As to the officers, with the exception of the first lieutenant and a few of the petty officers who took their cue from him, they seemed a decent and fairly smart set, although few of them had been tried in active service, and fewer still, I fancy, had had charge of so ill-found a ship as the Zebra.
One of the first complaints I was called upon to hear and report to my officers was as to the ship’s food, which was truly as scurvy and unsavoury a provision as I ever saw. Biscuits and grog and pork were such as the lowest slop-shop in Letterkenny would have been ashamed to sell.
“It’s good enough for hounds like them,” was all I could get out of the lieutenant. “They can take it or leave it.”
The next complaint I made was on my own account, and referred to the ship’s stores. We had barely our complement of anchors and cables, still less any to come and go on. For reserve spars and sails and other tackle we were almost as badly off; while the ammunition and arms were certainly not enough for a service involving any considerable action.
The officer in charge received all these representations with the utmost indifference.
“Get better if you can,” said he; “it’s all of a piece, and quite proper for a service that’s gone to the dogs. Hark at those demons now! The rum seems good enough, anyhow.”
And indeed all that night the Zebra was more like a madhouse than one of his Majesty’s ships. What authority there was was maintained at the end of the cat-o’-nine-tails. As for the enthusiasm and patriotic ardour which are usually supposed to hail the prospect of close-quarters with the enemy, one would have had to listen long and hard for any sign of either below decks that night.
“The best that can happen to us,” said I to myself, as I turned in at last, “is a hurricane up Channel, and the Dutch fleet at the end of it. These may hold us together; nothing else will.”
When Captain Swift came on board next evening things mended a little, for our gallant officer was a man whose name and manner both commanded respect. At the last moment some few additional stores were brought off; and the little speech he made to the crew, reminding them of their honourable profession, and holding out a prospect of distinction and prize-money in the near future, was listened to with more respect than I feared it would meet. The men, through one of their number, made a formal complaint of their grievances, which Captain Swift received on his part without resentment. The order was then given to weigh anchor, and half-an-hour later the Zebra was standing out to sea on as ill-starred a voyage as vessel ever made.
Had Captain Swift’s health been equal to his gallantry and tact all might even yet have gone well. But he came on board ill, and two days after we sailed he was confined to his berth with a dangerous relapse, and the fate of the Zebra was left in the hands of the worst possible man for the duty—Mr Adrian, the first lieutenant.