THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN.
For the purple Nautilus is my boat, In which I over the waters float; The moon is shining upon the sea. Who is there will come and sail with me?—L.E.L.
Of all the craft that ever swam upon salt-water give me the dashing forty-four gun frigate, with a ship's company of dare-devils who would board his Satanic Majesty's kitchen in the midst of cooking-time, if they could only get a gallant spirit to lead them. And pray, what would a ship's company be without leaders? for, after all, it is the officers that make the men what they are; so that, when I see a well-rigged man-o'-war, in which discipline is preserved without unnecessary punishment or toil, that's the hooker for me; and such was his Britannic Majesty's frigate, "the saucy, thrash-'em-all Spankaway," for by that title was she known from Yarmouth Roads to the Land's End. Oh, she was a lovely creature! almost a thing of life! and it would be outraging the principles of beauty to give her any other than a female designation. Everybody has been in love some time or other in the course of his existence, and the object of affection was no doubt an angel in the eyes of the ardent lover:—just so was the frigate to me—an angel; for she had wings, and her movements were regulated by the breath of heaven. She was the very standard of loveliness, the most exquisite of graceful forms. At anchor she sat upon the water with all the elegance and ease of the cygnet, or like a queen reclining on her downy couch. Under weigh she resembled the pretty pintado bird skimming the billow tops, or the fleet dolphin darting from wave to wave. Then to see her climb the rolling swell, or cleave the rising foam, baptising her children with the spray, and naming them her seamen—Oh, it was a spectacle worth a life to witness!
And who was her captain? the intrepid Lord Eustace Dash; a man more ennobled by his acts than by the courtesy which conferred his title; one who loved the women, hated the French, and had a constitutional liking for the rattling reports of a long-eighteen. His first lieutenant, Mr. Seymour, knew his duty, and performed it. The second lieutenant, Mr. Sinnitt, followed the example of his senior. The third lieutenant, Mr. Nugent, obeyed orders, touched the guitar, and was extremely anxious to become an author. Then there was Mr. Scalpel, the surgeon; Mr. Squeez'em, the purser; and Mr. Parallel, the master; with the two marine officers, Plumstone and Peabody. Such were the élite of the frigate; but it would be unpardonable—a sort of sea-sacrilege—not to notice Mr. Savage, the boatswain; Mr. Blueblazes, the gunner; and Mr. Bracebit, the carpenter, all good men and true, who had come in at the hawse-holes, and served through the various gradations till they mounted the anchor-button on their long-tailed coats. As for the mates, midshipmen, and assistant-surgeons, there was a very fair sprinkling,—the demons of the orlop, each with his nickname. Her crew—but we will speak of them presently.
Hark! it is four bells, in the first dog-watch; and there rolls the summons by the drum, calling the brave to arms. See how the hatchways pour forth the living mass! and in three minutes every soul fore and aft is at his appointed post. The gallant ship lies almost slumbering on the fair bosom of the waters, and the little progress she does make is as noiseless as a delightful dream; like the lone point in the centre of a circle, she is surrounded by the blue waves, and nothing intervenes to break the connected curve of the horizon. Upon the quarter-deck, his right hand thrust into his waistcoat, and his feet firmly planted on the white plank, as if desirous of making the bark feel his own peculiar weight, stands her brave commander: near him Mr. Squeez'em and two young imps of aides-de-camp take up their allotted stations; the former to note and minute down the details of action, the latter to fly to the infernal regions of the magazine,or anywhere else, at the bidding of their chief. The lieutenants are mustering their divisions through the agency of the young gentlemen; the surgeon and his assistants, happily having nothing to do below, appear abaft the mizen-mast; whilst Mr. Parallel holds brief consultation with the veteran Savage, whose portrait is affixed to each cat-head. Mr. Bracebit is sounding the well, and old Blueblazes is skimming about wherever circumstances require his presence. The marines, stiffened with pipe-clay, and their heads immoveable from what the negroes appropriately call "a top-boot round de neck," are parading on the gangway—their thumbs as stark as tobacco-stoppers, and their fingers as straight as a "hap'orth of pins." What a compound of pomatum and heel-ball, pipe-clay and sand-paper!
And now the officers give in their reports to the captain, who walks round the quarters to make a personal inspection, and, as he looks along the frowning battery, his lordship is proud of his bonny bark; whilst, as he gazes on his gallant crew, his heart exults in beholding some of the finest specimens of Britain's own that ever made their "home upon the deep."
"What think you of the weather, Mr. Parallel?" inquires his lordship, on returning to the quarter-deck. "Will it be fine to-night?"
The old man scans the horizon with an eye of professional scrutiny, and then replies, "I have my doubts, my lord; but at this time o' year the helements are beyond the ken of human understanding. I've been up the Mediterranean, off and on, man and boy, some five-and-forty years; it is to me like the face of a parent to a child, but I never could discover from its features what was passing in its heart, or the fit it would take next; one minute a calm, the next a squall; one hour a gentle breeze that just keeps the sails asleep, the next a gale of wind enough to blow the devil's horns off."
Lord Eustace well knows the veteran's peculiarities; indeed he is the only privileged talker in the ship, and so much esteemed by all, that no one seeks to check his loquacity.