Now, I am going to moralise. I appreciated that form of reprimand much better than I should have relished a senseless punishment such as, unfortunately, often falls to the middy’s lot. I allude to the stopping of leave. Of course, that could have effect only when in harbour. Possibly, therefore, your ship might be weeks at sea after the punishment was awarded; and you had it hanging over your head. A boy was debarred from seeing some new place of interest, an experience which would have been more beneficial to his mind than the punishment was to his morals. Mast-heading was another form. “Go up to the mast-head, and wait until I call you down.” This, on a rough day was very disagreeable: the jerking of spars (to say nothing of the climb up into the skies) did not abate the feeling of sea-sickness; and woe betide you if by any chance you made an unfortunate exhibition of yourself! Among other punishments was what was termed “sticking you on the bitts.” You stood on the wooden framing round the mast, to which the ropes were belayed, for a specified number of hours; and you not only looked, but also felt, an abject fool. Sometimes you had watch-and-watch—four hours on duty to four hours off. During these punishments there was generally one friend who had compassion on you. That was the boatswain’s mate of the watch. When he got the opportunity, he would invariably go behind the mast and near where you might be undergoing your punishment, spin you a yarn of what he had seen in his time, and offer you some consolation, telling you to endure your disgrace like a man.
These boatswain’s mates were fine fellows, as a rule; but generally they had to bear the brunt if something went wrong with the sails or ropes. “Boatswain’s mate, why the Devil—” this or that—was constantly yelled out by the officer of the watch. Noise and repetition of orders emanating from that worthy were a sure sign that the officer of the watch was not up to his work.
Standing between two guns on the quarter-deck for so many half hours was another form of punishment. This was killing. It often happened that the poor middy found himself in close proximity to some dirty cook’s mate placed between two guns for neglecting to keep clean something under his charge.
These punishments were very senseless: irritating to some natures, and disgusting many a boy with the Service. I have known several serious cases of insubordination consequent on such punishments, which stung some characters to the quick. A case happened to myself that I shall never forget. As mid of the watch, I had to call a certain Commander at 5.30 A.M. Calling a strict Commander whom you very much funked was in itself a nervous transaction. But this officer seemed particularly to love cross-questioning the wretched small boy. The question usually first put to you was, “How is the weather?” followed by various others—some difficult to answer, perhaps. On the occasion to which I refer, it happened to be a washing-of-clothes morning; and this very bearish Commander asked me whether the clothes were up, meaning, Were all the clothes hung up on the lines and in their places? On my answering in the affirmative, he asked, “How many blue frocks are there hanging on the lower lines?” For the life of me, I could not tell; nor could one possibly discover by any depth of reasoning what object there was in knowing how many blue serge frocks were hanging up to dry out of a complement of 850 souls. I answered, “I don’t know exactly, sir; but I will go and see.” “You don’t know, sir!” exclaimed this infuriated gouty person. “I will see about that. Meantime, consider your leave stopped for a month.” And this in Malta Harbour—where we had our cricket, rackets, billiards, friends, and every sort of fun, besides a half-crown stall at the opera when we could afford it. The only consolation is that (I suppose) it did not do me much harm, but that, on the contrary, it taught me a lesson for after life, when my turn for authority came. Such punishments, like flogging, were the remnants of barbarism; and it was a good day for the Navy when they ceased.
I am sorry to say I have often seen three men flogged, one after another. This hateful ceremony invariably (in my time) was gone through at 7.30 A.M. All the officers had to appear on deck in frock-coats, and with swords, while the punishments were being inflicted. I do not believe that flogging ever cured a character. I think that it hardened nine men out of ten. It may have deterred others, and so had its effect; but the crimes committed were often, to my idea, too trifling for such retribution. Of course, in those days prisons—or, at any rate, the means of sending men to prison—were scarce; and it happened that we were a good deal on war service, when prisons were not accessible. But, coûte que coûte, bad characters—men who could not be reclaimed after several attempts—were best kicked out of the Service. They are a plague to their shipmates, and give trouble all round; though it was a curious fact that they were generally the best seamen. When I commanded ships I occasionally found characters that were past all hope. I spoke to them, explained matters, argued cases out. Nothing had the slightest effect. Crime appeared to be a second nature: they could not refrain from the temptation to disobey orders. They were not ill-treated by their shipmates, or soured by constant fault-finding. Their sole object in life seemed to be to go in a direction exactly opposite to that which was right. I believe this to be a mode of insanity.
CHAPTER VI
RUSSIA COLLAPSES
Early in September 1855 it was generally known that the game was nearly up with the Russians. Sebastopol could not hold out much longer. The bombarding had been very heavy and constant for some days. On the 7th of that month the combined Fleets made all preparations to attack the forts in conjunction with the land batteries. We prepared for action, got all our upper masts down, unrove a deal of rope, placed shot about the deck, and demolished all bulkheads; and when once the splinter nettings were placed we knew that business was meant. Steam was ready in the early morning of the 8th of September, and, after ceaseless blockading, we felt that our turn to be up and doing had come.
Alas, we were mistaken. It came on to blow a gale dead-onshore. About 9 A.M. our Commander-in-Chief signalled to the French Admiral, “Do you think it advisable to weigh and attack?” What was answered I do not remember. Suffice it to say that, after all the excitement of a coming ding-dong, we remained at anchor. Wiser heads took the responsibility.