The Preface
Being that part of a book which is seldom or never read, why need I write one? It does not seem much in my line; but I may as well remark that these notes, scribbled at odd times, are published at the request of my friends, and dedicated
To My Mother
By Navilus.
Let us follow our “Baby” throughout one of his specimen days:—
“5.25 a.m.—Bump! Bother the corporal!
‘Now then, Mr. Jones, time for you to turn out.’
So Jones has ‘twos’ again, poor chap! But I wish the corporal would not bump against my hammock when he is waking other fellows.
I can hear Jones softly swearing to himself as he gets into his clothes, and I thank my stars that I still have time for another snooze.
Hullo! There go five bells already, and the bugle. Never mind; the fourth term go first through the bath.
Time now, however. I struggle for’ard, half asleep, through the bath. All the fellows come up by degrees. Ugh! how cold the water is! But it has the effect of waking us up pretty quickly. How nice it is to be out and drying. I mean to be dressed in good time to-day, as I have had enough punishments lately.
Now to wash. This time the water is too hot, and it is five minutes before I can bear it. Jones, having completed his punishment, is washing alongside me.
There’s Smith at his tricks again—throwing water as usual, and a cold stream pours down my back. I must go for him. Another five minutes’ delay. I fall into conversation with Jones, and am giving him good advice about his various shortcomings, when first warning goes. We hurriedly complete our ablutions, and go to our chests. Second warning. Not half dressed, and here comes the corporal—bad luck to him—with his pencil and paper.
‘Clear off the sleeping deck, there! Now then, Mr. Martin, late again as usual; go on deck before breakfast, sir,’ and my name is entered on the fateful bit of paper.
Jones is nearly dressed, and is at present engaged in his devotions. The corporal stares at him, but proceeds on his way. I have to go on the middle deck carrying my boots, and put them on there. Just time to lace them up before the bugle sounds ‘Fall in,’ and the officer of the day begins his inspection. This over, we march to the messroom to do an hour’s preparation. The Euclid is awfully hard; I am afraid I shan’t know it.
Bugle sounds ‘Dismiss studies.’ I will not go on deck yet. The corporal’s memory may fail him, or he may be in a soft mood and let me off. We all sit down, awaiting grace. My spirits rise. But behold! the corporal’s legs appear descending the hatchway, and worse still, his burly form follows them! ‘Now then, sir’ (addressing me), ‘go up and fall in on the ’alf deck.’
There is no help for it, so I take up my cap and reluctantly obey. Lieutenant A—— is the officer of the day, so he will let me off easy, perhaps. The corporal salutes and addresses him: ‘Mr. Martin, sir, for not being dressed by second warning.’
The lieutenant asks if I have any excuse to offer: I have none, and he orders me a day’s ‘four.’ This is a fairly easy punishment, and I return to breakfast somewhat consoled. I expect all the rolls have been bagged; but I find that Grey, who sits next me, has secured me three. I thank him and fall to. Here come the sausages round, followed by ham, and a choice of tea or cocoa. Sausages are all very well in their way, but they make you horribly thirsty. I manage, however, to get two cups of cocoa, and consider I have made a fairly good breakfast. I collect my books and proceed to my study in the Hindostan, to look over my work for the day.
Hullo! there are some ‘news’ looking out of the ports; I must give them a shower bath. I make a paper cone, and filling it with water, empty it over them. It gets them fairly on the neck: heads disappear. I try to master the Euclid and trig. Some other fellows have dropped in by now; they are fairly quiet.
8.50.—Bugle again, and the corporal’s mellow tones: ‘Clear ship! Clear ship! Cadets on the poop!’ One by one we obey the summons, and proceed to the poop of the Britannia. Soon the bugle sounds ‘Fall in’; we are inspected, and prayers are read by the chaplain, after which we march off to the studies, and the real work of the day begins. I get questions I know, and manage to stumble through my work fairly well.
At five minutes to eleven we have a quarter of an hour’s interval, and then do English for an hour, followed by French for another hour. I am no good at French, so indulge in a game of nibs with my neighbour, who does not love ‘parley-voo’ any more than I do. We are detected, worse luck, and are rewarded with a ‘mod’ each. (‘Moderate attention’ in the daily report, involving one hour’s extra drill.)
Bugle sounds ‘Dismiss studies.’ I am not sorry, as I am famishing, and it is pudding day, too. The bugle sounds again for dinner, and we all assemble in the messroom. Grace is said by one of the two chief captains, and here come the joints and pies, wheeled round on small tables appropriated to them. Roast mutton falls to the lot of my table; this is not my favourite dish, and I get the servant to bring me some beefsteak pie in its place. Meat course over, I help the tart—cherry, with cream, and excellent. My enjoyment of it is rather hindered by Brown, who is heaving bread at me; however, he is spotted by the chief captain, and told to go to the defaulters’ table at tea. Brown says it is all my fault for looking such an ass, which may be true, but is not polite. I vow vengeance on Brown: he will avoid me after dinner, I expect. The tarts being polished off, and grace again said, we get half an hour to ourselves before muster. I spend it in the ‘sanc’ (‘sanctuary,’ a special place in the messroom, reserved for senior cadets) reading the Strand, which has always something jolly in it. I am in the middle of a blood-curdling tale, when the corporal comes to clear the messroom. I shove the book in my drawer, and depart to the middle deck. We fall in, and are marched off to studies. This afternoon we have mathematics until 3.30, when we shift into flannels, and make for the boats as fast as we can, with towels and bathing-drawers. I am lucky, and get a shoreboat soon, so secure a good place on the bathing stage.
It is a perfect day, just the day for a bathe; and here comes the officer of the day ashore in a gig, with the bugler.
On reaching the stage they disembark, and the boat waits about in case of accidents. The bugle sounds ‘Advance,’ and immediately there is a sound of great splashing, and the water is alive with heads. I have a jolly swim out to one of the sailing cutters, and boarding her get another dive from her bow. Bugle sounds ‘Retreat’ all too soon, and out of the water we have to go, nolens volens.
When dressed, I go and fall in for my punishment drill; but for this I should be in the cricket field. There are twenty other chaps in the same box as myself; poles are served out to us, and for a whole hour of this blessed afternoon we have to do a variety of exercises, and double round the drill ground. It is frightfully hot work, and I am glad when it is over, and I can go up to the field and get refreshments at Stodger’s.
A game of cricket is going on; other chaps are practising at the nets; and some of the officers are playing, too, at the first eleven nets. I find one of the tennis courts empty, and get a game with three other fellows who have been doing drill with me.
After two sets I go on board again, and, shifting out of flannels, go down to the messroom and finish my story in the Strand. I have time to read another before muster, after which we march into the messroom for tea.
To-night we get cold meat, cake, bread and butter, and tea or cocoa ad lib. An hour’s preparation follows, and there is time for a quarter of an hour’s dancing before the band stops. F. and I indulge in a wild pas de quatre, and have another quarter of an hour to ourselves before prayers, which take place at 9.15 in the messroom; and now, instead of turning comfortably into my hammock, I have to do my fours—viz. to stand for an hour on the middle deck before undressing. It is precious dull work, as there are very few chaps at the same business to-night. After half an hour is up, I am the only one left. I can hear the fellows talking and laughing on the sleeping deck. I think of many things, but my thoughts grow confused, and I begin to yawn, and nearly fall asleep standing. At last the corporal tells me the hour is up, and I gladly go to my chest and undress and turn in. After all, there is nothing more comfortable than a hammock; and notwithstanding the snoring of Jones, which is not melodious, I soon fall asleep, with pleasant thoughts of to-morrow, for it promises to be fine, and I am going out for a cruise in the Wave.
6.30.—I am wide awake this morning, and the sun is streaming in through the port, so I know it is a fine day. I turn out with alacrity, and am not behindhand in dressing; besides, I have only to put on my flannels. Muster over, my class goes off to the Wave, with a couple of fourth term classes, for shifting the topgallant masts and yards. The Wave is a barque of about 300 tons, with auxiliary steam power; full speed under steam, 4½ knots. She is noted for her rolling propensities. However, as she is now in the harbour, just astern of the Britannia, she is as steady as a rock, or nearly so.
FIRST TERM SLEEPING DECK ON BOARD THE “HINDOSTAN.”
Photo: Smale & Son, Dartmouth.It is not particularly interesting work shifting topgallant masts in your third term, as only a few of the fourth term go aloft, and the remainder of us stay down on deck, hauling on ropes. I am at the foremast, and we get ours done much more smartly than the fellows at the main, as we chance to be a better lot. This sort of work goes on for an hour, when we return to the Britannia, and have breakfast, feeling quite ready for our porridge. Cold ham follows, and I make mine into sandwiches, with rolls, to eat in the Wave, that is if I still feel capable of eating when we are outside the harbour!
CHAPEL ON BOARD THE “HINDOSTAN.”
Photo: W. M. Crockett, Plymouth.There is half an hour to spare after breakfast before we embark for our cruise. There is a stampede to the gangway to see a German man-of-war just anchoring in the harbour below Dartmouth. She is a great white steamer, full rigged, and is used as a training-ship. We shall get a fine view of her passing in the Wave. It is now time I was getting ready, so I fetch my sextant from the instrument study, and wrap up my sandwiches in a piece of paper, tying them up with a lanyard. The wind is freshening, and I ask old Johnson, the boatswain, what it will be like outside. He says: ‘A nice fresh breeze,’ and I know what that means! At last we go down in the boat and are off. I pull the second stroke oar, and we soon reach the Wave and scramble on board. During the few minutes which elapse before the first lieutenant arrives, the instructor shows us the various ropes, explaining the use of them, and the boatswain tells us off to our respective stations aloft. My place is on the fore top-sail-yard; and now the lieutenant comes on board, and we slip from the buoy without delay, and steam down the harbour. A quarter of an hour sees us outside, and the Wave begins to keep up her character for rolling. Indeed, she seems fully determined not to disappoint us in this respect.
We have orders to go aloft and loose the sails, which are then sheeted home, and we go down from aloft to help hoist them. She is steadier now the sails are set, and soon the engines are stopped, and our progress is under sail alone. After a little while we are sent aloft to reef top-sails, and take in top-gallant sails. I get on the yardarm, where we have to sit astride. It is splendid up here; the best place of all, to my mind. The coast line is clearly visible, from Start Point to Berry Head.
A SIGNALLING EXERCISE.
Having taken in a reef, we return on deck, and have a quarter of an hour’s ‘Stand easy.’ By this time several fellows seem to be curiously drawn to the lee side of the ship! We, whose souls do not ‘sicken on the heaving Wave,’ begin to feel the pangs of hunger, and set to work to devour the provisions we have brought with us, in addition to the ship’s biscuit which is provided.
POCKET MONEY.
Our ‘Stand easy’ being at an end, an order is given to start the engines full steam ahead; this is to get more way on for lifeboat practice. To-day I am one of the lifeboat’s crew. The first lieutenant, throwing the lifebuoy into the sea, raises a cry of ‘Man overboard.’ Immediately the engines are stopped and the main-yard squared to stop the way of the ship. The lifeboat is manned and lowered, and we row towards the supposed drowning man, and with all promptitude rescue him from his watery grave.
On our return to the Wave there is a friendly rivalry between the fore and after part of the cadets to hoist up the lifeboat; the result being that the crew are in the comfortable position of sitting in a boat at an angle of about forty-five degrees, as the fore part are the stronger lot. However, we soon manage to get on board, and we go about and make for home; for so we come to regard the old hulk lying in the Dart.
The order is given to get our sextants out of the charthouse; we carry them aft to take the meridian altitude of the sun. This is rather hard work while the ship is moving, when you are not accustomed to it, but doubtless will come easy in time. And now we are sent aloft to shake the reef out of the top-sails; this is the work of two or three minutes only, and we proceed towards the harbour mouth with increased speed. The wind is freshening, but the motion is not felt so much now that it is dead aft. While we are passing between the old castles of Kingswear and Dartmouth we go aloft to take in the sails. I am not on the yardarm this time, but next to it. While the ‘Descent of Man’ has lost him the gymnastic properties of his ancestors, a sailor’s life brings out the power of ‘Ascent in Man,’ judging by the prehensile talent so quickly acquired by his hands and feet. Think of this and take comfort, O mothers! whose curly-haired Harrys and Willies are climbing aloft on the rigging, at the apparently imminent peril of their necks! We are past the Kingswear pontoon before the sails are furled, and we are now steaming up the harbour at our usual breathless speed, at which rate it is not long before we again make fast to the buoy and return on board, most of us having thoroughly enjoyed our cruise, and had our appetites whetted for the good dinner which is awaiting us.
After our meal we do the usual hour and a half’s work, which to-day is mathematics, and then have our dip. F. and I make for the cricket field, and spend a short time playing at the nets, there being no game got up for to-day.
It is pretty hot this afternoon, and we should enjoy a bit of the cool breeze we had outside in the morning. But this being unavailable, we consider strawberries and cream would be a good substitute, and accordingly make for the stodge shop, where we lay in a store of the article mentioned, and feel refreshed.
F. is the fortunate possessor of a camera, and considers this will be a good opportunity to go down to the dark-room and develop the photographs he has been taking lately. I suggest getting one of the blue boats, and rowing out to photograph the German man-of-war lying in the harbour. We manage to wheedle a skiff out of the boat-keeper, and are soon making for her. We get two or three views, and while preparing to return are hailed by one of the officers, and invited on board.
H.M.S. “RACER,” TENDER TO THE “BRITANNIA.”
Photo: Smale & Son, Dartmouth.This is too fine a chance to lose, and although we have not had previous leave, we accept the tempting invitation so cordially given, and, securing our boat alongside, are conveyed to the gunroom. Here are a few officers, at whom we look with great interest. All speak English fairly well, and are imbibing lager beer and smoking. We are at once offered beer and cigars, and indulge in a weed apiece, but no more, considering discretion to be the better part of valour. It is difficult to refuse our hosts, who so cordially press upon us their hospitality. F. imagines he can speak German, having, when a baby, had a German nurse who knew no English. I judge, from close observation, that at that remote period of his existence he was unable to speak in either language himself. But, of course, he cannot let slip this opportunity of airing his linguistic proclivities.
He photographs the officers in a group: looking at my watch, I find it is high time to be off, in fact the recall must have been up for nearly a quarter of an hour. So, taking a hearty leave of our genial hosts, we step into our boat, and pull quickly up the harbour. We have to return the boat to its place, and find the boat-keeper in a towering rage, promising to report us both. His promises are always like pie-crust in this respect, so our equanimity is not greatly disturbed, and we are just in time to catch the pinnace for returning on board.
The corporal thinks we look suspicious, for some reason best known to himself, and considers it necessary to search us for ‘stodge,’ which it is against rules to bring on board. We are redolent of tobacco, of course, which does not escape his olfactory sense, but he has no proof against us, and has to let us go. Sold again!
We go on the sleeping deck to shift, and after muster march to the messroom for tea. Then preparation, and half an hour to ourselves till prayers. No ‘fours’ to-night, and I feel quite ready to turn into my hammock when the time comes.
There is a slip on my hammock! I feel it going! I try to turn out, but am too late. I clutch wildly at Jones’s hammock. Bump! We are both down, and the other fellows in great delight at the tableau. It turns out to have been a trick of Jones’s; so he has been well punished.
Calm once more restored. After a little conversation, I am once more in the land of dreams.
On board H.M.S. Britannia one day is very much like another, which, though somewhat monotonous, has the advantage (if it be one) of making time fly fast. The studies are varied by seamanship, including signalling by semaphore, flag, and Morse systems; working anchors and cables, learnt by a model on wheels, which is kept on the middle deck; knots and splices; working sailing cutters; the steam picket boat, and other such oily delights.
To-day, however, we have mathematics all the morning, from nine o’clock until midday, with an interval at 10.30 for receiving our weekly pocket money, consisting of the noble sum of one shilling, which the third and fourth terms are entitled to receive also on Wednesdays, if their parents see fit.
Next Monday being a whole holiday, however, the chaps who are lucky enough to have friends in the neighbourhood, and are going on leave to them until Monday, get extra pocket money, which may not exceed five shillings, added to their railway fare. Having no friend to invite me, I have arranged to go up the river to Totnes in a blue boat with some other fellows, and we are to receive our extra pocket money on Monday morning.
We fall in according to our terms and march round to the half deck, the fourth term leading, the others following in order. Dinner hour on ‘halves’ is twelve o’clock, and it follows, therefore, that we are famishing by the time our evening meal is ready, which is not until seven o’clock. The consequence is that a great deal of money finds its way into the stodge shop, and our pocket money is exhausted at a rapid rate. All the better for old ‘Stodger,’ and for Dawe, whose shop is open on half-holidays only.
The cadets going on leave took their departure before dinner, rowing ashore to the platform abreast of the Britannia, where trains stop by special order.
I have arranged to walk over to Stoke Fleming this afternoon with F., and accordingly we start as soon as we can land after dinner. We take it easy, so it is an hour before we arrive at our destination. The road leads across the hills at the back of Dartmouth towards the open sea, which here breaks at the foot of steep and high cliffs. We are each provided with a book, and finding a shady place on the cliffs, we have a rest and a read.
We can see the schooner yacht Syren at sea, with a party of cadets out for a cruise. The schooner Arrow, for the first and second terms, is not yet in sight. I expect she will have some difficulty in getting out of the harbour, the wind being light and the tide against her, and the Arrow sailing about as well as an average washing-tub. The Syren seems to be rolling rather, as there is a slight swell from yesterday.
It is nearly four o’clock now, and we begin to feel the pangs of hunger, so consider it is about time to proceed on our way to the shop held by Mrs. Fox and Mrs. Martin, commonly known as ‘Ma Fox’s,’ where a capital tea can be obtained for a very moderate sum. ‘Ma Fox’ is pretty well up in the manners and customs of cadets. She sports the Prince of Wales’s feathers over the shop door, having been patronised by the two Royal cadets. F. and I get the third term room to ourselves, and order a meal consisting of cocoa, potted meat, sardines, and bread and jam, to which we do ample justice; and having squared up with the old dame, we walk slowly back to the field, where we see the last of the cricket match between our first eleven and one of the neighbouring cricket clubs. We are victorious again.”
The above extract gives a very fair idea of life on board, from the cadet’s point of view. The description of the trip to Totnes on the “whole” does not intimately concern the Britannia; but one or two more extracts must be given, as throwing a little more light on certain points.
The writer describes how, on Sunday afternoon, he and two comrades land on the Kingswear side, taking with them two “news” who are often in their company.
“Ralston, another of their term, respectfully accosts me, and asks permission to come too. He is a likely looking lad, so I graciously consent to his joining us. Arrived on shore, we repair to our ‘sanc,’ which is a nook we have chosen in a small wood. It is roofed over with branches woven together, and the ‘news’ set to work to gather fresh bracken for us. When we consider it sufficiently comfortable, we establish ourselves with our books, and they proceed to a small ‘sanc’ of their own, within hail of us, which they have made in their leisure time. They are also provided with literature. This is part of the fearful fagging system, of which so many complaints are made.”
This, it will be noted, was three years after the commotion in 1891; so, apparently, there was still some talk about the treatment of “news.” The subject is once more touched upon by the “Baby”:—
“Much has been written and said lately about the Britannia—the system of teaching, the bullying practice, etc. This latter is fast disappearing under the wise rule of the latest captains. There will always be something of the kind in a mild form in any institution in the shape of a public school, and the Britannia is nothing more or less. Fagging for money is now unheard of.
“The discipline is of necessity strict, but not unduly severe; and the instructors are popular.
“It is almost an impossibility to make the work sufficiently practical when there are so many subjects to take up; but there is practical work, as the readers of this paper will see.”
The writer concludes as follows:—
“Soon the ‘whole’ is nothing but a memory, one of the many happy ones we shall ever retain of our old training-ship on the Dart, and which will, doubtless, often rise up before us in the years to come, when we look forward to being, at least, useful members of that profession which is England’s glory.”