This may be capped by another story—of equally unimpeachable veracity, of course—of a cadet who, many years ago, was making a journey in his uniform. A discussion arose between two of his fellow-passengers on some more or less technical point concerning railways; and, to the young hero’s surprise, it was referred to him. His audience appeared to be both surprised and grieved at his professed ignorance on the subject, and ventured a remonstrance: “Why, you’re one of ’em, ain’t you?” (No exit available.)
Whether a naval cadet would prefer being taken for a telegraph boy or a railway porter is an interesting question, which might with advantage be propounded in the magazine.
One of the earliest contributors was a “new,” who describes his first night on board, as follows:—
Sir,—I came on board about 7 p.m., in a small steam pinnace, with thirty-two others, on the 25th January, 1884. The first thing to be done was to get ready for mess. After falling down a hatchway, and jamming my fingers in the lid of my chest, I went down to the messroom, but not before I had somehow got muddled and gone into an officer’s cabin, as I thought (I found out afterwards that it was the barber’s shop), out of which I retreated, not daring to look whether its occupant was there, expecting in all probability the nearest movable object hurled at my head. After mess there was not much to do except pace the deck and ask fellows their names (which was not unfrequently answered by “What’s yours?”). When the bugle sounded we had to turn in; but I found that getting into a hammock for the first time is not one of the easiest things, and after several vague attempts, which generally ended in getting in at one side and out at the other, I was at last helped in by my servant; and when once in, dare not move in case I should be capsized. After we had turned in about a quarter of an hour the next fellow to me began to swing most violently, which swung me also, and in the fray my pillow fell down; and I decided that it was safer to do without, as I was told that I should not get helped in again. Shortly after this I fell asleep; and as this little history is only about my first night, I must end at sleep.
New.
CADET MESSROOM.
Photo: Smale & Son, Dartmouth.
It is sad to be compelled to say that this pseudonym cannot be accepted as genuine. Observe, that the writer represents himself as arriving on January 25th, so that in February, when the first number was published, he would, in the parlance of former days, have been a “cheeky new fellow,” and it is extremely improbable that any cadet in that humble position would venture upon so bold a step as a contribution to the magazine. And as to “pacing the deck and asking fellows their names”; shade of Marryat! What would happen to a “new” who so presumed?
Furthermore, the writer’s familiarity with steam pinnaces and hatchways is not altogether compatible with “newdom.” No doubt he enclosed his card to the editor, “not necessarily for publication, but as a guarantee of good faith”; but we are all well aware of the heroic inviolability of editors under these circumstances, and a team of wild horses would probably prove quite futile.
The following is a specimen of the style of advertisement inserted for the special delectation and advantage of “news”:—