"I'm going to pour all my prize money into my old mother's lap straight
away as soon as I gets it."
"Ah! well, Jack, you _have_ a mother, I hain't, but I'll give mine to my
Soosie. My eye! maties, but she's a slick fine lass. Talk about a
figure! Soosie's is the finest ever you saw. Blow'd if two arms would
meet round her waist, fact I tells ye, mates. I've seen a
rye-nosser-oss with not 'arf so fine a figure as Soosie's got."
"But," another would say, "I'm going to keep all my prize money in the
bank till I serves my time out in the service; then I'll take a
public-house."
"That's my ambition too, Bill."
"Yes, and ain't it a proper ambition too?"
"That it be."
"And if ever any of you old chums drops round to see Jack behind his bar
counter--ahem! my eye! maties, won't I be glad to see you just! Won't I
get out the longest clay pipe in the shanty, and the best nigger head!
And won't I draw ye a drop o' summut as will make all the 'air on your
'eads stand straight up like a frightful porkeypine's! And maybe there
won't be much to pay for it either?"
It will be noted from the above conversation that the aims in life of
the British man-o'-war sailor are seldom of a very exalted character.
But even in the little ward-room prize money was not altogether left out
of count in conversation on Saturday nights.
"I believe," said the doctor once, "I shall have over a thousand pounds
when I get home. I think I'll cut the service, buy a shore practice,
and settle down."
"Bah!" cried Mavers, "you're too old a sailor for that, Mr Sawbones.
Don't talk twaddle. Take out your old fiddle and give us a tune."
The worthy medico never required two biddings to make him obey a behest
like this.
Out would come the violin, and his messmates would speedily be in
dreamland as they listened; for the doctor played well on that king of
instruments.
Songs were sure to follow, during which very often the door would open,
and there would be seen standing smiling the captain himself.
You may be sure that room was speedily made for him, and so these happy
evenings would pass away till eight bells (twelve o'clock) rang out
Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding--that is the way they went,
and this warned every one it was time to turn in.
The _Bunting_ could not be said to be a very well-found ship, as far as
the officers' mess was concerned. There is as much difference usually
between the mess in a gunboat and a flagship as between that of a humble
cottage and a lord mayor's mansion.
So the _Buntings_, as the other ships called them, roughed it rather.
They _could_ have bought nice things about big towns like the city of
the Cape, or even at Zanzibar, but they had only the ship's cook, and
the steward was a half-caste Portuguese, whose only strong point was an
excellent curry, into which, however, he often slipped more garlic that
was palatable to English tastes.
For three more years the _Bunting_ carried it with a high hand among the
slavers on the Eastern coast. Even Harry himself now began to long for
home, and to see his dear mother and father again.
Letters came but about once in three months, and the mail never failed
to bring Harry a bundle that kept him reading for a week, because he
read them all over and over again, put them aside for days, took them
out once more, and again read them.
His old friend Andrew's letters were always comical, and his
good-natured, simple face invariably rose up before our hero's mind's
eye as he perused them.
Even his old dominie did not forget Harry. By almost every mail now the
_Buntings_ expected a letter from their lordships ordering them home.
It came at last, and, strange to say, it came on. Captain Wayland's
birthday.
"Putting both events together, boys," said the doctor to his messmates,
"I really don't think we can do better than invite the skipper to
dinner."
"Good?" cried Harry.
"Hurrah!" cried another.
"Steward!" cried Dewar.
"Ess, sir; Ise here, sir."
"Well, come here, you dingy son of a Portuguese cook."
The steward threw his apron over his left shoulder and entered from the
steerage.
"Can you give us a ripping good feed to-night, and have it all on the
table smart at half-past six?"
"Let me see, sir," said the steward, placing a forefinger on the corner
of his mouth and looking profoundly wise. "What I would propose, sir,
would be diss ting."
"Well?--out with it."
"Der is French Charlie on shore here."
The ship, by the bye, was lying off the Sultan's Palace, in the
roadstead at Zanzibar.
"Yes--French Charlie?"
"Well, sir, he cook one excellent dinner, and wait too; and myself, sir,
vill make de curry."
"Very well, steward, but mind this, if there be one-sixth of a grain of
garlic in the whole boiling of it, you shall swing at the yard's arm."
"Ver goot, sir."
"Now, off with you on shore, and give your orders. Don't forget to be
off in time. Take the dingy and bring off quickly a boat-load of
flowers and green stuff."
Mr Dewar was just as quick at work as he was with his tongue and sword,
and both of the latter, it was universally allowed, he could make the
best of.
He was ably supported on this occasion by the whole strength of the
mess, including Simmonds, the clerk--they were but five in all--and the
engineer himself.
The captain cheerfully accepted the invitation, and proposed to the
surgeon that forward in the course of the evening they should splice the
main-brace.
The doctor assented with alacrity, and the ship's stores thus expended
were afterwards put down as sick-bay comforts.
The steward was off in good time, with foliage and flowers. Then a huge
awning was rigged on deck, and lined with flags and candles stuck amidst
the flowers, and branching bayonets and cutlasses.
The steward did his duty nobly; so did French Charlie.
For once there smoked on the tables of the _Bunting_ a banquet that the
Sultan himself would have enjoyed.
The toast of the evening, after the loyal ones, was of course Captain
Wayland; and that gentleman replied in the neatest little speech that
had ever been heard on the deck of a man-o'-war.
The dessert on the table deserves especial notice. No place in the
world can vie with Zanzibar for its fruit, and here were samples of
probably a score of different sorts, almost unknown in England. The
pine-apples were especially delightful, appealing to eye, to scent, and
taste all at once. But probably the king of fruits was the mango. If
this is indeed Eve's apple, one can hardly wonder our first parent fell.
The trees these grow on in the forest of this beautiful isle of the sea
are a picture. Fancy an enormous chestnut with its branches weighted to
the ground with fragrant fruit somewhat like peaches, but each as big as
a cocoanut!
The sides of the deck-tent were decorated with flowers, but on the table
itself stood the choicest of all. Shall I describe them? I cannot,
for--
Here my muse her wings must cower,
'Twere far indeed beyond her power
To praise enough e'en one sweet flower.
When dessert had been done moderate justice to, then the end of the
curtain was drawn aside, the steward brought up the "sick-bay comforts,"
and in due form the main-brace was spliced; and every man as he raised
the cup to his lips wished long life and prosperity to their jolly
captain.
After this there was a wild hurrah! and in the very midst of it the
doctor started playing.
Well, some of my readers may have seen sham sailors dancing on the
stage. But never on any stage is such wild footing witnessed as that
which graces the deck of a man-of-war on a night like the present.
But everything has an end. The men retired at last to the bows and
fo'c's'le to talk of home and spin yarns till long past midnight.
Meanwhile the officers once more surrounded the festive board, and after
a few songs story-telling commenced.
As one at least of the yarns spun was not devoid of humour, I do not
think I need apologise for repeating it.
It was the doctor's yarn.
He helped himself to an orange and a mango and a handful of nuts and
raisins, to pare, to eat, to crack, and to pick, because the truth is
the doctor was a Scotchman, and Scotchmen never talk half so well as
when they are doing something, if it be only whittling a stick.
"Ahem!" began the doctor, clearing his throat.
"Attention, gentlemen," said Mr Dewar, the president.
Book 2--CHAPTER FIVE.