As I admired their mauve and white plumage and the two long scarlet feathers that constitute their tail, I could not resist remarking: “Why, Colonel, where did you get these?” To which he replied: “I shot them one morning after bathing, before you fellows were up.”
There was not a boatswain bird within fifty miles of where we had been, and the specimens had evidently been cured for years.
It was only a righteous lie, such as the generous “Colonel” could never resist.
CHAPTER XX.
EASTWARD HO!
Perhaps no ingredients are more certain to produce an explosion in a limited space than a Post Captain proceeding as a passenger on the ship of an officer some months his junior. It was my privilege once to watch one of these preliminary simmerings during the latter sixties and the subsequent inevitable dénouement.
George Malcolm, who in his younger days had had a distinguished career as flag-lieutenant at Portsmouth, but for a decade had lived the indolent life of a German at Frankfort, being compelled by the regulations to put in sea time as a Post Captain, was proceeding with a new crew to recommission the Danae on the West Indian station. It was not long before he developed his Teutonic acquirements. Smoking half the night in his cabin, he intimated to his crew that they might smoke when they pleased. Keeping his lights burning after hours, he next came into collision with the master-at-arms, who reported the irregularity to the captain, a peremptory order being issued that Malcolm was not to be made an exception, and that the regulations were to be enforced. The little man—Captain Grant, of the Himalaya—who thus entered the lists at the first challenge was well-known throughout the Navy as a veritable tartar. Standing little over five feet high, he had the body of a giant; his lower proportions were short and far from comely. These were the combatants for whom the arena was now cleared. Malcolm opened the attack by repeating the light-burning after hours. Grant retorted by ordering the master-at-arms to enter if necessary and carry out his orders. Next morning the two captains met in presence of their respective first lieutenants, and abused and accused each other of insubordination and mutiny.
The crews meanwhile took up the quarrel, and some of the Danae men had the temerity to cheek the master-at-arms. To this little Grant replied by tying up six of them to the shrouds, and giving them four dozen apiece with the cat. This checked the effervescence, and a few days later the ship entered Port Royal.
Then followed reports. But the admiral was one of the psalm-singing school, and not possessing sufficient character to adjudicate upon it himself, referred the matter home. Meanwhile the Danae was recommissioned and sailed away, the Himalaya returned to Portsmouth, and so the matter ended.
A flogging in the old days was a very “thorough” affair, and lost nothing in the matter of detail. Four stalwart boatswains stripped to their shirts stood like statues, on the deck reposed four green baize bags, each containing a cat.
When all was ready the captain’s warrant was read—for it may or may not be generally known that every skipper, from battleship to pigboat, is a justice of the peace, and has the power of life and death on the high seas—and then the operation began. Occasionally some genius, having prearranged to outwit the authorities, would feign collapse by suddenly tucking up his legs; but a feel of the pulse and a nod soon adjusted matters, and the culprit was in “full song.” And then the little man made a speech, not too long, but very much to the point: “Now, my lads, when you want any more, you know where to come for it.” After which he cocked his cap, and descended to his cabin with his sword clanking behind. It’s a way they had in the Navy.