Off to Sea: The Adventures of Jovial Jack Junker on his Road to Fame

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“What are you sodgers doing there?” he roared out, in a furious passion at seeing what they had been about.

One of them, with a wicked leer, at once pointed to Dirty Jem, who lay fast asleep not far off. Now, whether Mr Maconochie thought he could not punish the marines, and was glad to get hold of some other individual on whom to vent his rage, I do not know; but, be that as it may, he roused up the poor boy, and having boxed his ears, ordered him to take one of the steerage, that is, a midshipman’s hammock—which had been left by the marine who ought to have lashed it up—and to carry it up and stow it in the poop nettings. Poor Jem poked his fingers into one of the turns, and began to drag the big hammock along, but so weak was he that he could scarcely move. I do not think he could ever have got up, even to the lower deck. Fortunately for Dirty Jem, Mr Blunt, who would allow no one but himself to bully, and that he never did, happened to come down, and inquiring why he was dragging the hammock, ordered him to put it down, and hauled Mr Maconochie pretty severely over the coals for his barbarity. The marines had meantime sneaked off, and thus escaped the mate’s rage. I had got nearly well by this time, and thought, as the ship was still tumbling about, that I was going to enjoy myself. The captain, however, having ascertained that we had got our sea legs and sea stomachs into order, ordered the ship’s corporal to turn us out of our hammocks at four o’clock next morning to muster at the lee gangway. We there had to answer to our number, and then came the pipe—

“Watch and idlers, holystone decks?”

We were sent on to the poop, and were employed for some time amidst the slashing and dashing of water, working away on our bare knees on the sanded decks, grinding them with the holystones. Then we had to scrub with hard brushes, while the captain of the mizen-top kept dashing buckets full of water round us, often sending one right into our faces. There were generally one or two of the midshipmen there, who had to paddle about, with their trousers tucked up and their feet and legs bare; however, as the first-lieutenant set them the example, they had no cause to complain.

For a whole day I had seen nothing of Dicky Plumb. At length, one morning, who should appear on deck but the young gentleman himself. He looked doubtingly at first at what was going forward, then off he slipped his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers, and began like the others running here and there, seeing that all hands worked away with a will. We had to muster for numerous purposes—to see that we were clean, and that our hammocks were lashed up properly. The latter was severe work; for, the hammocks being heavy and we little, when the ship was rolling it was as much as we could do, and sometimes more than we could do, to hold on to them, and keep ourselves from rolling away across the deck. Poor Jem (Dirty Jem, I mean) was often in trouble. The lieutenant made us tuck up our shirt-sleeves and trousers, and then lift our arms and legs to see that they were properly washed. Dirty Jem had really got his arms clean up to his elbows, and legs up to the knees.

“Turn up your shirt-sleeves higher, boy, and your trousers too,” said the lieutenant.

A dark rim of dirt was seen at each place.

“Corporal, give this boy twelve finnams!” exclaimed the lieutenant.

“Please, sir, I didn’t know that we were to muster there,” spluttered out Dirty Jem.

The excuse, however, did not save him. He got the finnams, and had to clean himself into the bargain. To the latter operation he objected even more than the first, and seemed to think it a very hard case of cruelty. However, I shall have no space for our adventures in the far East, if I go spinning my yarn in this style. We touched at Madeira, the chief object, I fancy, being to procure a cask or two of wine for the captain and the admiral on the station. Hearing one day that we were nearing the line, I, with Tommy Punchon and several other boys, were very anxious to know what that could mean. I promised to ask Sergeant Turbot. I did so. He looked very wise, and replied—“Why, you understand, Jack, that the line is what you don’t see, but it’s there, and runs right round the world, from east to west, or west to east, it’s all the same. And then it’s very hot there, because the sun is right overhead, and for the same cause it’s always summer, and the days are neither very long nor very short, and there are mostly calms. For this reason, and because he could not pick out a more comfortable part of the whole watery-world, the king of the ocean, Daddy Neptune, as we call him, once on a time used to live there. He does not now, that I know of, because I have heard say that all the heathen gods and goddesses have given up living at all on the earth; though, to be sure, I don’t say but what he and they may visit it now and then. Now, Jack, you understand all about the matter, or as much as I, a sergeant of the Royal Marines, do, and that surely must be quite enough for a second-class boy on board ship.”