We were now within sight of the bristling sides of the old ‘Victory,’ on the quarter-deck of which fell the great and gallant Nelson in the hour of battle and triumph; and I was a young officer about to join that service which can boast of so many brave and noble men, and brave and noble deeds; and one would naturally expect that I would indulge in a few dreams of chivalry and romance, picture to myself a bright and glorious future, pounds’ weight of medals and crosses, including the Victoria, kiss the hilt of my sword, and all that sort of thing. I did not. I was too wretchedly cold for one reason, and the only feeling I had was one of shyness; as for duty, I knew I could and would do that, as most of my countrymen had done before me; so I left castle-building to the younger sons of noblemen or gentry, whose parents can afford to allow them two or three hundred pounds a year to eke out their pay and smooth the difficulties of the service. Not having been fortunate enough to be born with even a horn spoon in my mouth, I had to be content with my education as my fortune, and my navy pay as my only income.
“Stabird side, I dessay, sir?” said the waterman.
“Certainly,” said I, having a glimmering idea that it must be the proper side.
A few minutes after—“The Admiral’s gig is going there, sir,—better wait a bit.” I looked on shore and did see a gig, and two horses attached to it.
“No,” said I, “decidedly not, he can’t see us here, man. I suppose you want to go sticking your dirty wet oars in the air, do you?”—(I had seen pictures of this performance). “Drive on, I mean pull ahead, my hearty”—a phrase I had heard at the theatre, and considered highly nautical.
The waterman obeyed, and here is what came of it. We were just approaching the ladder, when I suddenly became sensible of a rushing noise. I have a dim recollection of seeing a long, many-oared boat, carrying a large red flag, and with an old grey-haired officer sitting astern; of hearing a voice—it might have belonged to the old man of the sea, for anything I could have told to the contrary—float down the wind,—
“Clear the way with that (something) bumboat!” Then came a crash, my heels flew up—I had been sitting on the gunwale—and overboard I went with a splash, just as some one else in the long boat sang out. “Way enough!”
Way enough, indeed! there was a little too much way for me. When I came to the surface of the water, I found myself several yards from the ladder, and at once struck out for it. There was a great deal of noise and shouting, and a sailor held towards me the sharp end of a boathook; but I had no intention of being lugged out as if I were a pair of canvas trowsers, and, calling to the sailor to keep his pole to himself—did he want to knock my eye out?—I swam to the ladder and ascended. Thus then I joined the service, and, having entered at the foot of the ladder, I trust some day to find myself at the top of it.
And, talking of joining the service, I here beg to repudiate, as an utter fabrication, the anecdote—generally received as authentic in the service—of the Scotch doctor, who, going to report himself for the first time on board of the ‘Victory,’ knocked at the door, and inquired (at a marine, I think), “Is this the Royal Nauvy?—’cause I’m come till jine.” The story bears “fib” on the face of it, for there is not a Scottish schoolboy but knows that one ship does not make a navy, any more than one swallow does a summer.
But, dear intending candidate, if you wish to do the right thing, array yourself quietly in frock-coat, cap—not cocked hat, remember—and sword, and go on board your ship in any boat you please, only keep out of the way of gigs. When you arrive on board, don’t be expecting to see the admiral, because you’ll be disappointed; but ask a sailor or marine to point you out the midshipman of the watch, and request the latter to show you the commander. Make this request civilly, mind you; do not pull his ear, because, if big and hirsute, he might beat you, which would be a bad beginning. When you meet the commander, don’t rush up and shake him by the hand, and begin talking about the weather; walk respectfully up to him, and lift your cap as you would to a lady; upon which he will hurriedly point to his nose with his forefinger, by way of returning the salute, while at the same time you say—