'Ask me another,' laughed Tickle. 'Some of these O.D.'s keep their eyes in the back of their head. However, this chap seems a bit better than some of 'em, though that's not saying much. He had the fright of his life, though, and won't do it again, I'll bet.'
The first lieutenant snorted.
S.S. Ben Macdhui certainly deserved all the strictures passed upon her by both officers. She was no chicken, merely a nine-and-a-half knot, pot-bellied monstrosity of a tramp built in the early 'eighties, which, by inadvertence on somebody's part, or through a shortage of more suitable craft, had temporarily been chartered as an Admiralty collier. She belonged to a small company who appeared to earn their dividends by buying all the old crocks of ships they could lay their hands upon, and then running them on the cheap, for all her gear and fittings were as elderly and unsafe as herself. Her middle-aged winches wheezed cheerfully, and vomited forth jets of steam, scalding water, and gouts of oil when they could be persuaded to revolve. Her derricks groaned and sagged perilously when they lifted half their proper load; while the less said about her coaling-whips—supposed to be brand-new two-and-a-half-inch steel wire of the best quality—the better. The officers and men were thoroughly in keeping with their ship. The former, according to their own account, had all seen better days; while the latter, bleary-eyed and stiff in the joints, looked more like a party of workhouse inmates than the crew of a British merchant ship. A more decrepit and ancient set of mariners it would be impossible to find. They all had bald heads, several were grandfathers with flowing white whiskers—when they washed; but then, of course, Messrs Catchem & Flintskin preferred men of experience to mere scatter-brained youngsters. They were more reliable, they said; but they also got them cheaper, and their appetites were smaller.
The 'Belligerents' swore lustily when the venerable Ben Macdhui secured alongside. The commander shared their feelings; while the first lieutenant—who was in general charge of the collier during coaling—nearly wept, and retired to the wardroom to seek liquid consolation. The lieutenants in charge of the holds, who would have to bear the brunt of the whole business if the coal did not come in at its usual rate, cursed long and loud. They were all justified, poor souls, for a bad collier may mean a long coaling; and a long coaling in the winter is the 'perishin' limit,' as some one put it.
The collier came alongside before dark, and that evening new whips were rove, derricks were rigged and topped, bags and shovels were brought up from the dim recesses of the Belligerent's bowels and distributed among the holds, the battleship's deck was brushed over with a moist mixture of sand and lime to prevent the coal-dust from soaking in, and all paintwork on the upper deck was swathed in canvas for the same reason.
Martin, as Lieutenant Tickle has already explained, had nearly lost the number of his mess when assisting in the collier. He thought his narrow escape was deserving of a certain amount of sympathy, but precious little he got. He was bluntly called a '—— young fool,' and asked 'why the —— he wanted to get his —— head in the way.' Even his messmates laughed at him, for to all bluejackets a miss is as good as a mile. In the course of their careers, even in time of peace, they look death in the face so often as to be utterly unmindful of narrow squeaks. Their calling is essentially a risky one, and to become inured to danger is part and parcel of their training. If a man has a close shave he is chaffed unmercifully; if he is killed, his shipmates express their sympathy, shrug their shoulders, attend the funeral with tears in their eyes and a glass case of wax flowers in their hands, and subscribe their shillings and pennies toward providing for the widow and children. It is all in the day's work.
Punctually at five-thirty the next morning, while it was yet dark, the boatswain's mates were piping, 'Clear lower deck! 'Ands fall in for coaling ship!' and officers and men, clad in the oldest and grimiest of garments, repaired to the quarterdeck. Coaling ship was always a 'clear lower deck' evolution, and nobody was excused except a few privileged officers and men.
On the quarterdeck was the commander; and presently, when the men had been reported present, he gave them a few words.
'Men,' he said, 'we've got a bad collier this time, just about the worst thing in colliers I've ever seen. We have six hundred tons to take in, so let's see if we can't make an evolution of it. We've been a pretty good ship for coaling up to date, remember, so don't let us spoil our good record now. Coal ship!'
The groups of men scattered and fled to their several stations. The forecastlemen, foretopmen, maintopmen, and quarterdeckmen repaired to their respective holds in the collier, where they were divided up into gangs of five for shovelling the coal into the two-hundredweight bags, which were hoisted on board ten at a time. The 'dumping-ground parties,' composed principally of artisan ratings like the carpenter's mates, shipwrights, plumbers, and blacksmiths, were sent to the places on the battleship's deck where the hoists would presently be coming in. Their duty was to unhook and unstrap the bags as they arrived, and to place them on the barrows, which were then trundled to the various bunker-openings in the deck by the Royal Marines. Here the bags were seized by the 'tippers,' and their contents emptied down the shoots into the bunkers below, where they were stowed by the stokers doing duty as 'trimmers.' The empty bags were collected by a number of ordinary seamen and boys, who returned them to the holds in the collier; and woe betide these youths if the men digging in the holds were delayed through a shortage of empties!