frolicsome friends were not an instant too soon; for, even while they were congratulating me all round, and declaring I was the best of good fellows for behaving so bravely and not “kicking up a row,” though I had gone overboard so suddenly, the big, broad-beamed powder hoy slewed up alongside and Mr Triggs bustled down the hatchway.
Immediately after him came Mr Cheffinch, our gunnery lieutenant, accompanied by a strong working party to ensure the rapid transhipment of the combustible material and its storage in the magazines; and we could hear the boatswain piping all hands on the upper deck to man the whip falls of the hoists and lowering tackle.
I at once rushed away to my chest in the steerage, to change my wet clothes, hoping to return as quickly as I could to see what was going on, without my plight being seen or anyone knowing what had happened to get me into such a drenched condition; but, unfortunately, Corporal Macan caught sight of me as I was struggling to open my chest, for my fingers were so numbed with the cold that the keys I held in my hand jingled like castanets.
“Begorrah an’ it’s a purty state ye’re in, sor,” he said, eyeing me with much commiseration. “Sure an’ ye’ve got the aguey.”
“Nonsense, Macan,” I answered shortly, wishing to shut him up at once, for he was Dr Nettleby’s factotum and if he got hold of the story it would soon be all over the ship. “I’ve only been splashed with some water and want to shift my rig, that’s all.”
“Sphlashed is it, sor?” he repeated with a broad grin that completely shut out the rest of his face. “Faith, if ye was to axe me I’d tell ye, begorrah, ye looks loike a drowned rat, sor!”
“None of your impudence, corporal,” I said with dignity, not liking his easy familiarity; though, poor fellow, he did not mean any harm by it, as it was only his Irish way of speaking; “I’ll report you to the sergeant.”
“An’ is it rayporting me, sor, you’d be afther, an’ you thremblin’ all over,” he rejoined, catching hold of me and helping to peel off my soaking garments. “Faith, sor, I’ll be afther rayportin’ you to the docthor!”
“Hi, hullo, who’s taking my name in vain?” at that moment exclaimed Dr Nettleby himself, emerging from the gunroom at this critical juncture, the worthy medico having been making his rounds, looking up some of those of his patients who were not actually on the sick list. “I’m sure I heard that Irish blackguard Macan’s voice somewhere. Ah, it is you, corporal, as I thought! Hi, hullo, what’s the matter, youngster?”
“I—I’m all right, sir,” said I, trying to rise, but sinking back again on the lid of my chest, where I had been sitting down while the good-natured marine was endeavouring to pull off my wet boots. “It is nothing, sir.”
“He’s bin taking a dip in the say, sir, wid all his clothes on,” explained Macan; “an’ faith he’s got a bit damp, sir.”
“Damp, you call it, corporal? Why, he’s dripping wet and chilled to the bone!” cried the doctor, feeling my pulse. “How did this come about, youngster?”
“It was an accident, sir,” I replied hesitatingly, not wishing to incriminate my messmates. “I would rather not speak of it, doctor, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh, I see, skylarking, eh? Well, well, you must go to bed at once, or you’ll be in a high fever before sundown. Corporal Macan!”
“Yis, sor.”
“Take this young gentleman to the sick bay and put him into a clean cot with plenty of blankets round him. By the way, too, corporal, ask Dr McGilpin to let you have a stiff glass of hot grog.”
“For mesilf, sor?”
“No, you rascal, confound your cheek! Certainly not,” replied the doctor, amused by the question. “This young gentleman is to take it as hot as he can drink it. It will throw him into a perspiration and make him sleep. Do you hear, youngster?”
“Y–es, sir,” I stammered out as well as I could, for my teeth were chattering again and I was shaking all over. “Bu–but I’d rather not go to the sick bay, sir, if you don’t mind. I don’t want anyone to hear of wha—what has hap-hap-happened.”
“Ah, yes, I see,” said Dr Nettleby. “You’re afraid of some of your nice messmates getting hauled over the coals? I bet that madcap Larkyns is at the bottom of it; I saw him with you close to one of the ports just now, as I passed by on my way down here, and I wondered what mischief you were up to! Well, well, I respect you, my boy, for not telling tales out of school, as the old saying goes; so, I won’t split on you. Carry the youngster to my cabin, Macan, and then nobody will know anything about the matter. See here, I will look after you myself, youngster and keep you a prisoner till you’re all right again. What d’you think of that, now?”
“Th-a-nk you, doctor,” said I, faintly, for I felt very weak and giddy, everything seeming to be whirling round me. “I’ll—”
“Yes, yes, I know; all right, my boy, all right,” interrupted the kind-hearted, old fellow, stopping any further attempt to speak on my part; and the brawny corporal of marines at the same instant lifting me up in his arms as if I were a baby, I lost consciousness, the last thing I recollect hearing being the doctor’s voice, sounding, though, far away as if a mile off, like a voice in a dream, saying to me in the soft, purring tone he always adopted when in a specially good temper, “Here, drink this, my boy, and go to sleep!”
“Faith an’ sure ye’re awake at last!” exclaimed Corporal Macan when I opened my eyes, a minute or so after this, as I thought. “How d’ye fale now, sor?”
“Hullo!” said I, raising my head and looking round me in astonishment. “Where am I?”
“In Dr Nittleby’s own cabin, sure,” answered the Irishman, grinning; “an’ by the same token, sor, as he wor called away by the cap’en, he lift me here for to say, he tould me, whither ye wor di’d or aloive, sure, whin ye woke up.”
“I feel awfully hungry, Corporal Macan,” said I, after a pause to reflect on the situation. “Have I been asleep long?”
“Ivver since Siven Bells, sure, in the forenoon watch, sor.”
“And what’s the time now?”
“Close on Four Bells in the first dog watch, sor.”
“Good gracious me!” I exclaimed in consternation, tossing off a lot of blankets that lay on the top of me and jumping out of the big bunk that was like a sofa, where I had been sleeping, on to the deck of the cabin; when I found I was attired only in a long garment, which must have been one of the doctor’s nightshirts, for it reached down considerably below my feet, tripping me up on my trying to walk towards the door. “Where are my clothes?”
“Here, sor,” replied the corporal, equal to the occasion, taking up a bundle that was lying on one of the lockers and proceeding to spread out my uniform, jacket and trousers and other articles of wearing apparel seriatim, on the top of the bed-place; Macan smoothing down each with the palm of his hand as if he were grooming a horse. “I had ’em dried at the galley foire, sor, whilst ye wor a-slapin’.”
“Thank you, corporal,” I said, dressing as quickly as I could with his assistance; the marine, like most of his class, being a handy, useful fellow and not a bad valet on a pinch. “I must hurry up. I wonder if I can get any dinner in the gunroom.”
“Faith ye’re too late for that, sor,” answered Macan with much concern. “An’ for tay, too, sor, as will. It’s all cleared away this hour an’ more.”
“Oh, dear, what shall I do?” I ejaculated as I dragged on my boots, which had not been improved by their dip in the sea and subsequent roasting on top of a hot iron stove, although I noticed they had been nicely polished by the corporal. “I feel hungry enough to ‘eat a horse and chase the rider,’ as I heard a fellow say the other day!”
“Ye must fale betther, sor, if you’re hoongry,” observed Macan on my completing my toilet and donning my cap again. “That’s a raal good sign whin ye’re inclined fur to ate—at laste that’s what the docther sez.”
“Providing you’ve got something to eat!” I rejoined ruefully, for I knew there wouldn’t be much left if the gunroom fellows had cleared out. “What did Doctor Nettleby say was the matter with me, eh?”
“He s’id ye wor a comet, sor.”
“A comet?” I repeated, laughing. “You’re making a mistake, corporal.”
“The divil a ha’porth, sor. He called ye that same.”
“Nonsense, man!” I said. “The doctor made use of some medical term, probably, which you don’t understand.”
“Mebbe, sor, for I’m no scholard, worse luck!” replied the corporal, unconvinced. “The docther do sometime bring out one of them outlandish wurrds that nayther the divvil nor Father Murphy, more power to him! could make out at all at all; but, whin ye dhropped down this afthernoon on the dick alongside o’ yer chist, an’ I picked ye up, he says, sez he, ye was ayther a ‘comet,’ or in a ‘comet house,’ or somethin’ loike that, I’ll take me oath wid me dyin’ breath, though what the divvil he manes, I’m sure I can’t say, sor!”
“Oh, I see now!” I exclaimed, a light suddenly flashing on me as to his meaning. “I must have fainted away and the doctor told you I was in a comatose state, eh?”
“An’ isn’t that, sure, a comet, sor, as I tould ye!” cried the Irishman, triumphantly. “Hullo, here’s Peters, the cap’en’s stooard dodgin’ about the gangway. I wondther what he’s afther?”
I walked out of the cabin as he spoke, and the man he referred to came up to me at once.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said he, civilly, touching his forelock in salute. “Mr Vernon, sir, I believe?”
“Yes,” I replied, rather anxious to learn what was wanted of me, “that is my name.”
“Cap’en Farmer presents his compliments, sir, and requests the pleasure of your company to dinner this evening.”
“Give my compliments to the captain, and say that I shall be most happy to accept his kind invitation,” I answered, putting on my most dignified manner, as if it was quite an everyday occurrence for me to be asked to dinner by officers of the highest rank; though, I felt inclined to jump with joy at the prospect, especially under the circumstances of my famished condition. “What time do you serve up dinner, steward?”
“We allers dines at Four Bells, sir,” said he, with equal dignity, conscious of his position apparently as captain’s steward, and at the same time not oblivious of the fact that I was only a naval cadet. “In ten minutes time, sir, dinner will be on the table.”
“All right, my man, I’ll be there,” I replied in an off-hand way, as he went on towards the wardroom, opposite to where we were standing; and I added aside to the corporal, “I don’t think there’s any fear of my being late!”
“Faith, the divil doubt ye, sor,” said Macan in reply to this, breaking into a broad grin as he set to work methodically to put the doctor’s cabin straight again, while I turned to go below to my proper quarters, with the intention of making myself smart for the forthcoming feast. “Musha, I wudn’t loike to be the dish foreninst ye, sor, if ye can ate a hoss, as ye s’id jist now!”
A few minutes later, attired in my best uniform, I was ushered by the marine sentry, who stood without the doorway, into the big after-cabin beneath the poop that served for Captain Farmer’s reception-room.
This was a handsome apartment, hung round with pictures and decorated with choice hothouse flowers and evergreens, as unlike as possible anything one might expect to find on board ship.
The very gun-carriages on either side were concealed by drapery, as well as the windows at the further end which opened on to the stern gallery, that projected, like a balcony, over the shimmering sea beneath, whereon the lights from the ports played and danced on the rippling tide in a hundred broken reflections, the evening having closed in and it now being quite dark around.
I was received very kindly by Captain Farmer.
He was a short and rather stout man, so he looked uncommonly funny in his mess jacket, which, according to the custom of the service, was cut in the Eton fashion and gave him a striking resemblance to an over-grown schoolboy, as I thought; but, I soon forgot his appearance, his manner was so charming, while his anxiety to set me at my ease seemed as great as if I had been an admiral at the least, instead of being only little Jack Vernon, naval cadet!
The doctor was talking to him when I came in; and he spoke to me very cordially, too, feeling my pulse as he shook hands with me.
“Ha! No fear of your kicking the bucket yet, my little friend,” he said in his dry way, as we all proceeded into the fore cabin, where dinner was laid, Captain Farmer leading the way as soon as his steward Peters intimated that everything was ready. “No cold or fever after your sudden chill, thanks to my prescription! But, I won’t answer for consumption after your long fast. I can see from your eye, youngster, you’ll have a bad attack of that presently, eh? Ho, ho, ho!”
Of course I grinned at this; and, I may state at once, that, by the time the repast was concluded, I had fully justified the doctor’s sapient prediction, being blessed with the healthiest of appetites and a good digestion, which my temporary indisposition had in nowise impaired.
Mr Cheffinch, our gunnery lieutenant, who was one of the other guests, sat beside me, and from a remark or two he made I discovered that not only did he know of my adventure, but that the captain was also cognisant with the circumstances of the case, although the facts had not been officially communicated to him and he was not supposed to be aware of what had happened.
“He thinks you behaved very pluckily, youngster,” observed Mr Cheffinch in the most gracious way, when informing me of this. “Ay and so do we all in the wardroom, let me tell you!”
“I’m sure I don’t know what I have done to deserve your praise, sir,” said I, feeling quite abashed by all these compliments. “It was all an accident.”
“It is not so much what you did as what you didn’t do, youngster,” he replied, frankly enough. “You didn’t show any funk or make a fuss when you fell overboard, and you did not wish to get your messmates into a scrape when Dr Nettleby—he told us this himself in confidence—found out the state you were in and made inquiries. In so doing, you behaved like a true sailor and a gentleman, and we’re all proud to have such a promising brother officer amongst us, young Vernon, I assure you. If you go on as you have begun, you’ll be a credit to the service.”
Such a flattering eulogium made me blush like a peony, and I was very glad when the captain presently proposed the toast of “The Queen,” which we drank, all standing.
This being satisfactorily done, taking that hint from the doctor that I had “better turn in early and have a good night’s rest after all the exertions I had gone through,” as a sort of reminder that they had seen enough of me for the occasion, I paid my adieux to the captain and company and went on deck, where I remained while the watch was being called at Eight Bells.
I need hardly add that, in this interval, I ruminated over the strange succession of events that had taken place within so short a period; events which, possibly, might make, as they just as probably might have marred, my entire future career in the service—ay, and, perhaps, have ended it altogether, but for God’s good providence!