The very duty of the ship itself was an endless source of occupation and amusement to us, the commander keeping the men “at it” continually from sunrise to sunset, until he had so licked us all into shape that we were the smartest ship’s company afloat, I think; for the discipline was such that the old Candahar might have been four years in commission instead of the brief three months that had elapsed from our hoisting the pen’ant to our casting anchor in Simon’s Bay, a port to the eastward of the “Stormy Cape,” where our men-of-war usually moor.
Here, we remained for ten days to refit, setting up our lower rigging, which had got very slack through the heat of the Tropics, and taking in fresh provisions and water, besides all of us having a run ashore to shake the reefs out of our legs.
All the men, too, were allowed leave by watches each day of our stay, and few took advantage of the licence to misbehave themselves although temptation enough was thrown in their way by the hospitable inhabitants.
Amongst these few, I am sorry to say, Corporal Macan distinguished himself, falling a victim to his “ould complaint,” by coming aboard on the second day after our arrival in a state of glorious intoxication, despite his solemn promise to Dr Nettleby, through whom the commander had given him permission to land, that he “wouldn’t touch a dhrop ov the craythur, not if Ould Nick axed him.”
Larkyns, who was in charge of the launch, in which the culprit was brought back helpless to the ship in the afternoon, noticing his condition when he tried to go up the side, ordered him to report himself to the sergeant of marines; but, Mr Macan, who was valiant in his cups, waxed indignant at this and flatly refused to obey the command, saying that he would not mind going before the commander, or the first lieutenant, or even meeting the doctor himself, though he was loth to see him for the moment with his broken promise staring him in the face; but as for going and reporting himself to the sergeant he should not, no, not he.
“An’ is it to rayport mesilf to that omahdaun ye’re afther axin me, sor?” he said scornfully, tossing his head and leering out of his little pig eyes in the most comical way. “Faix, I’d rayther not, wid your favour, sor. I wouldn’t demane mesilf by spakin’ to the loikes ov Sarjent Linstock, sor!”
The upshot was that poor Macan was put under arrest and confined in the cells that night; and when brought before the captain the next day for insubordination and drunkenness, as he had no excuse to offer he was disrated, losing his rank of corporal, with all its perquisites and privileges!
On the doctor taxing him with breaking his pledged word, however, in an after interview that worthy had with the delinquent, he vehemently protested his innocence of that charge at all events.
“I tould yez, sor, I wouldn’t touch a dhrop ov the craythur, maynin’ whisky, sure,” he said, with a miserable attempt at a grin; for he felt very much humiliated at losing his stripes, Macan sober being quite a different man to Macan drunk. “An’ faix I niver bruk me wurrud at all, at all, I’ll swear, sor.”
“How can you have the face to deny it, man?” cried the doctor, angrily. “Why, I saw the state you were in myself when you came aboard the other night!”