Chapter Nine.
I Become a “First-Class Boy.”
Our life aboard after this passed very evenly, though not uneventfully; for there was hardly a day that something did not occur as interesting as it was novel to our previous experience.
Talk of a sailor’s life being dull! Why, it’s full of incident, full of interest, full of adventure; and even on board a harbour ship, like the Saint Vincent, I tell you, there is sport to be had afloat as well as ashore!
We had a rat-hunt once, some three or four weeks after I joined the ship.
The captain’s dog, a fine cock-eared fox-terrier named ‘Gyp,’ with the most wonderful eyes, and a nose that worked with excitement as quickly as his short-cropped tail, which was docked to half an inch and was ever on the wag, got into the habit of coming forward on the forecastle whenever he was let out of his master’s cabin, in the most unaccountable manner.
Now ‘Gyp,’ you must know, was a rather particular dog in his way, keeping to his own station when below; while, should he be taken up on the quarter-deck by the captain, or accompany any of the other officers there, he would never, as a rule, advance farther towards the fore part of the ship than the main-hatchway.
All of a sudden, however, master ‘Gyp’ takes it into his head to make free of the forecastle, and associate with such of the lower deck men who might chance to be there.
This, of course, was derogatory to his dignity as a captain’s dog; but, although remonstrated with by his master’s valet, who had charge of him when the captain did not take him ashore—aye, and even whipped for thus straying forwards—‘Gyp’ would persist in his unseemly predilection for low life, utterly regardless of his proper rank as an officer, with a collar and badge. This article was of gold lace, and became him well, contrasting favourably with his black-and-tan head and soft white coat, which latter was guiltless of spot or blemish.
The fact was, I had better acknowledge it at once so as to preserve the poor animal’s character, which was, and is, so far as I know up to the present, as spotless as his coat, never having had a slur cast upon it, save in this one respect, that ‘Gyp,’ as the master-at-arms said, in his funny way, “smelt a mice.”
Not only that, ‘Gyp’ smelt rats; and, what is more, he managed to nab one very cleverly as the rodent was leisurely hopping up the hatchway in the most free and easy manner from below, with a piece of cheese in its mouth which the beggar had appropriated from the steward’s pantry, or from the mess of some Johnny below!
This happened in the afternoon, just after inspection on the upper deck and when the divisions were dispersing to their respective drills, for I was going below with some of the other chaps at the time to man the pumps on the orlop deck, the second time I had been put to this job since I had come on board, and I can’t say I liked it!
Now, whether ‘Gyp’ carried the rat he had captured cosily to the captain’s quarters, or through some one taking the tale aft, I’m sure I can’t say; but, while the working party of us boys told off to clear the bilge were pumping away for dear life, and looking out for old Jellybelly, who was superintending our task, to sing out ‘spell ho!’ to give us breathing time, down comes a lot of the officers after their lunch, with the captain at the head of them, accompanied by Master ‘Gyp,’ who, somehow or other, didn’t need anybody to show him the way, though he hadn’t been below in the ship there to my knowledge before, his nose being as good as a compass, and pointing out where he thought his services might be required.
“I hear, Tarbolt,” said the captain, addressing old Jellybelly by his proper name, “you have rats aboard here?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the quarter-master, drawing himself up sharp from the act of touching up with his cane one of the boys a little way from me, whom he fancied wasn’t putting sufficient elbow grease into his work. “I believe, sir, as how the ship reg’lerly swarms with ’em. They wore working away, sir, last night at some of the b’ys’ hammicks; and one of ’em yelled out that they was nibblin’ their toes!”
“Oh!” cried the captain, “we must put a stop to that. My dog here is a good ratter, and I think he’ll be able to polish off a few for you. Where do you think, Tarbolt, the brutes hang out?”
“Away forrard, sir, under some o’ that spare gear thet’s stowed there, sir; and likewise down in the bilge amongst the ballast and dunnage.”
“Very good; shove your lantern, Tarbolt, over here,” said the captain, edging forwards as he spoke, with ‘Gyp’ and the rest of the officers a-following him. “Boys, you can stand off for a bit from your pumping and come and see the fun.”
We didn’t need any further invitation, being only too glad to let go of the beastly crank-handles; not to speak of the interest we took in the anticipated enjoyable sport.
“Hi, ‘Gyp,’ rats!” shouted the captain, when we all came up to a pile of old casks and sails in the fore peak. “Go for ’em, good dog!”
The wardroom steward and the captain’s valet had come down in the rear of the officers, each of them provided with a lantern; and so, what with the lights we already had with us, the place was sufficiently illuminated for all to see the whole proceedings, which, needless to say, we witnessed with the utmost delight, Mick, who was alongside of me, staring open-mouthed, his face one broad grin from ear to ear.
“Begorrah!” he whispered to me. “Sure, it bates Bannagher, an’s a’most as good as what Oi’ve heerd tell of Donnybrook Fair, in the ould toimes, from me fayther!”
All we could see of ‘Gyp’ for some little time was a portion of his stern quarters, with his little butt-end of a tail wagging away at high-pressure speed, just like the escapement of a clock from which the pendulum has been temporarily taken, so that it has for the moment no check on its action.
Then, all at once, with a low growl, and every individual hair on his white coat standing erect, his whole body the while quivering with excitement, ‘Gyp’ plunged forwards and disappeared into darkness, only to reappear an instant later with an enormous rat, which he had gripped in the small of the back, the vicious beast trying to worm itself round so as to tackle his nose.
‘Gyp,’ however, knew a trick worth two of that, and, as he emerged into the open again, chucked the rat up aloft in the air, almost to the deck beams, and then, pouncing on it as the brute fell back under his expectant jaws, the terrier severed its head from its body with one snap!
Another and another, and yet another, he served in like fashion, ferreting in amongst the dunnage, and then coming out again with a fresh victim each time; until, presently, finding their retreat ‘too warm’ for them, the rats sallied out in a crowd, skating over the deck and climbing up the bulkheads to get out of the way of their relentless enemy. The lot of us then coming to the aid of ‘Gyp,’ the captain and all catching up anything handy to have a shy at them, the family of rodents that had been having such a gay old time below for so long without interference, was soon exterminated; after which the dog and his master, with the other officers, returned to the main-deck, while we resumed our work at the pumps all the more heartily from the bit of play we had had, old Jellybelly never once grumbling again till we had done.
We had a good rise out of the old quarter-master the very same evening, though, which was rather ill-natured on our part.
He was on duty at the gangway, when one of the new chaps, who, like Larrikins, had a great bent for practical skylarking, went to him with a smug face, as innocent as you please.
“I say, sir,” said he, in a tone of the deepest sympathy, “don’t you feel werry tired, sir, a-standing theer so long?”
“Aye, my son,” replies old Jellybelly, thinking to himself, no doubt, that the chap showed wonderful good feeling for a boy; he regarding them all as a rule, not without reason probably, as imps of mischief. “It is rather tiring sometimes. I feels it in my bones and all down my legs.”
“Then, sir,” rejoined the young demon, who only wanted to draw him out and laugh at him, “why doesn’t yer sit down on the rail, sir?”
Of course, this would have been almost a penal offence for the quarter-master to have done, he being on duty at an appointed station; and the remark he made as his tormentor made off with a laugh, which was joined in by all the adjacent boys, was a caution.
Mick, not long after this, had Mr Brown, the ship’s corporal, nicely too.
He crammed his bag and a lot of other things into his blanket, which he rolled up so as to represent a sort of lay figure, stowing this into his hammock at turning-in time, just before the ‘out lights’ sounded.
Keeping as grave as a judge, Mick then went up to the corporal.
“If y’ playse, sor,” said he, “some gossoon or t’other, sor, has bin an’ gone an’ got into me hammick, sor, bad cess to him!”
“Oh, has he, Paddy,” replied Mr Brown, switching his cane, and then drawing it as he gripped it with his right hand carefully through his left, as if feeling whether it had the right sort of edge on it or no. “I’ll soon make him shift his billet, my boy.”
We, of course, were all in the joke, and watched Mr Brown with great glee as he stole stealthily up to Mick’s hammock and let fly a shower of blows on the supposed intruder’s body, accompanying the caning with some pertinent remarks of a very forcible nature anent the offender’s want of manners and unneighbourliness towards a brother shipmate; whereupon we all burst into a regular guffaw, and Mick sought refuge in flight on the exposure of his little plot before Mr Brown could pay him out.
The corporal, though, took it in very good part, and did not bear my chum any subsequent ill-will for thus taking him in; albeit, he was wary enough to be on his guard against Mick hoaxing him a second time.
Jokes like these came as little interludes, so to speak, to ‘ease the wheels’ of our duties, which, however, were to me, at all events, more of a pleasure than so many tasks; that is, after I had gone through the initiatory instructions and drills, and was able to hold my own with the smartest of my shipmates.
I cannot say, though, that I cared much for the schooling, seven months of which every second-class boy on board the Saint Vincent has to undergo before he can gain the first rank.
Equally as certainly, however, I must allow that the teaching I gained, watch and watch about, in that big schoolroom astern on the lower deck turned out of considerable assistance to me, not only in my subsequent experience afloat in the navy, especially when serving abroad, but ashore too; for I there learnt the art of learning things, which is the great secret of education to man or boy, though we youngsters do not realise this when we have the chance of getting hold of it.
But it was the seamanship instruction that I went in for with the greatest zest; and, from knotting and splicing up to compass, and helm, and signalling, I don’t think I fell far short of what Captain Mordaunt said when he persuaded father to let me go to sea and join the training-ship—that I was a born sailor and a regular ‘chip of the old block.’
In connection with this, I may state, that of all the practical lessons I learnt in sailoring on board the Saint Vincent, the going aloft for sail-drill used to please me best.
Every morning at eight o’clock we used to go up the rigging and practise loosing and furling the sails, crossing the royal-yards, and making all things snug before coming down on deck to our usual divisional instruction.
On Mondays the whole forenoon was devoted to these evolutions, the sails being set one after the other, topsails, topgallants, royals, and even stu’nsails sometimes, besides the courses and headsails below; until, often, the whole ship was piled with canvas as if she were fetching down Channel on a cruise, her spars quivering with the strain frequently, when we had the wind abeam from the southward and east’ard, and every rope as taut as a bar of iron!
We used to work our way from the lower yards to the dignity of the upper by rotation more than through any special smartness and activity; and I know I was as pleased as Punch when it came to my turn to be an ‘upper-yard boy.’
I was never so happy as when aloft; and many a time up there of a morning have I gazed out to seaward, looking over Southsea beach and the boats clustered in the fairway, that seemed but little dots from the height where I was, to the open stretch of water beyond Spithead and Saint Helens, that seemed to draw my heart to it like a magnet, making me long to leave my present stay at home surroundings and sail away and away on the boundless deep.
This desire of mine was gratified in part after I had been serving for nine months as a second-class boy, and passed satisfactorily through all my drills and instructions; when Mick and I got promoted.
Strangely enough, my chum the Irish lad proved himself, landsman though he had been before and never having even smelt the sea prior to his coming to Portsmouth, quite as expert as myself after a short stay aboard the training-ship; though I had been associated with ships and seafaring folk from the time I drew my first breath, and indeed, like all the Bowlings, as I told you at the beginning of my yarn, was born with the taste for ‘the briny,’ the feeling being inherent to my blood.
It strikes me, though, that my sister Jenny had something to do with this.
Mick heard her say the first day when I first took him home with me to visit father and mother at Bonfire Corner, that she loved sailors, and wondered how any young fellow could possibly care for anything else, when he had a chance of going afloat and serving his Queen and country, and fighting the battles of Old England.
The remark was a chance one; but, though Mick must have heard Jenny say a good many other things, for he was often at our house afterwards, being generally in the habit of accompanying me home when I had leave to go, he never forgot those words and somehow or other seemed to strive his best to reach Jenny’s ideal.
So, you see, smart seaman though I fancied myself to be even at that early age, I had to look out lest I should be supplanted by my own chum; for no sooner did I get the start of him in one thing than he would fetch alongside of me and be working ahead before I well knew where I was, the ‘owdacious young beggar,’ as father dubbed him, becoming actually a ‘royal-yard boy’ the following week to myself, while both of us, as I have said, were made first-class boys together.
Unfortunately, this was during the winter months; and, as the training-brig Martin, which is attached to the Saint Vincent as a sea-going tender in order to cruise about in the Channel to give the boys practical experience of their profession—like a frolicsome chick hanging round a broody old hen that won’t leave her nest—does not go out of harbour till the spring, Mick and I were unable for some time to take advantage of the grand privilege of our rise and really go to sea.
We thought the blissful period would never come.
But ‘it’s a long lane that knows no turning’; and, winter ebbing away into the flood of spring anon, we, with some ninety and nine other youngsters of the same standing, set sail one fine April morning from Portsmouth Harbour, the Martin slipping her buoy abreast of Blockhouse Fort, and standing out into the Solent under easy canvas, with a fair wind from the nor’-east.
A hundred boys are always taken at a time for a month’s cruise in the brig, the lot being accompanied by some of the smartest seamen belonging to the complement of the mother training-ship, so that they have every opportunity of picking up now the nautical knowledge necessary to make them worth their salt, in reference both to seamanship and gunnery.
We had a pretty fair knock-about time in the Channel, running down to Plymouth and back, having a ‘sojer’s wind,’ one that was fair both ways, out and home again; and, though, from this fact, we necessarily made an easy passage of it, some of the boys were woefully seasick, many of them never having been at sea before.
Notably among these was Mick.
“Bedad!” moaned he, leaning over the side with his dark face turned to pale green that seemed a faint reflection of the water below, into which he looked apparently with the deepest interest as he sacrificed his dearly loved dinner to Neptune, paying the sea-god his dues, “Oi fale, Tom me darlint, as if Oi’d brought up iverythink, faith, since furst Oi jined the ship, an’ me boots, begorrah, same in the back of me hid! Wurrah, wurrah, why did Oi ivver come to say? Och, Tom mabouchal, kill me at onst, and be done with it!”
I could not help laughing at him, he presented such a contrast to the buoyant lad of my ordinary acquaintance; though, of course, I tried to sympathise with my woe-begone chum.
But ere long something occurred which made him, and the others in a like predicament, forget their seasickness in a hurry, all of us having to be as spry as we could.
The Martin took the ground!
I’ll tell you how this happened.
We had run up Channel, as I have told you, with a fair wind from the start; but, on our reaching the westernmost end of the Isle of Wight, this turned against us, so that after passing through the Needles we had to beat up the Solent in the teeth of a stiff sou’-easter.
This, of course, gave us plenty of exercise in tacking; and the constant going aloft, with the brig rolling and a choppy sea under her, had overset the equilibrium of poor Mick’s stomach.
We had tacked and ‘reached’ in this way for some time, making short boards between the Hampshire coast and the Island opposite; when, in going about off the Brambles, through one of the uncertain currents which infest Southampton Water taking her on the slant as we shivered our headsails to come up to the wind, the brig missed stays and struck on the edge of the shoal.