Then, amidst a deep thunder of applause, I mounted the platform. But for at least a minute I was unable to speak. The magnificence of the whole scene overwhelmed me. I looked down upon nearly 800 young men, the fine flower of our race, whose shrewd, strong faces looked keenly expectant, but all kindly towards me. I looked around at the mighty ship in all her beauty of strength and cleanliness, upon her seven gigantic sisters lying motionless in their exact stations near, at the soft splendours of the evening sky, and silken, many-coloured sea, and I felt truly that, although such a moment comes to a man but once in his lifetime, he cannot then appreciate all its wonders.
I did not attempt to lecture. I just fell back upon the well-known vernacular, and talked pure sailor, giving them all the yarns in my budget that were appropriate. And the time allotted me—an hour and a half—sped like a dream, punctuated by laughter and applause as generous and as full as only the handy man can give. And as soon as I had finished uprose the stately figure of the commander, giving in trumpet tones the formula to which I have so often listened in the public schools:
“Three cheers for Mr. Bullen!”
I cannot say any more, except that the thunder of those cheers will echo in my ears until my dying day. They had hardly died away when my audience disappeared, mess benches and all, and the disciplined routine of the great ship resumed its course. The sequel, however, remains to be told, for it gives a keen insight to the tone of the navy man for his joke. As was my practice, I went on the navigating bridge next morning to glance at the signal log and greet the watch-keeper. The chief yeoman of signals, always a very able man, saluted me, and asked casually:
“Do you happen to know the ship’s steward, sir?”
“No, Flags,” I replied, “I can’t say I do. I know him by sight, but that’s all.”
“Ah, well,” Flags rejoined, “he’s a funny man, but a great chum o’ mine. Last night, as we was a-goin’ down from the lecture, he says to me, ‘Flags, from ’enceforth I regard you as a perfectly truthful man.’ I may as well say, sir, that I’ve ’itherto ’ad the reputation of bein’ the biggest liar in the fleet.”
And it was not until some time afterwards that I fully appreciated the somewhat oblique compliment.
CHAPTER XIII
LANTERNISTS
Now while it is perfectly true that I have never given my lanternist any trouble, and that all my slides are perfectly simple, and that I never have any of them repeated, I do not for one moment suggest that this is the reason why I have been so very fortunate in my experiences of lantern operators. Only on the rarest of occasions have I had any trouble, for which I am, I hope, duly grateful, for of all the disconcerting things that can occur to a lecturer, I think anything happening to his pictures through the incompetence of the lanternist is about the worst. True, I have always had much sympathy with my operators, looking upon them as very able men, who do a lot of hard work for a very small fee, and whenever a picture has been put on wrong, I have always, in asking the operator to change it, told the audience that the mishap was my own fault, except on one occasion, which you shall hear about.