Corporal Stumps and Corporal Taylor
Went to sea in an old tin bailer:
Stumps took the oars and Taylor the sails,
And that is how they got on in the gales.
Withering sarcasm, from some young hero who had just learned to make a bowline knot, and climb over the “futtocks” without blenching!
Needless to say, seamanship days were more in favour with the majority than those devoted to the solution of problems in spherical trigonometry or the pursuit of the unspeakable “X.” The seamanship, pure and simple, of those days contained much that was attractive to youth. Going aloft to loose, furl, or reef the topsails; sitting astride of the yardarm, in the post of honour, and calling “Light out to windward” or “Haul out to leeward” in an authoritative, if shrill and immature, voice; learning intricate knots, and getting well besmeared with tar and grease in the process of splicing a rope or stropping a block: all these were welcome instructions, during which time would fly.
Then there were occasional cruises in the Sealark brig, when the first lieutenant would take out some of the more advanced cadets and make them work the vessel, learning to “haul, reef, and steer,” like Dibdin’s proverbial “jolly tar”; though it is doubtful whether any of them could aspire to the counsel of perfection laid down in the same song, and “laugh at the winds as they roar.”
A playing-field for the cadets was provided at Haslar; but what they played and how they played is more or less a matter of conjecture, as no records are forthcoming. Certainly, there could have been nothing like the systematic pursuit of cricket and excellent coaching which has since become a sine quâ non in every big school, and which was to be very enthusiastically carried out on the Britannia. Nine boys out of ten, however, will play some kind of cricket if they get a chance, and the sort of cricket played by most naval men and boys in those days was not exactly “county form.” Here and there you will come across a lad who cannot help playing cricket well, and appears always to be in good trim, even after a long voyage; and no doubt there were some such among the early cadets: indeed, it is certain that there were, for there are those who can recollect them.
On board the ship one game in particular was in favour; it was exclusively a sea play, and probably is not known in shore schools. It rejoices in the title of “sling the monkey.” The boy who was selected to represent the intelligent quadrumanus was seated in a bowline-knot formed at the end of a rope from a stay overhead, just long enough to permit his feet to touch the deck when at rest. He, and all the others who joined in the game, were armed with a hard-knotted handkerchief, or sometimes a bit of rope—anything in the form of what was known as a “cob” or a “togey”—and the mutual effort of the monkey and the crowd was to get in a good one with the “cob.” The monkey, naturally, came in for pretty severe punishment, which he would endeavour to repay, swinging wildly in the air as he rushed at his tormentors, who had a good chance at him as he swung back, more or less helpless; eventually, however, he would get a resounding whack in on one of the others, who was then installed in his place.
New comers were, of course, subjected to inquisitorial treatment, which gradually took a more or less traditional form as time went on and numbers increased; sometimes they were made to “pay their footing” the first time they went aloft—a time-honoured custom in the Navy, as Captain Marryat testifies; but if the toll took the form of cash, it would certainly bring down condign punishment on the tax gatherer if detected; probably the exaction of “tuck” was the prevailing practice.
Captain Harris had, however, usually a very accurate idea as to what went on in his ship, especially while the number of boys was small, and it is safe to assume that nothing like vicious bullying was carried on.
Meanwhile he and his executive officers, together with the two naval instructors—for Mr. Jolley only did chaplain’s duty—had all their work cut out; the whole system being an untried innovation, everything had to be organised de novo, and it naturally took some time to make all run smoothly.
Mr. Inskip, who remained altogether thirteen years in the two ships, is a very well remembered character among the earlier cadets. He took an immense interest in the lads, and knew them all intimately, discoursing with them on all kinds of subjects out of study hours. It was no uncommon occurrence to see his keen, good-humoured face the centre of a little crowd of cadets, pacing the deck with him, some walking backwards in front, and following up behind as he went back—many of them taller than he was, for he was a little man, with a large heart; and many were the strange sea-tales related during these pleasing promenades. He always had a kindly word for any lad whom he might casually encounter: “Well, Smith, we tackled that chronometer this morning, didn’t we?” or, “How does the Great Circle sailing get on?” He was a very capable instructor, with the knack of imparting his knowledge to others, and many a problem of formidable aspect at starting would assume quite a kindly guise under his hand, as he stood by the black board and dexterously chalked in meridians, parallels, and what not; or came behind some blunderer and reduced the chaos of his mind—and his diagram—to something like order.