Chapter Nine.
I Become a “First-Class Boy.”
Our life aboard after this passed very evenly, though not uneventfully; for there was hardly a day that something did not occur as interesting as it was novel to our previous experience.
Talk of a sailor’s life being dull! Why, it’s full of incident, full of interest, full of adventure; and even on board a harbour ship, like the Saint Vincent, I tell you, there is sport to be had afloat as well as ashore!
We had a rat-hunt once, some three or four weeks after I joined the ship.
The captain’s dog, a fine cock-eared fox-terrier named ‘Gyp,’ with the most wonderful eyes, and a nose that worked with excitement as quickly as his short-cropped tail, which was docked to half an inch and was ever on the wag, got into the habit of coming forward on the forecastle whenever he was let out of his master’s cabin, in the most unaccountable manner.
Now ‘Gyp,’ you must know, was a rather particular dog in his way, keeping to his own station when below; while, should he be taken up on the quarter-deck by the captain, or accompany any of the other officers there, he would never, as a rule, advance farther towards the fore part of the ship than the main-hatchway.
All of a sudden, however, master ‘Gyp’ takes it into his head to make free of the forecastle, and associate with such of the lower deck men who might chance to be there.
This, of course, was derogatory to his dignity as a captain’s dog; but, although remonstrated with by his master’s valet, who had charge of him when the captain did not take him ashore—aye, and even whipped for thus straying forwards—‘Gyp’ would persist in his unseemly predilection for low life, utterly regardless of his proper rank as an officer, with a collar and badge. This article was of gold lace, and became him well, contrasting favourably with his black-and-tan head and soft white coat, which latter was guiltless of spot or blemish.