there was much animated discussion of them during that forenoon
watch below to the exclusion of every other topic. As many different
surmises were set afloat as to what the mystery of that gloomy abyss
might be as there were men in our watch, but finally we all agreed
that whatever it was the old man would find a way to unravel it if
it was within the range of human possibility. A week passed away,
during which the weather remained wonderfully fine, a most unusual
occurrence in that place. A big whale was caught, and the subsequent
proceedings effectually banished all thoughts of the mystery from
our minds for the time; but when the ship had regained her normal
neatness and the last traces of our greasy occupation had been
cleared away, back with a swing came the enthralling interest in that
cave. Again we headed up for the rock with a failing air of wind
that finally left us when we were a scant two miles from it. Then
two sturdy little Kanakas, who had lately been holding interminable
consultations with each other, crept aft and somehow made the old
man understand that they were willing to attempt the scaling of that
grim ocean fortress. Their plan of campaign was simple. A boat was
to take them in as close as was prudent, carrying three whale lines,
or over 5000 feet. Each of them would have a “Black fish poke” or
bladder which is about as big as a four-gallon cask, and when fully
inflated is capable of floating three men easily. They would also
take with them a big coil of stout fishing-line which when they took
the water they would pay out behind them, one end being secured to
the boat. Thus equipped, they felt confident of being able to effect
a landing. Without hesitation, such was his burning desire to know
more about that strange place, he accepted the brave little men’s
offer. No time was lost. In less than a quarter of an hour all was
ready, and away went the boat, manned by five of our best men and
steered by the skipper himself. She was soon on the very margin
of safety, and without a moment’s hesitation away went the daring
darkies. Like seals they dodged the roaring eddies, as if amphibious,
they slacked off their bladders and dived beneath the ugly combers
that now and then threatened to hurl them against the frowning face
of the rock. Suddenly one of them disappeared entirely. We thought
he had been dashed to pieces and had sunk, but almost immediately
the other one vanished also. Hardly a breath was drawn among us, our
hearts stood still. The skipper’s face was a study in mental agony.
Silently he signed to us to pull a stroke or two although already we
were in a highly dangerous position. What we felt none of us could
describe when, sending all the blood rushing to our heads, we heard
an eldritch yell multiplied indefinitely by a whole series of echoes.
And there high above our heads on the brink of the cave stood the two
gallant fellows apparently frantic with delight. A big tear wandered
reluctantly down each of the skipper’s rugged cheeks as he muttered
“Starn all,” and in obedience to his order the boat shot seaward a
few lengths into safety. Thus we waited for fully an hour, while the
two Kanakas were invisible, apparently busy with their explorations.
At last they appeared again, holding up their hands as if to show
us something. Then they shouted some indistinct words which by the
gestures that accompanied them we took to mean that they would now
return. Again they disappeared, but in less than five minutes we saw
them battling with the seething surf once more. Now we could help
them, and by hauling steadily on the fishing-lines we soon had them
in the boat and were patting their smooth brown backs. They said that
they had found a sort of vertical tunnel whose opening was beneath
the water, which they had entered by diving. It led right up into the
cave, which was of tremendous extent, so large, in fact, that they
had not explored a tenth of it. But not far from its entrance they
had found the bones of a man! By his side lay a sheath-knife and a
brass belt buckle. Nothing more. And the mystery of the Solander was
deeper than ever. We never again attempted its solution.
OUR AMPHIBIOUS ARMY
Once more the logic of events is compelling the attention of all
and sundry to the fact, hardly realised by the great majority
of people, that in the personnel of the Navy we have a force of
warriors that on land as well as at sea have not their equals in the
world. The overwhelming preponderance of our naval power deprives
these magnificent men of the opportunity to show an astounded world
what they are capable of on their own element; how they can handle
the terrible engines of war with which modern engineering science
has equipped them; but in spite of the fact that as a nation we
know little of the doings of our new Navy upon the sea, there is
undoubtedly a solid simple faith in its absolute pre-eminence. Like
the deeds of all true heroes, the work of our sailors is done out
of sight; there are no applauding crowds to witness the incessant
striving after perfection that goes on in our ships of war. We rarely
see a company of bluejackets ashore unless we have the good fortune
to live at some of the ports favoured by men-o’-war. There, if we
feel interested, we may occasionally get a glimpse of a drill-party
landed, and watch the way in which Jack handles himself and his
weapons freed from the hampering environment of his ship’s decks.
And to those who enjoy the spectacle of a body of men at the highest
pitch of physical development, clothed in garments that permit the
utmost freedom of limb, and actuated every one by an intelligent
desire after perfection, the sight is worth any trouble to obtain.
Really, it is “heady” as strong wine. To the dash and enthusiasm of
public-school boys the men unite an intense pride in their profession
and an intellectual obedience that is amazing to the beholder.
Yet it should be remembered that shore-drill is for them only a
small interlude, an occasional break in the constant stream of
duties that claims every unit on board of a man-o’-war throughout
each working day. There is so very much to do in the keeping up to
perfect fitness of the vast complication of a modern ship of war that
only the most careful organisation and apportionment of duties makes
the performance possible. But sandwiched in between such routine
work comes so great a variety of marine evolutions that the mind is
staggered to contemplate them. It would be well for all landsmen
reading of the doings of a Naval Brigade ashore to remember this--to
bear in mind that if Jack excels as a soldier, preparation for which
duty is made in the merest fag-ends and scraps of his time, he is
superexcellent in the performance of his main business, which he does
in the privacy of the sea, with only the approval of his superior
officers--and his pride in the British Navy--to encourage him. How
would it be possible to convey to the lay mind the significance of
even one of these complicated evolutions that are sprung upon Jack
at all sorts of times without a moment’s warning? How reveal the
significance of such a manifestation of readiness for all emergencies
as is shown by, say, the bugle-call “Prepare for action”? The ship
is in a state of normal peace. Every member of the crew is engaged
either upon such private matters as making or mending clothes,
school-room duties, or other domestic relaxations peculiar to a watch
below; or on the never-ending work of cleaning steel and brass, &c.,
that must be done whatever goes undone. At the first note of alarm
every one springs to attention, before half the tune has vibrated
they are swarming like bees round an overturned hive, and by the
time that any ordinary individual would have realised the import of
the command the whole interior of the ship is transformed. Great
masses of iron that look immovable as if built into the hull have
disappeared, every aperture whereby water could gain access below
is hermetically sealed, each subdivision of the ship is isolated by
water-tight doors, and from hidden depths with ponderous clangour
is rising the food for the shining monsters above. The racks are
stripped of revolvers and cutlasses, the mess-traps and tables
have disappeared from the lower deck, and, showing all her teeth,
the mighty weapon of war is ready for the foe. If the watchful
head of affairs has noted with satisfaction the number of minutes
absorbed in this general upheaval of things, his word or two of
approval circulates with electric swiftness from fighting-top to
torpedo-flat; should he frown darkly upon a few seconds’ delay, there
is gloom on all faces and frantic searching of heart among those who
may be held responsible therefor.
For be it noted that the perfunctory leisurely performance of
any duty is unthinkable in the Navy. The Scriptural injunction,
“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might,” is
fully acted upon there, not only by command, but with the gleeful
co-operation of those commanded. And hence it is that whenever a
Naval Brigade is called upon for service ashore, their behaviour is
such as to call for wonder and admiration even from those who know
least about the difficulties they overcome. Their high spirits,
the frolicsome way in which they attack the most tremendous tasks,
compel even their bitterest enemies to bear witness in their favour,
while hardships that would disable or dishearten landsmen only seem
to heighten their enjoyment. It has often been said that during one
of our West African campaigns the conduct of the Naval Brigade in
one peculiar direction was unique. Orders had been given that in
consequence of the danger of lying on the ground every man should
collect a sufficient pile of brushwood upon which to raise his body
while he slept. To the rank-and-file of the Army this duty, coming at
the end of a fatiguing day’s march, was a terrible one, although it
was practically their only safeguard against disease. They wandered
wearily about in the darkness seeking sticks for their couch, and
trying all kinds of dodges to evade the salutary regulation. But
Johnny Haul-taut thought it fine fun. Not only was his pile of
sticks collected in double-quick time, but he was noways backward in
lending a helping hand to his less adaptable march-mates of the Army,
and after that he had still so much superfluous energy to spare that
he must needs dance a great deal before retiring to rest, flinging
himself about in uproarious merriment while tired soldiers were still
seeking material for their couches.
Amid all the revenges that time affords the sons of men, could there
be anything more dramatic than that exemplified by the relative
positions of soldier and sailor to-day? Recall the infant days of
the Navy, when the sailor was looked upon as a base mechanic, one
degree perhaps better than the galley-slave who, chained to the oar,
enacted the part of machinery whereby the warship was brought into
action, and lived or died as it might happen without ever having
a say in the matter or an opportunity for self-defence. Picture
the proud mail-clad warriors striding on board the ships, hardly
deigning to notice the mariners who trimmed the sails and handled
the vessels--mere rope-haulers, coarse and uncouth, destitute of any
military virtues, and only fit, indeed, to be the humble attendants
upon the behests of warlike men. Think of the general taking command
of a fleet, fresh from leaguers and pitched battles ashore, and
giving his orders to the ships as to a troop of horse. And then
remember the great change in the relations of soldier and sailor
now. Not only is the sailor a man of war from his youth up, but all
his training tends to bring out resourcefulness, individuality, and
self-reliance, not only in the officer but in the humblest seaman.
Without in the least intending the very slightest disparagement
to our gallant and able Army officers--men who have proved their
ability as well as their courage on so many battlefields--it may be
permissible to quote the recent words of a first-class petty officer,
a bos’un’s mate on board of one of her Majesty’s ships, who said:
“There ain’t a General livin’ as can handle a fleet, but I’ll back
e’er a one of our Admirals to handle an army agenst the smartest
General we’ve got.” He probably meant an army of sailors, for the
behaviour of even the finest troops would hardly satisfy the ideas
of smartness held by an Admiral. He has been taught to expect his
men to combine the characteristics of cats, monkeys, game-cocks,
and bulldogs, with a high order of human intelligence to leaven the
whole. Remembering all this, it would be interesting to know, if the
knowledge were to be had, the history of the struggle that resulted
in the sailor throwing off the rule of the soldier at sea. That it
was long and bitter, admits of no doubt, for it has left its traces
even now, traces that it would, perhaps, be invidious to point
out. Foreign critics sneer at most things English, and institute
unfavourable comparisons, but it is gratifying to note that such
comparisons are never made between the British naval officer and any
other warriors soever. The task would, indeed, be an ungrateful one
for any critic attempting it in the hope of proving shortcomings on
the part of these splendid sailors--well, perhaps the word “sailors”
will hardly fit them now. The handling of ships still forms an
important part of their manifold duties, but when one realises what
their scientific attainments must be in order to discharge all those
duties, it becomes quite a mental problem how ever the naval officer
of to-day manages to know so much at such an age as he usually is
when he becomes a Lieutenant. That he does manage it we all know,
and not only so, but, instead of shrivelling up into a sapless,
spectacled student, he retains a sparkling boyishness of demeanour, a
readiness for fun and frolic of all kinds that is contagious, making
the most morbid visitor admitted to intimate acquaintanceship with
the life of a warship feel as if the weight of years had suddenly
been lifted from him.
With that keen insight which always characterises him, Mr. Kipling
has noted in marvellous language what he terms the almost “infernal
mobility” of a battleship’s crew--how at a given signal there
suddenly bursts from her grim sides a fleet of boats, warships
in miniature, each self-contained and full of possibilities of
destruction. The sight of “Man and arm boats” simultaneously carried
out in less than a dozen minutes by every ship in a squadron, the
sudden mobilisation of an army numbering between two and three
thousand perfectly equipped sinewy men in whose vocabulary the word
“impossible” has no place, is one that should be witnessed by every
thoughtful citizen who would understand the composition of our
first line of defence. Better still, perhaps, that he should see
the operation performed of transhipping guns, such guns as those
landed by the tars of the _Powerful_ and used with such effect at
Ladysmith. One would like to know for certain whether it is true,
as reported, that her 6-inch rifles were landed as well as the 4.7
guns. The latter were a handful, no doubt, but the former! They are
twenty feet long, they weigh seven tons, and have a range of 11,000
yards;--penetration at 1000 yards, 11.6 inch of iron. Yet it is
reported that some of these pretty playthings were landed by the
bluejackets, mounted on carriages designed by one of their officers
and built by the ship’s artificers, and taken up country into action.
Truly a feat worthy of Titans.
Is it any wonder that Jack is proud of his shore-fighting record?
Wherever and whenever he has been permitted to join in the work
of the Army he has made his mark so deeply that he has come to be
looked upon as indispensable, invincible. His effervescent humour
never seems to desert him, as the following anecdote, told the
writer recently, fairly well illustrates. It was at Gingihlovo, and
the Naval Brigade was face to face with an apparently overwhelming
force of Zulus, numbers of whom were armed with rifles. The sailors
were reserving their fire, only sending an occasional volley when a
favourable opportunity presented itself. Forth from the Zulu host
stepped a warrior laden with an ancient firearm, which he calmly
mounted upon a tripod in the open, while the sailors looked on
admiring his pluck, but wondering much what he was proposing to do.
At last one jovial tar suggested that their photographs were going to
be taken, and, by common consent, no shots were sent at the supposed
photographer. Having loaded his piece with great deliberation, the
Zulu primed it, sighted, and, leaning hard against its breech, he
fired. The recoil--for the thing was much overloaded--knocked him
head over heels backward, while a great roar of laughter went up from
the delighted sailors. He sat up looking hurt and dazed, and then,
the amusement over, he, along with a suddenly charging _impi_ of his
countrymen, were annihilated by a volley from the steadily aimed
pieces of the little cheerful band of bluejackets.
THE END
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Transcriber’s Notes
Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling such as
“sea-worthy/seaworthy” and “Maelström/Maelstrom,” have been
maintained.
Obsolete spellings such as “bolin” for “bowline” have been
maintained.
Page 64: Changed “first words bewrayed” to “first words betrayed”.
Page 101: Changed “very little acqaintance” to “very little
acquaintance”.
Page 131: Changed “Next mornind” to “Next morning”.
Page 164: Changed “able seamen” to “able seaman”.
Page 177: Changed “fo’c’sle” to “fo’c’s’le”.
Page 178: Changed “fo’c’sle” to “fo’c’s’le”.
Page 186: Deleted duplicate “a” in “resembles in a a remote”.
Page 334: Changed “dissport” to “disport”.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Sack of Shakings, by Frank Thomas Bullen