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 the Candahar was 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 mastless Blake, passing over her by a gangway to the Candahar that 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 the Illustrious come to report yourself, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, smiling in response to the pleasant look on his face. “I’ve come to join the Candahar, 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 the Illustrious, 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, the Candahar was ordered to hoist the pennant and her captain and other officers appointed, she only received a certain percentage of trained gunnery hands from the Excellent, 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 the Candahar; 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 old Blake to lunch, “He had me nicely there, like that other joker the chimney-sweeper. It must have been a planned thing between the two rascals!”