“No; and I don’t intend to be,” he answered, drawing himself up somewhat proudly. “I am not going to be made the sport of my inside.”
“More likely of your messmates,” I answered.
We soon found, however, that this easy sort of life was not going to last for ever. One night we had to tumble out of our hammocks, in the middle watch, pretty fast, at the cry of—“All hands shorten sail!” The men were out of bed in a twinkling. It was wonderful how soon they slipped into their clothes. The sea was roaring, the wind howling and whistling, and the officers shouting—“Clew up! Haul down! Close reef topsails!” and similar cries. I was very glad not to have to go aloft just then, right up into the darkness, amid the slashing of ropes, and the flapping of sails, and the fierce whistling of the blast as it rushed through the rigging. So, I have an idea, was Dicky Plumb, though he had been boasting so boldly the previous afternoon. I remember being ordered aft with other boys, to man the mizen-topsail clew-line, which we did, and pulled, and hauled away, till we were ordered to belay. This is the only piece of service I recollect rendering to my country that night. When the ship was got under snug sail, the crew were piped down; and I, with the watch below, turned in. I was, however, by this time, feeling rather curious. I had hitherto been very well, and remarkably jolly; and was sure I was going to make a first-rate sailor. The ship, however, began to roll, and went on rolling more and more. Not only I, but most of the other boys, and many of the men, too, were looking very queer. I had a friend I have not mentioned before—Tommy Punchon by name—a fine little chap. He had never seen a ship before he came on board the Roarer; but he had read of ships, and foreign lands, and that made him come to sea, he told me. Now he had heard there was such a thing as sea-sickness, but he was not going to knock under to it—not he. I met Tommy coming along the lower deck (I am speaking now of the next morning), looking very green and yellow; indeed, all sorts of colours; perhaps I looked the same, I rather think I did. I asked him how he felt. “Very jolly, eh?”
“Oh, don’t! don’t!” he answered, with the corners of his mouth curling down. “It’s an awful reality; I must confess it.” Just then, I caught sight of Dicky Plumb, who had been sent along the deck on some duty, which he had evidently a difficulty in performing. I doubt if his mother would have owned him, so crest-fallen he looked. I dared not speak to him. He, indeed, cast an imploring look at me, as much as to say, “Don’t!” On he went, trying to reach the midshipmen’s berth, but overcome by his feelings—miserable I know they were, from experience—he stopped, and if Sergeant Turbot had not caught him in his arms, he would have sunk down on the deck. The sergeant, however, helped him along, till he got him stowed safely away in the berth, where there were probably several other young gentlemen in a like prostrate condition. Meantime, I grew worse and worse. Tommy and I were soon joined by other boys—a most miserable crew—and we all together went and stowed ourselves away in the fore part of the ship, thinking that no one would be troubled about such wretched creatures as we were. My grand idea was a hope that some one would come and throw me overboard. We lay thus for some time unnoticed, and began to hope that we should not be discovered. Still, I must say, I did not care what happened to us. I asked Tommy how he felt.
“Oh, Jack! Jack?” he groaned out, “Do take me by the head and heels, and heave me overboard, there’s a good fellow!”
“That’s just what I was going to ask you to do for me,” I answered, in the same dolorous tone, though I have an idea, that if any one had actually taken us at our word, the cold water would soon have restored us to health, and we should have wished ourselves on board again. Suddenly, we were all aroused by a gruff voice sounding in our ears, and, looking up, who should we see, but that hard-hearted individual, Bryan Knowles, the ship’s corporal, standing over us, cane in hand.
“What are all you boys idling here for?” he growled out. “Rouse up, every one of you; rouse up, you young villains, and go to your duty?”
Poor little wretches that we were; as if we could possibly do anything but just crawl from one place to another, and lie down, wishing to die. But it was not only the boys who were ill, but great hulking fellows, some seamen, but mostly marines; fully fifty of them, lying and rolling about the decks like logs of wood. I need not further describe the scene, or enter into too minute particulars.
At length, old Futtock, the boatswain—a friend of Sergeant Turbot’s—gave me leave to go and lie down in his cabin till I should get better. The very feeling that I had some one to care for me did me good.
In most ships there is a dirty Jem; we had one, a miserable fellow, with a skin which no amount of washing could cleanse. Now it happened that a party of tall marines had stolen down the fore cock-pit, and having found their way into the cable tier, had snugly stowed themselves on some spare sails and hawsers. There they lay, groaning and moaning, and making other noises significant of what was going on, when Mr Maconochie, a big, burly Scotchman, mate of the orlop deck, coming forward, heard them, and very soon began to peer about with his large goggle eyes into the recesses of the tier. I dreaded the consequences, as, slipping out of the cabin where I had been, I looked out to see what he was about.