“Ay, ay, Mr Fortescue, it’s me, right enough,” was the answer. “I presoom, sir, it’s another boat job, eh? You heard that bell?”
“We did, Mr Futtock; yes, we heard it distinctly, seeing that we don’t ‘caulk’ in our watch on deck,” I retorted. “Yes, it’s another boat affair; so be good enough to have all hands called at once, if you please. And kindly make it your personal business to see that nobody raises his voice, lets anything fall, or otherwise creates row enough to wake the dead. This is going to be a little surprise visit, you understand.”
“Ay, ay, Mr Fortescue, I understands,” answered Futtock, as he moved toward the open hatchway; “I’ll see that the swabs don’t make no noise. The man that raises his voice above a whisper won’t go. That’s all.”
“Just one word more, Mr Futtock,” I hastily interposed, as the boatswain stepped over the coaming to descend the hatchway. “You may do me a favour, if you will. Kindly ask the armourer to pick me out a nice sharp cutlass, if you please. You can bring it on deck with you when you come up.”
To this request the boatswain readily enough assented; and matters being thus far satisfactorily arranged I descended to the cockroach-haunted den wherein we mids. ate and slept, to find that little Tom Copplestone—who shared my watch, and who was a special favourite of mine because of his gentle, genial disposition, and also perhaps because he hailed from the same county as myself—having overheard the conversation between Mr Perry and myself, had already come below and roused the occupants of the place, who, by the smoky rays of a flaring oil lamp that did its best to make the atmosphere quite unendurable, were hastily arraying themselves.
“Murder!” I ejaculated, as I entered the pokey little place and got my first whiff of its close, reeking, smoke-laden atmosphere; “put out that abominable lamp and light a candle or two, somebody, for pity’s sake. How the dickens you fellows can manage to breathe down here I can’t understand. And, boy,” to the messenger outside, “pass the word for Cupid to bring us along some cocoa from the galley.”
“There’s no need,” remarked Nugent, the master’s mate, as he struggled ineffectively to find the left sleeve of his jacket. “The word has already been passed; I passed it myself when Master Cock-robin there,” pointing to Copplestone, “came and roused us out. And, as to candles, I’m afraid we haven’t any; the rats appear to have eaten the last two we had in the locker. However—ah, here comes the cocoa. Put the pot down there, Cupid—never mind if it does soil our beautiful damask table-cloth, we’re going to have it washed next time we go into Sierra Leone. And just see if you can find us a biscuit or two and some butter, will ye, you black angel? Here, avast there,”—as the black was about to retire—“produce our best china breakfast-set before you go, you swab, and pour out the cocoa.”
The black, a herculean Krooboy, picked up when we first arrived on the Coast, and promptly christened “Cupid” by the master’s mate, who, possibly because of sundry disappointments, had developed a somewhat sardonic turn of humour, grinned appreciatively at Nugent’s sorry jest respecting “our best china breakfast-set,” and proceeded to rout out the heterogeneous assortment of delf and tin cups, basins, and plates that constituted the table-equipage of the midshipmen’s berth, poured out a generous allowance of cocoa for each of us, and then departed, with the empty bread-barge, in quest of a supply of ship’s biscuit. By the time that Cupid returned with this, we had gulped down our cocoa and were ready to go on deck. I therefore helped myself to a couple of biscuits which, breaking into pieces of convenient size by the simple process of dashing them against my elbow, I crammed into my jacket pocket, and then rushed up the ladder to the deck, leaving my companions to follow after they had snatched a hasty bite or two of food; for there was now no knowing when we might get breakfast.
Upon my arrival on deck I found the hands already mustering under the supervision of the first lieutenant, and a moment later I encountered the boatswain, who handed over to me a good serviceable ship’s cutlass—worth a dozen of the ridiculous little dirks which were considered suitable weapons for midshipmen—which I promptly girded about my waist. At this moment all was bustle and animation throughout the ship, yet so sedulously had we been trained to act in perfect silence that I am certain the stealthy footfalls of the men hurrying to their stations, and the whispered words of command, were quite inaudible at a distance of twenty yards from the ship. Within a minute or two, however, even these faint sounds had subsided, the crew were all mustered, and the first lieutenant, assisted by a quartermaster who carried a carefully masked lantern, was carefully, yet rapidly, inspecting each man’s weapons and equipment, scrutinising the flints in the locks of the pistols, and otherwise satisfying himself of the efficiency of our hurried preparations. While the inspection was still in progress the captain came on deck, with his sword girded to his side and a brace of pistols thrust into his belt, and stood quietly looking on until the inspection was completed and Mr Perry had reported that everything was in order.
Then the skipper announced that he would personally lead the attack in his own gig, manned by eight oarsmen, a coxswain, and a midshipman—myself; while the first cutter, manned by sixteen oarsmen, a coxswain, and a midshipman—Jack Keene—was to be commanded by Mr Purchase, the second lieutenant; and the second cutter, with twelve oarsmen, a coxswain, and Nugent, the master’s mate, was to be under the command of the boatswain. Thus the attacking party was to consist of forty-five persons, all told, which was as many, I suppose, as the skipper felt justified in taking out of the ship under the circumstances.