Then came the horrid ordeal of calling out hundreds of names while mustering the watch. In a line-of-battle ship it meant 350 names or thereabouts, and the wretched mid was nearly choked before he got half-way through. Whatever the weather was, this muster process had to be got through as quickly as possible, for the old watch was not free to turn in before the muster was over. Soon after daylight, when the decks were washed, all sails that so required were reset, and any sail that had been taken off the ship the evening before for precautionary measures was set again in moderate weather.
We crossed the line the day after Christmas; and, the weather being warm and calm, there was a rare ado, with the usual ceremonies attending the event. In fact, one lived in salt water most of the day. Every new hand had to be ducked and shaved by Neptune’s satellites, and some rough play ensued. My duties during this long cruise were those of signal mid to the Commodore, a sort of deputy flag-lieutenant. He was very particular about being informed, when I called him at 5.30, what vessels were in sight at daylight. All I saw had to be thoroughly described. By eight o’clock I was always ready for my breakfast, which I invariably ate in the Commodore’s mess, with the Captain and the Secretary. This was lucky, as in the gun-room we were reduced to salt pork and biscuit after a week or two out. In spite of our being always on a strict allowance, water was at times scarce.
I can recollect only one unpleasant occurrence on our way out to the Cape. The ship caught fire aft in the slop-room, a store where the men’s clothing was kept, and in close proximity to the magazine; which was rather shaking to the nerves. The fire bell rang immediately, and we were all at our stations in a few moments. This was about 7.30 in the morning. My station was on the quarter-deck, where I had to place sentries with a view to preventing men from jumping overboard in panic terror, and also to see hammocks passed down in case of necessity. The marine on sentry walked up and down with a fixed bayonet. I cannot say it was pleasant to see smoke issuing up the after hatchways. At any moment one might go sky-high if the magazine exploded. The Commodore was one of the first down to play the hose on the smouldering matter; and it was amusing to see him rush down the after ladder with nothing on but a pair of deck trousers and a flannel jersey. Sail was immediately shortened, and the ship so placed as to prevent any draught going below. After half an hour’s pumping the fire was subdued, and I well remember watching the gradual return of smiling countenances after the gloom of the anxious half-hour. While walking the deck I knew nothing of what was going on below; but I heard afterwards that the outer lining of the magazine bulkhead had been burnt through, separating our little outside world from the powder by not much to spare. I can remember the feeling of relief it afforded me to hear the word passed up the hatchway that the fire was being got under, and still more to hear the pipe, “Return fire stores.”
On such occasions—and in the same way when in action, if the truth were known—there are, I believe, few men who do not feel a certain anxiety. Personally I always found that I felt less anxiety when moving about in action. On board ship you are like a stationary target. When fighting on land and constantly on the move there is far less of this emotion running through your mind.
CHAPTER X
PIRATE-HUNTING; AND A DINNER PARTY
The only time I can recollect being in comparatively abject terror, knowing that I must be killed to a certainty, and among the first to die, was when I was employed pirate-hunting on the coast of Asia Minor, in the Foxhound sloop, commanded by the late Hobart Pasha. I was sent away cruising for a fortnight at a time on the south coast of Asia Minor in a 10-oared cutter. I used to lie in some creek on the coast. Sometimes we slept in any old hovel, in any cover, we could find near the shore, but generally under our awnings and sails in the boat; and by day we used to sally out, and board any suspicious coaster that was passing. As it turned out, we frightened far more poor devils than the pirates scared. We were constantly boarding some craft or another, and we never knew until alongside what the vessel might turn out to be. I felt certain that Mr. Pirate would not show the slightest attempt at resistance until we were close alongside, and that then he could quietly pot every mother’s son of us before we laid our oars in. That I should be the best target was unquestionable. Standing up in uniform, I made the most conspicuous figure. And I often noticed that on my giving the order to draw cutlasses and stand by to board, there were anxious looks on the faces of my boat’s crew. Pulling with their backs turned to what might prove to be the enemy was not a pleasant position. I could see, but they could not; and with my glasses I often noticed men looking over the coaster’s bulwarks, crouching down in dire funk at our approach: of course, they might suspect us of being the pirate, and possibly send a shot or two at us on spec.
Thus there was a sort of “double event” about this job: of being taken for the pirate oneself, and of finding the apparently peaceful trader a pirate in disguise. There was much relief when we discovered each other’s charms; and many a laugh over a cigarette and bottle of resin wine followed, especially pleasant after a long hot pull of two or three miles under a broiling sun. I never caught a pirate; though I had the luck to drive a boat full of the beggars ashore, when they burnt their boat and scattered up into the hills.
The other Lieutenant of the Foxhound did not fare so well in his cruise after the pirates. Bent on a ruse, he left his man-of-war’s boat, hired a native caique, and sailed about, disguising his crew by making them wear the regular Greek dress, in which he attired himself as well.