Chapter Three.
I Become an “Unclothed Boy!”
“Look sharp, my lads!” sang out after us the master-at-arms, or “Jaunty” as he is always called on board ship. “The sick-bay’s away there forrud on the starboard side; and if you’re spry and pass the doctor soon, before the bugle sounds for ‘cooks to their messes,’ why, you’ll be able to eat your first meal at Her Majesty’s expense, my lads, afore you’re a day older.”
“Faith an’ sure,” rejoined our ragged comrade Mick Donovan innocently enough, as we hurried along the middle deck towards the fore part of the ship, under the tutelage of the corporal, “I’ll pass the gintleman aisy an’ civilly if he ounly comes foreninst me an’ gives me a chance, begorrah, to go by him!”
The corporal sniggered at this audibly, not being any longer in the presence of his superior officer the master-at-arms, and therefore not now bound in the interests of discipline to repress his emotions; and, in another minute, pushing aside a red curtain that hung in front of the open door of a cabin on the starboard side, forward of the galley, where there was an appetising smell of cookery going on that made my friend Mick sniff approvingly and wink at me, our conductor led the three of us into the doctor’s quarters, or hospital of the ship, nautically styled the sick-bay.
Here, the sick-berth steward, distinguished by a red-cross badge within a circlet of gold on his arm, took us in tow, the corporal handing him our papers, which he in turn handed to the doctor, who was in the usual undress uniform of an officer, a thin line of red braid interlarded between the rows of gold lace on the cuff of his tunic sleeve betokening his special medical rank.
This gentleman was seated at a writing-table in a larger cabin amidships, opening out of the first apartment; and here I noticed there were a couple of hospital cots rigged up at the farther end, for the treatment, no doubt, of any urgent cases, such as a fall from aloft or other mishap which might happen on board the ship, prior to the removal of the patients to Haslar, which lay within convenient reach up the creek opposite.
The doctor looked up on our entrance from what seemed suspiciously like a copy of one of the daily journals, which he had been apparently studying with great interest; but, of course, I might have been mistaken.
He was a pleasant, easy-going gentleman, I thought; and when I spoke about him subsequently to father, he said he was probably like most of the ‘sawbones’ he had met with in his time in the Navy—“chaps as wouldn’t let their sense of duty ever fret their minds too much!”
I could not help seeing now, that, though the steward held out our papers to him, he did not take the trouble to stretch out his hand for them; allowing the man to lay them on the table before him when he was tired of holding them out.
“Oh, that you, Trimmens?” he said languidly, as if he were too tired almost to get out the sentence, though he had a nice, agreeable voice. “What! You don’t mean to say you’ve brought in another batch of boys to be examined?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the sick-berth steward, opening his mouth, and closing it again with a sort of snap, and uttering the two words as one. “Three of ’em now, sir!”
“Why, that makes the fourth lot this morning!” exclaimed the other plaintively. “The ship’ll be chock-full if they keep on coming in like this. Only at the beginning of the month, too!”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the steward. “Shall I make a start with ’em, sir?”
“Oh yes, carry on, Trimmens,” said the doctor, looking at his watch, and then sitting bolt upright in his chair with more alertness than he had yet displayed. “But, by Jove, you must look sharp! It’s close on lunch time, and we haven’t much time to spare.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the sick-berth steward in the same snappy, mechanical way; and then, turning to us, he said, “Which of ye came first, boys?”
“Me, zur,” replied ‘Ugly,’ stepping forwards. “I were first aboard this mornin’; an’, by rights, I comes first.”
“Boys have no rights in the Navy, or wrongs either if they behave themselves properly,” observed the doctor, giving my joker a ‘snop’ for his bumptiousness. “What’s your name?”
“Reeks,” replied ‘Ugly,’ a bit abashed. “My name be Moses Reeks, zur.”
“Leeks?”
“No-a, zur, Reeks. We spells it with a ‘har,’ double ‘he,’ and a ‘k’ and a ‘hess,’ zur.”
“Oh, all right, Reeks; but it looks uncommonly like Leeks on your paper here; and I thought you were a Welshman,” said the doctor, smiling at his queer Hampshire pronunciation; for some of the chaps down our way speak just as badly as the cockneys in the east end of London, especially those coming from the country part beyond Cosham and Fareham. “Now, strip off your clothes to the waist, Reeks, and you, Trimmens, just take his chest measurement, please. You need not take off your trousers, boy!”
He added this caution in the nick of time, for ‘Ugly’ appeared about to peel off everything, to his naked pelt!
The sick-berth steward then proceeded to put a tape-measure round his body, just under the armpits, compassing his chest.
“He’s just the regulation, sir,” he said, after inspecting the measure. “Thirty-one inches, sir, exactly.”
The doctor looked at Reeks’s papers again.
“Ah, yes, all right, his age is under sixteen, I see,” said he. “Just test his height, Trimmens.”
The sick-bay steward took Reeks to the bulkhead opposite, where was a standard for measurement, the same as they keep in barrack-rooms.
“He’s five feet two, sir,” he called out—“to a h’inch, sir.”
“All right, that’ll do,” said the doctor. “I don’t think Mr Reeks will grow much more, though; he’s too thickset. Get me my stethoscope, Trimmens, and I’ll sound his lungs and heart.”
The doctor’s examination appeared satisfactory, for he made a note on ‘Ugly’s’ papers; and he was then made to hop across the cabin on each foot alternately and swing from a hook suspended to the deck above with either hand; after which his sight was tested, to see whether he could distinguish colours at a distance, besides being made pick out variously formed letters placed six feet or so away from him. The ordeal was completed with an inquiry as to the state of his bowels!
“You’ll do all right,” said the doctor, signing his papers to show he had complied with the requirements of the service. “Next boy!”
This, of course, was Mick Donovan, who gave out his name clearly enough; but, on the order being given him to strip, he seemed somewhat abashed, as if reluctant to comply with this request.
The doctor, very kindly, I thought, seemed to anticipate the poor lad’s reason for hesitating.
“Never mind, my boy, if your shore toggery is a bit seedy,” he said. “You’ll soon be blooming out in a bran-new sailor’s rig, and be as good as anybody!”
At this, Mick slipped off his ragged jacket at once, dragging an even more tattered shirt over his head. But I noticed though, and so did the doctor too, who had pretty sharp eyes of his own in spite of his somewhat indolent demeanour, that, if poor Mick’s garment was ragged, as indeed it was—aye, and ‘holy’ enough to have served his patriot saint, Saint Patrick, for a vestment—the shirt, or rather the remnant of the article, was scrupulously clean. The Irish boy’s skin also appeared much more accustomed to soap and water than that of the ugly Reeks, who, I saw, regarded my new friend with contempt, though he seemed to me a very dirty fellow, if outwardly better dressed.
However, in spite of his dilapidated raiment, Mick passed all the medical tests; though he had a narrow squeak in regard to the dimensions of his chest, failing in the proper measurement for his age by just an eighth of an inch.
“Faith, sor, I’ll fill out soon enough whin I git outside ov a good male or two,” pleaded the defaulter, on the sick-berth steward noting the deficiency. “An’ sure, yer anner, if Oi arn’t broad enough in the chist, I make up for it by being taller for me age—Bedad, Oi’m that, sor!”
The doctor seemed tickled by this unanswerable piece of logic.
“We’ll see about that, Paddy,” he said. “Trimmens, measure his height!”
“Five feet five, sir,” ejaculated the steward, after adjusting the sliding roll of the standard and reading the index. “That’s three h’inches over the h’average, sir, for his age, I think, sir.”
“Very good, that’ll do; I’ll pass you, Donovan,” said the doctor, wheeling round his chair and facing Mick. “But, mind, you’ll have to fill out, my boy.”
“Faith, I will that same, sor; and thank you kindly, sor, for your goodness to a poor misfortenate gossoon:” replied the other, all full of gratitude. “Your honour won’t know me, bedad, in a wake’s toime if I ownly git enough praties an’ mate!”
The doctor laughed outright at this; whereat, the somewhat demure sick-berth steward smiled grimly, allowing himself this slight indulgence amid the stormy austerities of duty, the only departure from the gravity he had all along displayed.
As for me, I was on the broad grin the whole period of my examination.
This lasted from the time I unbuttoned my braces till I threw them over my shoulders again, my grin expanding as I passed each test with flying colours, and broadening all over my face to express my inward joy. For, thank God, I proved to be not only ‘sound in mind and limb,’ but taller and broader-chested than most lads of my age. While as for my sight—
“By Jove, Trimmens,” observed the doctor, “I think he could pretty nearly see through that bulkhead and the Bill of Portland beyond! He has eyes like gimlets!”
“Yes, sir!”
With that, the sick-berth steward, hailing the ship’s corporal, who had been waiting all the while at the entrance to the doctor’s sanctum, handed him our papers; and the three of us were then escorted to the paymaster’s office, aft there, to undergo our last ordeal.
Here, each of us had to sign a document, binding us to serve Her Majesty for a period of twelve years after we should have attained the age of eighteen.
A number was thereupon given to Reeks and Donovan, as well as myself, and these numbers entered in the ship’s books against all three of our names; the one apportioned to me being 2799, which I looked upon as a happy omen, there being always luck in the odd figures.
Then, finally, one of the clerks noted down in turn the respective colours of our hair and eyes, asking also if we had any special markings on any part of our several persons; so that the authorities would be able to identify us should we ‘cut and run’ at any time, and try to leave the service before we worked out our allotted spell of twelve years as bluejackets “under the flag.”
“Now, lads,” said the corporal, as we emerged from the ship’s office, as the paymaster’s domain is styled, after going through all these formalities, “you’re entered on the ship’s books and you’ve signed the watch bill, and can call yourselves Saint Vincent boys at last!”
“Be the powers, sor,” exclaimed Mick Donovan, at once executing a caper which had some remote resemblance to an Irish jig, “it’s deloighted Oi am at that same! Oi fale so glad, alannah, Oi could dance for joy, loike the piper that played before Moses!”
“What d’you mean?” retorted Reeks, thinking he was taking liberties with his name. “We don’t have no Irish pipers or pigs in this country!”
“Faith an’ sure,” retorted Mike, “that’s bekase ye don’t want ’em, avic. Ye’ve got so many pigs, me darlint, amongst ye, bedad, ov yer own, sure, an’ not fur off, nayther, I’m a-thinkin’!”
Before ‘Ugly’ could make any reply to this sharp home-thrust, a bugle rang out loudly throughout the ship fore and aft, putting a stop to the interesting conversation.
“Look sharp, lads!” cried the corporal, hurrying us on to where we had left the master-at-arms. “There’s ‘cooks to their messes,’ and you’re just in time for dinner.”
“Dinner, faith!” ejaculated Mick Donovan. “Oi’m the boy for ye, begorrah. Where shall we go, sor, for to git it? Sure, the docther, God bless him! Towld me Oi wor to fill mesilf out; an’ the sooner I sit about it, the betther, Oi’m afther thinkin’!”
“Come along with me and you’ll be all right,” said the corporal kindly. “You novices will mess here on the middle deck, along with us police, till you pass your bag and hammock drill and get your uniforms. You’re only what they calls ‘unclothed boys’ at present, my lads!”
So saying, he led the way to the aftermost mess on the port side of the ship.
Its number was ‘52,’ near at hand to the office of the ship’s police, and adjoining the entry-port where we had come on board that morning, and on reaching it we were directed to seat ourselves at the table, one of the oldsters being ‘told off’ to look after us, and supply our wants as soon as the boatswain’s pipe was heard; when some six hundred and fifty odd boys came tumbling down the hatchways from ‘divisions’ on the upper deck, diving below, to their dinners on the lower.
“You’re in luck, my lads,” said patronisingly the first-class boy, with a double stripe on his arm, who had been deputed to fetch our food, we having no cook or captain of our mess appointed yet. “Not many gits sich a chance on first j’ining!”
“Why?” asked I—“how’s that?”
“It’s pay-day to-day, being Thursday; and so you’ll have roast mutton and gammy duff for dinner, let alone your pay, mate.”
“I don’t fancy any of us will get fat on our pay,” said I, with a grin, in response to his chaff. “But, what’s ‘gammy duff’—I never heard tell of such a thing before?”
“Plum puddin’, with raisins in it, stoopid,” he quickly sang out, we darting off, on catching sight of our friend the ship’s corporal, who just then popped his head out of the office to see how we were getting on. “I means a puddin’, Johnny Green, with as many ‘gammies’ as the boys don’t ‘sneak’ when the cook’s working up the duff!”