The torpedo coxswain of a destroyer is a very important person indeed. He is always a chief petty officer or petty officer who acts as ex officio master-at-arms of the ship, and as such supervises the discipline, is the mouthpiece between the men and the officers, brings men up for punishment when they have misconducted themselves, and makes out and forwards the punishment returns to the depot ship. This, since serious offences are infrequent in torpedo-craft, is perhaps the least of all his duties. He also performs the work carried out by the ship's steward in a big ship, being responsible, under the supervision of the C.O., for the drawing and issue of all clothing, victuals, and rum, besides keeping the store-books for the same. As these have to be forwarded to the victualling paymaster of the depot ship at certain intervals, this, since it involves no small amount of paper work and much calculation, may be called the most onerous of his tasks.
But the coxswain's chief function, his raison d'être, is to act as a skilled helmsman. He is generally a man of long service and tried experience, who has done all his time in torpedo-craft. He knows, or should know, the individual idiosyncrasies of practically every type of destroyer in the navy; and, this being the case, he is the commanding officer's right-hand man if he is good—and he usually is—and his bête noir if he is bad. He steers the ship going in or out of harbour, when she is moving away from or going alongside a jetty or another ship, during steam tactics and manœuvres, or in action. In short, he is the qualified helmsman whose presence is required at the wheel in any circumstances calling for special skill and knowledge. He draws extra pay for his attainments, and has been through special courses to fit him for his rating; but his value lies in the fact that he has learnt his trade through long experience at sea.
William Willis, the coxswain of the Mariner, was a short, well-covered little man, with a laughing red face and a pair of twinkling blue eyes. He was always laughing, no matter how bad the weather, no matter what happened; while he had the peculiar knack of always appearing on the bridge at the very instant he was wanted, and without having to be sent for. How, when, and where he slept or ate at sea Wooten never discovered; for no sooner had the next destroyer ahead hauled out of the line to avoid a floating mine, or an important signal been made, than Willis, breathing like a grampus, clambered ponderously up on to the bridge and relieved the helmsman. It seemed second nature to him to arrive at the moment he was most needed. One peculiar trait of his was that he never would admit that the weather was really bad.
'Bit rotten, cox'n, eh?' Wooten would remark, shaking the drops of water out of his eyes after a green sea had lolloped over the forecastle and deluged every one on the bridge with spray.
'Not near so bad as I 'ave 'ad, sir,' Willis always answered stolidly. 'When I was in the Boxer we was once 'ove-to for three days in weather like this 'ere.' He occasionally varied the formula by mentioning the Zephyr, the Angler, the Kangaroo, the Albatross, the Garry, the Mohawk, or various others of the destroyers in which he had served; but no matter if the barometer had dropped half-an-inch in an hour, or the wind was blowing with almost hurricane force, or the ship was rolling and pitching to an extent that nobody would have believed possible if he had not seen and felt it, her weather, in the coxswain's opinion, was never so bad as that experienced by the other craft he had been in.
Sometimes, in the days when Wooten was still new to the ship, and before he had come to understand the ways and tricks of handling her—and a destroyer does occasionally take a deal of handling—they got into difficulties. Perhaps they would be going alongside an oiler [ [34] at dead of night to replenish their fuel, and the wind would get on the wrong bow, and a strong tide sweep the ship the wrong way. Willis rarely talked on the bridge, but then it was that he considered himself entitled to speak.
'Why not try 'er with a touch astern starboard, sir?' would come a hoarse remark. 'Slew 'er stern round—see?' He never spoke as if he were offering advice; he merely made a suggestion, as it were, and oftener than not Wooten acted upon it, and found it good.
Daniel Bulpit, the chief engine-room artificer, Thompson's trusted assistant and second in command, had few peculiarities. He was a hard-working, conscientious, and thoroughly capable west-countryman, who was always cheerful and always obliging. In appearance he was short and thick-set, with a fresh complexion, hair slightly tinged with gray, and blue eyes; and what he didn't know about the Mariner and her internal economy was not worth thinking about. Before joining the destroyer he had been at the College at Dartmouth, teaching the naval cadets their business in the pattern-shop. He had evidently been popular there, for when he went ashore he was frequently recognised and accosted by certain of his 'young gentlemen,' most of whom by this time had attained the dignity and single gold stripes of sub-lieutenants.
Gartin, the chief stoker, was a character, and, among other duties, had charge of the engineer's stores and tools. He was a tall man, with shaggy eyebrows, black hair, and a black beard, and, judging from the conversation occasionally heard issuing from the storeroom hatch, took his job very seriously indeed, and regarded most people, certainly all seamen, as disciples of Barabbas.
'Please, will yer let us 'ave the loan of a cold chisel an' a nammer?' once asked Pincher Martin.