Chapter Seven.
I ‘Go Aloft,’ like my Ancestor!
“Tom,” said Mick to me, on my telling him this, when we were dismissed anon from instruction drill and were going up on the upper deck during the ‘break-off,’ for a brief breath of fresh air before proceeding below again to our tea, “wer that theer yarn thrue, sure, ye wos afther tellin’ me?”
He spoke earnestly, and I replied to him in the same tone. “It’s true enough, Mick, that one of our officers did manage to parbuckle a gun up to the top of a high rock, or, rather, mountain, which commanded the land defences of Castries, the principal town of Saint Lucia in the West Indies! I’ve heard father speak about it many a time,” said I. “But, ’pon my word, Mick, I can’t precisely recollect if it was the gallant Rodney or Sir Ralph Abercromby; for both of ’em were busy in those parts at the time, and pretty well made their mark too! All I can say is, though, that through this dodge they took the Frenchies unawares and gave them a dressing as British sailors have always done when we’ve been at loggerheads with them furrin chaps!”
Mick Donovan scratched his head, in the same solemn way father used to do, as if trying to rub in this valuable piece of historical information.
“Faith,” said he, “I can’t underconstubble it at all, at all!”
There our conversation came to an abrupt close; the bugle summoning us to supper, and Mick being extremely particular, I found, never to be late at meal-times if he could possibly help it!
The next morning, after the usual routine of lashing up and stowing our hammocks in the nettings, on the completion of our breakfast, it was the turn of the second division of the starboard watch, to which we belonged, as I have already detailed, to go to school in the big room on the lower deck aft, where we had passed our original initiatory examination before signing our papers.
The boys were given very fair play in respect of their nautical education, taking each department of their instruction turn and turn about in regular order.
For instance, if the port watch attended school from Three Bells to Seven Bells in the forenoon—that is, in shore time, from half-past nine to half-past eleven o’clock in the morning—the starboard watch would be engaged in seamanship or gunnery instruction; while, in the afternoon their respective avocations would be reversed, the ‘starbowlines’ going to their books, and the port watch occupying themselves with the other drills.
This day, as I have said, we went to school after inspection and prayers by the chaplain on the upper deck, which, I should have mentioned, was the usual routine every morning when breakfast was finished and the mess-tables and decks below swept clean and made tidy.
I remember one of the schoolmasters impressed me very much during a geography lesson, by showing us on the globe how extensive our national possessions were, and how it became us as British sailors to maintain our rights on every land and sea where the Union Jack of Old England had ever once floated.
I declare I can recollect his very words.
“The sun, my boys,” he said very impressively, “never sets on Her Majesty’s dominions!”
When school was over, and the bugle, that ever-sounding bugle, rang out the call for ‘divisions’ presently, we all bustled up, of course, to the upper deck, and, whether it was from the schoolmaster’s observation or what, I’m sure I can’t say, I was struck by the wonderful lot of fine fellows we had on board the training-ship: all wearing the same smart bluejacket uniform, men and boys alike, and all ready, I believe, even us youngsters who had but just joined the service, to go anywhere and do anything for the sake of the Queen—God bless her!—aye, and to battle likewise for the old flag and the old country that has had the command of the seas for a thousand years—so father says!
Why, there were over a hundred and eighty officers and men, besides some seven hundred odd boys present at muster.
Just fancy!
Yes; and though the men serve all the time of the ordinary three years’ commission of the ship, the boys are ever coming and going, forty-five or thereabouts, all fresh ones, being entered every month on the books; while as many, probably, are drafted during the same interim to the guardship, for service with the fleet in all parts of the world!
Bear in mind, too, that the Saint Vincent is only one of some six or seven regular training-ships stationed at the principal ports round the kingdom, for the especial purpose of licking boys into shape for Her Majesty’s Service; and that these aspirants for naval fame and glory number altogether ten thousand, such being really the quota of young boy-sailors provided for in the Admiralty estimates and added to the Navy every year.
Thinking thus, I rather lagged behind my comrades in going up the hatchway, only just succeeding in the nick of time in getting into my proper place forward on the starboard side of the ship as befitted my station; and where, being ahead of the line, I had a good view, while the inspection lasted, of the scene of my fight with ‘Ugly.’
The boys were all drawn up in two long double rows facing each other, the ranks stretching away from where Mick and I stood near the knight-heads, to right abaft the mainmast; the first and third divisions, which together comprised the starboard watch, being on the right-hand side of the deck looking towards the bows, while the port watch was on the left, of equal strength and similarly stretched out—the watch stripes on the right or left arm, as the case might be, telling any chap who might chance to lose his latitude to which side he properly belonged.
I had already, of course, seen the imposing display which this muster of the boys on the upper deck invariably presented; but never before had I taken such stock of its various details.
However, before I could come to any conclusion in the matter, revolving, as I did, more things than I have yet spoken of in my busy brain, which seemed ‘all wool-gathered’ this morning, as father would have said had he been there and seen me star-gazing all round the compass, the boy-bugler on the bridge, who “had a purty foine chake of his own,” as Mick observed to me on noticing his puffed-out mouth, blew a resonant blast.
It was the ‘disperse.’
Hi, presto!
As if by magic, the imposing array of ‘sucking bluejackets’ whom I had just been gazing upon with a sort of personal admiration from the fact of my being one of their number, an admiration which was tempered by a slight feeling of awe of the discipline that controlled them, melted away almost noiselessly, like those Arabs who ‘folded their tents’ according to the poem, the boys being all in their bare feet, and their patter along the deck and down the hatchways not making any sound above a faint shuffling; and soon this was drowned by the eldritch screeching of our friends the seagulls circling round on the wing in their wonted manner, and poising themselves anon in mid-air above the ship, looking down to see whether it was dinner-time yet aboard, and there was a chance of any stray scraps being chucked over the side from the ‘gashing-tub,’ or waste butt in which the refuse of our meals was thrown on the lower deck.
The new boys of both watches were told to stand by, by one of the seaman-instructors; and so, instead of racing down below with our older comrades, Mick and I, with the other nine who had lately joined, remained on the fore part of the deck.
“These boys, sir,” said the instructor, touching respectfully his cap as he advanced towards the officer of the watch, who stood on the quarter-deck, a thin grey-haired old chap, whom I subsequently learnt was the gunner, though I never had the pleasure of seeing him before, “haven’t been over the masthead yet, sir.”
“All right,” replied the gentleman addressed, saluting the instructor in his turn; the politeness and courteous deference paid on board all ships belonging to Her Majesty’s Service from one officer to another, be his rank high or low, being one of the best lessons in manners that man or boy could have afloat or ashore, especially the latter. “Carry on!”
Permission, accordingly, being granted for the ordeal to which we were about to be subjected, the smart seaman-instructor came back to where we were drawn up in single file forwards.
“Now, my lads,” he said, “you haven’t any of you passed through your sea baptism yet, I think. Ever been up aloft, eh?”
He had stopped in front of ‘Ugly,’ whose face yet bore traces of our recent combat, although the cuts on his lip and nose had healed up; and, indeed, I couldn’t well boast, for one of my eyes had a singularly picturesque greeny-yellowy look still about it.
“Hoi?” exclaimed ‘Ugly,’ in his yokel fashion. “I dunno wot yer means, zur.”
“Well, I’ll soon tell you,” rejoined the instructor. “I mean, have you ever been over the masthead?”
“No–a,” said ‘Ugly,’ staring sheepishly at him; and then, as he followed his questioner’s eye, on it glancing up aloft, he added, “Doos yer mean oop there, zur?”
“Aye.”
“No–a, zur.”
“Then, you’ll have to go up now,” said the instructor, in a tone that showed he intended to be obeyed. “Lads, attention!”
We all drew ourselves up, ‘Ugly’ included, as rigid and woodeny as those strange figures that are supposed to represent the patriarchs Shem, Ham, and Japheth seen in the Noah’s arks of our childhood.
“Boys,” cried the instructor in a louder key, pointing as he spoke, “you see the mainmast there?”
We signified assent as well as we were able to do without losing our rigidity or speaking, which latter is strictly against rules when an officer is giving any order, except when an answer is specially demanded.
Noticing, however, that we all looked in the right direction, the seaman-instructor was satisfied with this reply; but really there was no reason why he should not be so, for if we had not seen the tall spar that he pointed out we must all have been blind!
At all events, he was satisfied; and that is all that concerns us at present.
“Now, boys,” he continued, “you’ve got to go over the top of that there masthead, climbing right up the rigging on the port side, and coming down to starboard. Let me see which of you will be first to get over the crosstrees, and woe betide the last! Away you go, now, the lot o’ ye! ’Way aloft!”
It was child’s play to me; for, as I told Larrikins the first day I was on board, when he was trying to ‘pull my leg’ with his yarns of the mountainous seas he met in the Channel cruising in the Martin, ‘shinning up the rigging’ was no novelty to me.
Before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’ I had quickly sprung into the lee rigging; and, clambering up the ratlines and then outward by the futtock shrouds, I gained the top long ere half the rest had started.
“Well done, my lad; I see you have been on board a ship before!” cried out the instructor, as I at once proceeded now to climb up to the crosstrees and over the head of the mast. “Look alive, you other chaps! That boy there will have done the job while you are thinking about it. Stir your stumps!”
‘Ugly’ was the last of the lot; and, as I came down on the weather or starboard side of the ship, the wind then blowing from the nor’ard and eastward, he was just trying to creep through ‘the lubber’s hole’ into the top.
“No you don’t,” shouted up the instructor after him. “You must climb out by the futtock shrouds, as every proper sailor does.”
Seeing, however, that poor ‘Ugly’ was quite in a fog, he turned to me as I stepped down from the chains and stood up in front of him, touching my cap to report myself as having accomplished my task.
“I say, my boy,” said he, “what’s your name?”
Of course I had to reply to this, and so I told him—
“Tom Bowling, sir.”
“Ha!” he exclaimed, apparently surprised. “Any relation of that chap in the song who ‘went aloft and did his duty’?”
I grinned.
“Yes, sir, I believe so,” I said. “Father says as how our family is descended from him.”
“I can quite believe it,” observed the instructor kindly, with a pleasant smile on his face. “At all events, a sailor’s blood runs in your veins, my lad; and, as you’re such a good climber and know your way up the ratlines, just go up now and show that lubber of a greenhorn how to get up the futtock shrouds without tumbling, and so over the masthead.”
Accordingly, I raced aloft the second time and soon fetched up to ‘Ugly,’ who, in a mortal funk, was trying to step out from the lower rigging on to the futtock shrouds, which, I may explain for the benefit of those who have not been to sea, stretch out laterally from the mast, and not in towards it, like the ordinary standing rigging below.
In spite of his difficulty, however, the surly brute now accepted my help with a very ill grace; muttering under his breath to himself some very unfriendly wishes in my respect, as, with some difficulty, I lugged him up into the top, almost by the scruff of his neck.
The rest of the journey up and down was easy enough; and ‘Ugly,’ rendered bold by having crossed his goal, the crosstrees, disdaining any further help from me, now started, after he had arrived in the top, again on the return voyage to climb down the shrouds by himself.
But hardly had he got his foot over the side of the top than his courage failed him; and I, looking up, on account of feeling the rigging shake, for I had gone down in advance from his telling me he ‘didn’t want no help from sich a cove as me,’ saw that he was trembling like an aspen leaf, while his face was as pale as death.
“Hold on,” I cried, “I’ll be up with you in half a minute, and lend you a hand!”
I don’t know whether he heard me or not as I scrambled up hastily towards him; but the next instant, losing his grip of the rope he was hanging on to somehow or other, he fell back on top of me, uttering a wild yell that was almost a scream, and which could have been heard ashore at Gosport!