The Three Lieutenants

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Soon afterwards all hands were piped on deck, and the sea-sick had to appear as well as the rest. The report had been made to the captain that a man had been knocked overboard, but who was the sufferer was uncertain. The frigate was bravely breasting the foaming billows under close-reefed topsails, ever and anon a hissing sea striking her bows and its crest sweeping across the deck, the spray in dense showers coming right aft, and rendering flushing coats and tarpaulins necessary to those who desired dry skins. Overhead the dark clouds flew rapidly by, showing no abatement of the gale. Far astern was the Tudor with no fore-topsail set, showing that either the mast or yard had been sprung while it was impossible to say what other damage she might have received, if caught unprepared as the frigate had been. The muster-roll was now called over. A third of the crew had answered to their names. “Richard Jenkins” was called. It was the name of a fine young topman. No Richard Jenkins replied; but he must have been aloft at the time the fore-tack parted, and then two other topmen acknowledged that they had been afraid some one had been knocked from the fore-topsail-yard; but the thick darkness, and the wild flapping of the sail, had made them uncertain. The other names were called over. No one answered to that of Daniel Bacon. He was rated as a landsman, and would have been forward at the time. Two, then, in the darkness of night had been cast unnoticed into their ocean grave. “Poor fellows! poor fellows!” uttered by their messmates, was the only requiem they received—the contents of their bags were sold; the purser wrote D against their names, which before the gale was over had ceased to be mentioned.

The slight excitement and the fresh air on deck had kept the midshipmen up, but on going below they felt more miserable than ever. Utterly unable to stand they threw themselves on their chests, half wishing that they had gone overboard instead of poor Jenkins and Bacon. More than once they were hove off, but they managed to crawl on again, and cling to the lids in a way sick midshipmen alone could have done. Adair, on going round the lower deck, found them in this condition.

“Uncle Terence, dear, when is it all going to be over?” groaned out Gerald. “There’s mighty little fun in this same.”

“Only the ordinary seasoning youngsters have to go through,” answered Adair; “however, we’ll see what can be done for you.”

Tom, whose head hung over the end of his chest, with a kid which had been brought him under his nose, was past speaking. Adair ordered their hammocks to be slung, and being assisted in, they lay helpless till the gale was over. Let no one despise the two midshipmen, although their messmates might have laughed at them. Their experiences were those of many other brave officers, Nelson included; and they had not a few companions in their misery among those unaccustomed to the tumblifications of the ocean. At length, the wind going down, the sea became tolerably smooth, and turning out, they went on deck by Adair’s advice to enjoy a few mouthfuls of fresh air. The effect on their appetites was such as to astonish even old Higson by the way in which they devoured the pea-soup and boiled beef and potatoes, a junk of fat pork even not coming amiss, washed down by stiff glasses of grog, which, in consideration of their recent sufferings, he allowed them to take.

“Well, youngsters, you are filling up your lockers with a vengeance,” he remarked.

“Faith, it’s no wonder when they were cleaned out three days ago, and not a scrap the size of a sixpenny-piece stowed away in them since,” answered Gerald, who with Tom was eyeing lovingly a huge suet dumpling just placed smoking hot on the table.

“Any duff, Rogers?” asked Higson; “I doubt if you’ve room for much.”

“I think I could just manage a slice to begin with, and then I’ll try what more I can do,” answered Tom.

A huge slice was handed to him, and another to Gerald. “You shall have your next helping from the left side, youngsters,” said the caterer, with a wink at the rest, who all thereon begged for plenty. Tom and Gerald applied themselves to the duff, which they found rather appetising than otherwise; but when they looked up expecting to get their second slices, an empty dish with Higson’s face grinning beyond it, alone met their view. However, they agreed that they had dined very well considering, and from that moment, though others occasionally knocked up, they were never off duty from sea-sickness.