The Three Admirals

by William Henry Giles Kingston

As long as their fresh provisions lasted, they fared pretty well, but when these were exhausted, they were reduced to very short commons, and, as Desmond observed, “very bad of its sort.” Salt junk, which had made, perhaps, more than one voyage round the world, and mouldy biscuit, constituted the chief ingredients of their meals. The midshipmen complained, but the skipper replied that he gave them the best he had. Billy especially declared that he should die of inanition. “Salt junk never agreed with me at the best of times, and this is more like old horse than beef,” he groaned, as he turned about a piece of black-looking stuff at the end of his fork.

The men were quite as ill off—they could not be worse; but when they found their officers faring as badly as they were, they could not complain. The old brig sailed like a tub even in a breeze, and at last the wind dropped and they lay becalmed day after day with the sun striking down on their heads. They had found it hot enough very frequently in travelling through the country; it was here sometimes even hotter. On their journey they had had at all events abundance of food, refreshing fruits, and clear water, while now they had only tepid, thick, brackish liquid to drink. When they made faces as they poured it out at meal time, the skipper remarked with a grin—

“You’re better off than if we had none, and if we are many weeks longer on the voyage maybe we shall be in that condition.”

Tom suggested that as soon as a breeze sprang up, they should steer for Brisbane, or one of the northern Australian ports, but the skipper would not listen to any such proposal. He preferred keeping the open sea, free of the reefs which existed nearer in with the land. Tom observed that they were already much further to the eastward than was necessary, but Captain Stubbins, though he was evidently no great navigator, declared that he knew his way as well as any naval officer, and refused to lend Tom his quadrant to make an observation.

Billy looked very melancholy, and declared that should the voyage continue much longer he should give up the ghost.

“If we could catch some fish we should do better,” said Tom. “Suppose you ask the skipper if he has got any hooks and lines.”

“I doubt whether the old fellow will take the trouble to look them out if he has,” observed Desmond.

Billy applied as was proposed, and greatly to his delight the mats produced a shark hook and several others of smaller size, with a supply of lines. In a few minutes all hands were busy with lines overboard with bits of pork and beef for bait. Several curious fish were hauled up, but the native crew pronounced them poisonous, and declared that those who ate them would die. This was tantalising.

While they were engaged in the sport, Toby—Desmond’s favourite monkey, whom he had taught all sorts of tricks—hopped on the bulwarks to see what they were about.

“Take care what you are doing, Master Toby,” sang out Desmond, springing forward to catch the monkey, who was in dangerous proximity to the shark hook line. Toby, expecting to be caught, made a spring, but having no rope to take hold of, lost his balance, and over he went into the water.