THE DAILY ROUND.
I.
A considerable amount of art is necessary in laying out a kit for
inspection; but when he had folded his clothes, and had placed the neat
rolls and bundles, together with his cap-box, ditty-box, hairbrush,
comb, toothbrush, type, and other small belongings, in the exact order
prescribed by the clothing regulations, Martin was by no means
dissatisfied with his attempt.
Now, Mr Midshipman Taut, R.N., was used to the wiles and deceptions of
those men who would sooner do anything than purchase new clothes. He
had known individuals who borrowed garments from their friends to make
up for the deficiencies in their own kits when these were being
inspected. Sometimes, to heighten the deception, they even went to the
trouble of marking the loaned clothes with their own names. The
regulations on the subject lay it down that blue articles shall be
marked with white paint and white garments in black, each man being
provided with a wooden type inscribed with his name for this purpose.
But the gay deceivers had discovered that white chalk and ordinary
boot-blacking were very efficient substitutes for the paint, for the
temporary markings so caused could easily be brushed out before the
garments were returned to their rightful owners after kit inspection.
Moreover, unless the mustering officer was particularly inquisitive or
suspicious, the chances were fully fifty-four to one that the deception
would never be noticed.
But the midshipman, though he had left the college at Dartmouth less
than a year before, was up to all these dodges. He kept the divisional
clothing-book, wherein was recorded the contents of the bag of each
seaman in the division, whether the clothes therein were in a state of
thorough repair and cleanliness, and whether the condition of the man's
hammock was 'V.G.,' 'G.,' 'Mod.' or merely 'Bad.' He regarded all men
with a certain amount of suspicion unless he had positive truth that
they were guileless; while newly joined ordinary seamen, in particular,
were brands to be snatched from the burning.
'Serge jumpers?' he asked, sucking his pencil.
'Two 'ere, sir,' said Martin, holding up a couple of neat bundles; 'an'
one on.'
The officer took one, unrolled it, and lifted the square collar to look
at the marking underneath. There was no deception, for the name W.
Martin stared at him in large white letters. He gently rubbed it with a
finger, but it did not brush off; and, holding the garment up by its
sleeves, he examined it with a critical eye. There was nothing the
matter with it.
'That's all right,' he remarked, handing it back, and making a note in
the book. 'Let me see your serge trousers.'
One by one the articles comprising Martin's kit, even down to his
'pusser's dagger' or seaman's knife, the more intimate garments of
underwear, towels, socks, toothbrush, blacking-brushes, were minutely
examined. The midshipman even went to the length of producing a tape
measure, wherewith he measured the distance between the three rows of
tape on the collars, the depth of the V-shaped opening in the front of
the jumpers, and the width of the trousers at the foot. But nothing was
really wrong. One pair of socks was missing and another required
darning, one flannel shirt was unwashed, a pair of white duck trousers
had been left unmarked, and one pair of blue serge ditto proved
slightly wider in the leg than was permissible; but everything else was
in good order and of the proper uniform pattern.
He seemed slightly surprised. 'Hm,' he observed, making further
hieroglyphics in the clothing-book; 'not at all bad. Look out you keep
it so.'
He went off to make his report to the lieutenant of the division, who
presently arrived to make his own inspection. But he also was tolerably
satisfied, and Martin was told that he could restore his belongings to
his bag, and report himself to Petty Officer Casey for work.
For many a long day Pincher was sorely puzzled by the different
varieties of uniform he was called upon to wear. They were all
designated by numbers, and the 'rig of the day' was always piped at
breakfast-time, when the men were allowed the necessary extra minutes
to change their clothes. On Sundays, for instance, the boatswain's
mates, after a preliminary twitter on their pipes, would bellow, 'Dress
o' the day, No. 1, an' 'ats!' This meant that the men were required to
array themselves in their best blue serge suits, with gold good-conduct
badges and badges of rating, and their white straw hats, for the Sunday
inspection by the captain. These garments constituted the seamen's full
dress, for the expensive blue cloth trousers, worn over the jumper and
tied behind with black silk ribbons, had been obsolete for some time.
They are retained, however, in the royal yachts; and here, also, as a
distinctive mark, the men wear their badges in silver and white,
instead of the customary gold and red.
Dress No. 2, Martin found, was a similar rig to No. 1, except that a
cap was usually worn instead of the hat, and the badges were red
instead of gold. No. 3, again, was the same as No. 2, except that the
jumper was not buttoned at the wrists; while No. 4 (known as 'night
clothing') was an old suit of No. 3, worn without the collar. No. 5 was
of white duck, and was worn without the collar, and with a white-topped
cap. The suit was washable, and hence was usually donned by men doing
dirty work or in hot weather in the summer. White caps, or blue caps
with white covers, both of which were kept pipeclayed for the sake of
appearance, were worn at home from May to the end of September, or with
white clothing at other times.
The _Belligerent_, like every other large vessel in the navy, carried a
stock of ready-made garments of various sizes, besides underclothing,
boots, shoes, stockings, socks, shirts, collars, rolls of serge and
flannel, and sixty-and-one other articles necessary to the bodily
comfort and personal adornment of the ship's company. There was hardly
a thing in the clothing line which could not be obtained from the
paymaster; and the 'slops,' as they were called, were issued about once
a month, their value being deducted from the men's pay.
When Martin joined his first ship, toward the end of 1913, ready-made
garments, supplied by the Government, were almost universally worn.
Within the past fifteen years or so the blue-jackets have lost much of
their original handiness with the needle and the sewing-machine. It is
hardly to be wondered at, for in the days of sailing-ships the men were
sailors pure and simple. Now they are seamen-specialists, with an
expert and highly technical knowledge of gunnery, torpedo-work,
electricity, wireless telegraphy, signals, or some other highly
important subject. They are essentially busy men, with little time to
spend on making their own clothes. Twenty years ago one afternoon of
the week (Thursday) was always set aside as a half-holiday, or 'make
and mend clothes afternoon.' Then it was no uncommon sight to see the
sheltered corners of the upper deck and mess-deck crowded with men,
some busy with sewing-machines, making clothes from the raw serge or
duck as issued from the store; others furbishing up their wardrobes;
and the rest either sleeping or looking on. The term 'jewing,' as
sewing is still called, came in because the men with the machines
manufactured their shipmates' clothes for a consideration, such things
as 'reach-me-downs' being still undreamt of. By Pincher's day, however,
the 'make and mend' day had been altered to Saturday, to allow the men
to indulge at intervals in the week-end habit. Moreover, most of the
clothes were issued ready-made, being afterwards altered to fit
individuals by the ship's tailors, seamen with sewing-machines, who had
a special aptitude for the work, and were entitled to charge stipulated
sums for their labours. They were still known as 'jews,' and, like the
'snobs' (bootmakers) and the barbers, often had considerable sums
standing to their credit in the savings bank.
On the afternoon of the day on which he had had his kit inspected
Martin found himself detailed as a member of a working-party told off
to draw stores from the dockyard. Eleven other men went with him; and,
taking a small hand-cart, the little expedition set off at one-thirty
P.M. in the charge of a petty officer. The rain had stopped, and it was
a sunny winter day, with a touch of frost; and, as it gave him an
opportunity of looking about him, Martin rather enjoyed the experience.
Before joining the navy he had lived in the depths of the country, and
had spent most of his days trundling the local baker's hand-cart. His
experience of the sea and ships had been limited to a single visit to
Skegness as a member of the village choir; and even during his training
in the barracks he had seen practically nothing of men-of-war. Now for
the first time in his life he came across battleships, cruisers,
destroyers, torpedo-boats, and submarines at close quarters.
'Gosh!' he ejaculated, marvelling exceedingly.
''Ullo! Wot's up wi' you, Pincher?' asked another ordinary seaman,
Hawkins by name. Martin had already been nicknamed, and 'Pincher,' he
understood, was the sobriquet accorded to all men with his particular
surname.
'I wus only wonderin' to meself if'--he hesitated timidly.
'Wonderin' wot?' persisted his companion.
'Wonderin' if this wus the 'ole navy. There seems plenty o' ships
'ere.'
'Lawks, 'ark at 'im!' exclaimed the other youngster, going off into a
shrill cackle of amusement 'Jist 'ark at 'im, you blokes! Arskin' if
the 'ole navy is 'ere. 'Strewth! there ain't a quarter nor a 'undredth
of 'em in this 'ere bunch.'
Martin, rather ashamed of his ignorance, reddened and nodded. 'Wot's
that there?' he asked, changing the subject, and pointing to a gray,
cigar-shaped vessel lying in a dry dock, with dockyard 'maties'
swarming on board her.
'That there's a submarine,' Hawkins explained; 'one o' them there craft
wot goes under water.'
'Gosh! She's a funny-lookin' thing. Wot sort o' blokes serves in 'em?'
'Matloes,[4] Pincher, the same as you an' me. They doesn't carry
O.D.'s, though; only A.B.'s an' E.R.A.'s,[5] an' such like. They get
extra pay for wot they does. It's a bit dangerous like.'
[4] The term 'matlo,' derived from the French for 'sailor,'
is always used by bluejackets in referring to themselves.
[5] E.R.A. = engine-room artificer.
Martin thought for a minute, looking interestedly at the submarine as
they trundled past. ''Ow does men jine 'em?' he asked eventually.
''Ow does they qualify for 'em, d'you mean?' Hawkins queried.
Martin nodded.
'Well,' his neighbour explained, with a broad grin on his face, and
inventing a still broader fiction on the spur of the moment, 'they
fu'st ties a five-'underweight sinker to yer feet an' a rope round yer
neck. Then they lowers you down to nineteen fathom, an' leaves you
there for two minutes.--Let's see, Shorty,' he added, pretending to
consider, and, turning to another ordinary seaman with a solemn wink,
'is it two minutes or three minutes they leaves yer down?'
'Three minutes, chum,' answered the other unblushingly.
'Well, they leaves you down three minutes, an' they pulls you up again,
an' if yer nose ain't bleedin' they reckons as 'ow you're fit an'
proper for submarines. If you are bleedin' you ain't no good--see?'
'That's a bit 'ard, ain't it?' Martin queried innocently.
'Yus, it is a bit 'ard,' Hawkins replied, without a smile on his face.
'But then, o' course, the men wot man the submarines 'as to be extra
special sort o' blokes wot 'as got plenty o' guts.'
Martin drank it all in; but at that moment the story-teller's face
failed him, and he burst into uncontrollable laughter. 'Oh Pincher!' he
gasped, spluttering, 'I believes you'd swaller anythink any one tells
yer!'
'D' you mean that wot you said ain't true?' Martin asked.
'Course it ain't, fat'ead. I wus only kiddin' yer,' guffawed the other,
with tears of amusement trickling down his cheeks. 'Lawks! you'll be
the death o' me yet.--Did yer 'ear wot he arsked, you blokes?'
But the 'blokes' had no opportunity of replying, for at that instant
Petty Officer Simpson turned round. 'Not so much noise there!' he
ordered abruptly.--' 'Awkins, if I sees you larfin' an' shoutin' agen I
takes you before the orficer of the watch when we gets back to the
ship!'
Their faces fell. There was dead silence.
Rattling over the cobbled roadways and railway lines, they presently
came to a store, where, in return for paper demand-notes handed in by
the petty officer, they received sundry drums of paint, turpentine, and
varnish. Then on again to another building, where an apoplectic-looking
storekeeper condescended to allow them to load the cart still further
with coils of rope and spun-yarn, and hanks of cod and mackerel line.
Presently there came another stoppage to receive a bundle of
broomsticks and some boathook staves. By this time the cart was heavily
laden, and its manipulators were perspiring and far from cheerful; but,
stopping again, they were solemnly presented with half-a-dozen shallow
tin baths. They were the 'baths, sponge, thirty inches, pattern
seventeen,' commonly seen suspended from the ceilings in the officers'
cabins on board a man-of-war; and Martin, as he helped to drag the
conveyance back to the ship, with the last consignment lodged
precariously on the summit of the other articles and threatening every
instant to descend in a noisy avalanche, wondered vaguely to himself if
the dockyard was a sort of glorified general store, and if, by the
simple presentation of a demand-note, they could obtain, say,
half-a-dozen kippers or a cargo of tinned salmon. He was frightened to
ask the question for fear of having his leg pulled again; but as
everything in the way of ironmongery, furniture, ship's stores, paint,
rope, and blocks seemed obtainable, why not also provisions?
They got back to the _Belligerent_ without further incident, and
the articles were carried on board and stowed in the various
storerooms.
II.
At first, until he got used to it, the regular routine of the ship was
not altogether to Martin's liking. At five-thirty each morning they
were all roused out of their warm hammocks by the strident shouting of
the boatswain's mates and the ship's corporals. 'All hands! turn out,
turn out, turn out! show a leg, show a leg, show a leg!' they yelled
with insistent monotony. He soon learnt, from being shot violently out
of his hammock, and from sundry threats of being taken before the
officer of the watch for slackness in turning out, that it did not pay
to disregard the noisy summons to wake up. Other men had tried the
game, and it generally ended in their being turned out at five
A.M. for several days together.
By five-forty-five, therefore, Martin had stowed his hammock, had given
his face and neck a perfunctory dab with a damp towel, and was having a
bowl of steaming hot ship's cocoa in his mess. Splendid stuff this, so
thick that a spoon would nearly stand upright in it; and he little
realised that the long-suffering cooks were turned out of their
hammocks at about three each morning to prepare it. The cocoa was
issued in large slabs the best part of an inch thick. It was the best
of its kind; and though it required a deal of boiling, it was an
excellent drink wherewith to start the day's work.
At six o'clock both watches were piped to fall in on the upper deck;
and when parties had been told off for various other odd jobs, the rest
of the men were detailed to scrub decks under the supervision of their
petty officers. Cold work this, with the thermometer nearly down to
freezing, the hoses spouting water, and one's feet bare and trousers
turned up to the knee. Lines of men armed with hard, short-haired
brooms went solemnly up and down, scrubbing as they went, and woe
betide the hapless individual who did not exhibit the necessary energy!
On Saturdays the routine was varied, for then the decks were sprinkled
with sand and were well holystoned. This work was more back-breaking
and chilly than ever, for one had to get down on one's knees and
manipulate a heavy holystone in each hand.
When Martin joined, the ship was in dockyard hands, and a special
routine was in force; and at seven o'clock, by which time the men who
had been granted night-leave had returned, the decks had been finished
and the guns cleaned. A quarter of an hour later the bugle sounded off
'Cooks,' when the men detailed as cooks of messes went to the galley to
procure their own and their messmates' breakfasts; and at
seven-twenty-five the boatswain's mates heralded the first meal by more
shrill whistling, and the hungry men trooped below.
Breakfast, Martin always thought, was quite the most satisfactory meal
of the day, and with the addition of a couple of canteen kippers, or
eggs and bacon, he generally managed to acquit himself pretty well. The
dietary of the modern bluejacket is a liberal one, while a paternal
Government allows each man the sum of fourpence a day with which to
purchase extra articles. An hour was allowed for the meal, for washing,
for changing into the 'rig of the day,' and for smoking; and at
eight-twenty-five the men were once more summoned to work. Shortly
before nine o'clock the guard of marines and the band marched on to the
quarterdeck; and when two bells struck, the marine bugler sounded the
'Attention,' the guard presented arms, the band played 'God Save the
King,' and every officer and man on deck stood rigidly at the salute
while the White Ensign was slowly hoisted. This ceremony is carried out
at nine A.M. in winter, and an hour earlier in summer.
At nine-five came a warning blast on the bugle, followed five minutes
afterwards by 'Divisions.' This was the usual morning muster, at which
the entire ship's company--seamen, marines, stokers, and artisan
ratings--fell in in their respective groups. The seamen themselves were
divided up into four 'parts of the ship'--forecastlemen, foretopmen,
maintopmen, and quarterdeckmen; and each was responsible for, and so
far as possible manned, the guns in its own particular portion of the
vessel. Each division, moreover, had its own lieutenant in charge, one
or two midshipmen, and its quota of petty officers and leading seamen.
Now, Martin knew all about saluting. He had learnt how to do it by
spending many weary hours in a windy barrack square at Portsmouth
paying obeisance to a red brick wall under the horny eye of an
irascible gunner's mate. He was aware that one saluted when addressed
by an officer, when meeting an officer in uniform ashore, and the first
time each morning one passed any particular officer on board ship. He
had also been taught that it was customary to raise a hand to one's cap
when the band played 'God Save the King,' and, for some reason unknown
to him, whenever one had occasion to go on the quarterdeck. He was not
aware that in medieval days the ship's shrine or crucifix was always
kept on the quarterdeck under the break of the poop, and that, on
passing, officers and men made an obeisance. Hence the origin of
'saluting the quarterdeck.'
But all this was nothing to the saluting which took place every morning
at divisions.
The game started by the 'captain of the top'--the senior petty
officer--calling the division to attention, saluting, and reporting it
'Present' to the midshipman, Mr Henry Taut. The midshipman, returning
the salute, produced a notebook, mustered the men by name, and
satisfied himself that the petty officer's statement was correct; and
then, touching his cap, made known the fact to Lieutenant Tobias
Tickle, R.N. The lieutenant, walking round the ranks, found fault with
irregularities in the men's attire, or asked searching and personal
questions as to when they had last washed, shaved, or had their hair
cut, and requested the midshipman to make a note of the delinquents'
names.
Taut acquiesced, with a salute.
The inspection complete, Taut saluted Tickle, and Tickle saluted Taut,
and the lieutenant then walked aft to the quarterdeck, saluted as he
reached it, approached the commander, saluted again, and reported his
men 'Present.'
The commander returned the courtesy, and murmured, 'Thank you.'
When all the divisions had been reported present, the commander, in his
turn, reported the fact to the captain, with another salute. The latter
raised his hand to his gold-peaked cap and muttered, 'Carry on,
please;' whereupon the commander held up his hand, a bugle blew, some
one forward tolled a bell, the band on the after shelter-deck played a
lively march, and the divisions marched aft to the quarterdeck for
prayers. Here they were halted, and presently the chaplain appeared
from one of the after-hatches, with his surplice flapping in the
breeze. He did not salute. He was bareheaded.
'Ship's company! 'Shun!' from the commander. 'Off caps! Stand easy!'
The chaplain read the prayers, followed by the usual intercession for
those at sea: 'O Eternal Lord God, who alone spreadest out the heavens,
and rulest the raging of the sea; who hast compassed the waters with
bounds until day and night come to an end: Be pleased to receive into
Thy almighty and most gracious protection the persons of us Thy
servants, and the fleet in which we serve. Preserve us from the dangers
of the sea and from the violence of the enemy; that we may be a
safeguard unto our most gracious Sovereign Lord King George and his
Dominions, and a security for such as pass on the seas upon their
lawful occasions.'...
'The dangers of the sea,' 'the violence of the enemy,' 'a safeguard,'
'a security.' The words conveyed little to Martin's mind when first he
heard them. Less than a year later, in the autumn of 1914, he had come
to learn their true meaning.
The short service was over by nine-twenty, and was followed by a
quarter of an hour's hard physical drill, conducted by the lieutenants
of divisions. This strenuous exercise was a daily feature of the
routine, and there was no doubt that it kept the men in excellent
condition. At any rate, Pincher was generally perspiring freely by the
time it was over.
This finished, both watches were piped to fall in, and the various
parties of men were detailed for the day's work. The commander, with a
notebook, would be present on the quarterdeck, and would hold a hurried
conversation with the first lieutenant, the gunner, the boatswain, and
the carpenter, all of whom required men for the performance of various
odd jobs.
'Party painting on the mess-deck yesterday, fall in aft!' would come
the first order. A group of about a dozen men and a petty officer, clad
in ancient, paint-stained overalls, would detach themselves from the
remainder. The first lieutenant, in charge of the mess-decks, gave his
detailed orders to the petty officer, and he, in turn, doubled his men
off to their work. 'Two hands from each part of the ship of the
starboard watch, and a leading hand from the foretop, fall in aft!' The
captain of the top told off the men, who were then taken charge of by
the gunner--a warrant officer--who required them for restowing the
small-arm magazine. Next the boatswain wanted a party, some for
refitting rigging, and others for drawing stores from the dockyard;
and, lastly, the carpenter took his toll for some purpose best known to
himself.
The Royal Marines, meanwhile, had been sent down below to clean the
flats, under the orders of their own non-commissioned officers; and
when the various flat-sweepers and the mess-deck sweepers had been
detached to their work, the remainder of the seamen were detailed for
their labours, under the direction and supervision of their petty
officers. There were always a hundred and one different jobs to be
done. Nobody was ever idle in working-hours, and sometimes Martin found
himself armed with a pot of gray paint and a brush to touch up bare
portions of the superstructure. On other mornings he was detailed to
scrape and red-lead rusty plates on the ship's side, or to holystone a
particularly obstinate section of deck which was not quite up to the
mark. At other times he found himself told off as assistant to a fully
qualified A.B., one Joshua Billings, who was quite the best hand in the
ship at splicing or putting an eye in a wire hawser, neither of which
is a job for an amateur. Martin liked this sort of work, for he was
keen and anxious to learn, and the able seaman taught him far more in
an hour than he could pick up elsewhere in a fortnight.
The worthy Joshua, by reason of an inordinate thirst and capacity for
malt liquor, had served in his present rank for seven years, and did
not hesitate to give the youngster good advice. 'It's like this 'ere,'
he would remark, deftly tucking in an obstinate strand of springy wire.
'It's beer wot's bin the ruin o' me, and I don't mind ownin' it. I've
bin in the navy ten years come January, and most o' them men wot served
along o' me as boys in the trainin'-ship is now petty orficers. I
reckons I'm as good a man as they is aboard a ship; but, though I was
rated leadin' seaman once, I dipped the killick[6] abart six weeks
later for comin' off drunk. It's beer wot done it; I carn't keep orf
it, some'ow, w'en I gits ashore. Give us that there ball o' spun-yarn,
young fella.'
[6] A 'killick' is an anchor, which is the badge worn by a
leading seaman. 'Dipping the killick' means that the badge is
removed, and that its wearer has been disrated to A.B.
''Ard luck,' Martin murmured, handing the spun-yarn across.
The hoary-headed old sinner shook his head and gave vent to a throaty
sigh. 'No,' he said sadly, 'I reckons it wus orl right. The commander
'e sez to me, "Billings," 'e sez, "w'y is it you carn't go ashore
without gittin' a skinful?" "It's like this 'ere, sir," I tells 'im. "I
'as the rheumatics werry bad, an' as soon as I gits 'longside a pub I
comes orl over a tremble, an' directly I gits inside I meets with hevil
companions." "Rheumatics!" 'e sez. "I've 'eard that yarn before; an'
has for your hevil companions, my man, you ain't a baby!" "No, sir,"
sez I, gittin' rattled, "I ain't; but directly I gits a pint inside me
my legs orl gits dizzy like." "A pint!" sez 'e, werry surprised.
"Surely it wus more'n a pint?" "Well, sir," I sez to 'im, "maybe it wus
a quart; I carn't 'xactly remember." "Several quarts, I should think,"
sez 'e, waggin' 'is 'ead; "you wus werry drunk." "No, sir, not drunk,
only a bit shaky like," I sez, though I knowed orl the time I'd bin
properly tin 'ats. "Well," 'e sed, shakin' 'is 'ead werry sad, "I
should 'ave liked to 'ave given you another chance; but I'm afraid you
ain't fit to be a leadin' seaman. You must go before the capt'in." I
sees the owner, an' has a consequence wus dipped to A.B.; an' now I
shall never be anythin' else. Sad 'istory, ain't it?' concluded Joshua
sadly. 'But it's beer wot's done it, so look out you don't git meetin'
with hevil companions.' He solemnly winked one eye.
Now, Joshua Billings, A.B., though officially a bad hat, was one of the
best seamen in the ship when there was any work on hand, and the
commander knew it. Only that fatal predilection for beer kept him from
rising to the top of the tree. Martin took his advice to heart, and was
rather proud to have him as a friend.
At ten-thirty in the forenoon came a ten-minute stand easy for smoking;
after which work was resumed until eleven-forty-five, when the decks
were cleared up and the bugle sounded 'Cooks.' At noon there was
dinner, the staple meal of the day; and half-an-hour later the cooks of
messes were summoned on deck to receive the allowance of grog for the
members of their messes. The rum, mingled with its due proportion of
water, was served out with some ceremony. It stood in a huge
brass-bound tub bearing in brass letters the words, 'The King: God
bless him;' and when the recipients had assembled in a long queue with
their mess kettles and other receptacles, the liquid was solemnly
measured out by the ship's steward, under the supervision of the
warrant officer and the petty officer of the day. Martin, being under
twenty, was not officially allowed to partake of the beverage. He
tasted it once, and it made him cough and splutter.
At one-ten the bugle sounded 'Out pipes,' and the decks were cleared
up; and at one-thirty the forenoon's work was resumed. At
three-forty-five labour, except for odd jobs done by the watch on
board, was over for the day; and at four o'clock came 'evening
quarters,' a repetition of the morning 'divisions,' without the prayers
and the music. Immediately afterwards the men went to tea, and the
watch whose turn it was to go ashore were sent on leave till seven
o'clock the next morning. Each man, provided his character was good,
thus got leave every alternate night; but Martin, with the rest of the
newly joined ordinary seamen, was not allowed out of the ship after ten
P.M.
Saturday afternoon was generally a half-holiday, and a portion of the
ship's company went away till seven o'clock on the following Monday;
while on Sundays those men left on board had the usual service in the
forenoon, and did no work that was not absolutely necessary.
Every day of the week supper came at seven-fifteen P.M., and after this
the hammocks were piped down and were slung on the mess-decks. At
eight-thirty came another clearing up of the ship, and at nine o'clock
the commander, preceded by the master-at-arms with a lighted lantern,
and followed by the sergeant-major of marines, made his final rounds of
the ship to see that everything was correct for the night, and that the
galley fires were extinguished. At ten o'clock the boatswain's mates
'piped down,' and everybody was chased off to his hammock. So ended the
day.
III.
In a mixed company of eight hundred and fifty odd souls, comprising
seamen, marines, and stokers; boiler-makers, copper-smiths, and
moulders; blacksmiths, plumbers, shipwrights, caulkers, carpenters, and
joiners; butchers, bakers, and bandsmen; signalmen and telegraphists;
ship's police, stewards, and writers--men of all ranks and ratings, of
forty-and-one different trades and persuasions--it took Martin some
little time to find his own level. The subtle little differences
between the various grades and ranks were rather puzzling, and, as a
new-comer fresh to the navy and its traditions, he was constantly
making mistakes. At first he imagined that any one who wore clothes of
the ordinary shore-going cut, with a collar and tie, was a person to be
respected and called 'sir.' On one never-to-be-forgotten occasion he
used the title in addressing a 'dusty-boy,' or ship's steward's
assistant, a youth scarcely older than himself. For this he was
seriously taken to book by his messmates, and had his leg pulled
unmercifully.
Some of his shipmates, moreover, were not slow to take advantage of his
ignorance as a 'softy' to amuse themselves at his expense. One ordinary
seaman in particular, a fresh-complexioned Irish youth of bullying
propensities, rejoicing in the name of Peter Flannagan, regarded a
newly joined ordinary seaman as a gift sent from heaven for his
especial amusement, though he himself had joined the ship only a few
months before. He was for ever devising new schemes of petty
persecution, until Martin's soul grew bitter, and he longed to
retaliate. But Flannagan was larger and heavier than himself, and a
direct assault could only end in defeat; so for a fortnight he stood
the ragging without complaint, and nursed his grievance in silence.
Then one morning he came late to breakfast to find powdered soap
mingled with his food, pepper in his coffee, and Flannagan sniggering
on an adjacent seat. He did nothing at the time, but that morning
sought the advice of Joshua Billings.
That same afternoon Flannagan happened to be watch ashore. He had asked
a messmate to sling a hammock for him, and when, at ten o'clock, he
returned to the ship he promptly undressed and turned in. He had barely
had time to get comfortably to sleep, however, when his foot lanyard
gave an ominous crack. He knew what was about to happen, and tried to
save himself, but in an instant found himself precipitated abruptly to
the deck, feet first. Falling from a height of five odd feet, and
landing in rather scanty attire across the sharp edge of a mess-table,
is necessarily a painful business; and Martin, who was lying four tiers
away, with one cautious eye peering over the edge of his hammock, could
hardly restrain his merriment as the victim hopped round on one leg,
swearing and rubbing a badly barked shin.
'Wot yer makin' all that bally row abart?' demanded the Irishman's
next-door neighbour with a chuckle. 'Fallen out o' yer 'ammick, 'ave
yer?'
'Did you cut me foot lanyard?' demanded the angry Flannagan.
'Me? Lord, no!' guffawed the other.
'Well, you knows 'oo did it, any'ow!'
'I knows nothin',' retorted the A.B., getting angry in his turn. 'If
yer says I did it you're a bally liar. I'll give yer a clip 'longside
the ear'ole if you ain't careful. Don't act so wet. Wot 'ave I to do
wi' yer rotten 'ammick?'
'Some one's cut it,' the Irishman replied furiously, examining a clean
cut through two strands of the rope. 'If it ain't you wot done it, you
must know 'oo it was. 'Oo was it? tell us.' He looked round to see if
anybody else was awake, but every one seemed to be snoring peacefully.
Sailors are very heavy sleepers sometimes.
It took Flannagan fully a quarter of an hour to repair damages and turn
in again. It was bitterly cold, and he cursed vehemently.
But his troubles were not over yet. Towards eleven-thirty, when he had
got thoroughly warm and was dozing off, he felt an uncomfortable,
prickly sensation down his back and legs. He sat up blinking, and put a
hand under the blanket to find a thin film of something warm and
sticky. It resembled glue. The best part of a pound of finely ground
brown sugar, cunningly insinuated between the bedclothes, is not a
pleasant bedfellow. It melts with the heat of the body. The results are
nasty in the extreme.
He leapt out, fuming. ''Ere!' he shouted, violently shaking the A.B.
next to him. ''Ave you bin puttin' sugar in my 'ammick?'
'Look 'ere!' exclaimed the newly awakened man, 'I'm fair sick o' yer. I
told you afore I 'adn't touched yer 'ammick, an' I sed I'd give yer a
thick ear if yer went on worryin' me. Now I'm goin' to do it.' He
hopped out, gave the astonished Irishman a box on the ear which sent
him sprawling, and then stood over him with clenched fists. 'D'you want
any more?' he asked grimly.
Flannagan did not.
Martin and the other men in the neighbourhood, meanwhile, had been
waked by the disturbance, and were enjoying the fun. 'Go on, Ginger!
Give 'im another!' somebody advised the A.B. 'Give 'im a clip under the
lug! Slosh 'im one on the ruddy boko! Wakin' of us orl up at this time
o' night!'
'Look 'ere, you blokes,' protested the still recumbent victim, 'some
one 'as put sugar in my 'ammick!'
A roar of laughter greeted his words. His hearers were not sympathetic.
They longed to see a really good fight, and there would have been more
bloodshed if Flannagan, terrorised by the A.B.'s fists, had not thought
discretion the better part of valour. He retired grumbling, to spend
the rest of the chilly night on the hard mess-table, wrapped in a
greatcoat.
At five-forty-five the next morning he sidled up to Martin, as the
latter sat drinking his cocoa. 'Look 'ere!' he exclaimed aggressively,
'was it you wot done that to my 'ammick last night?'
'Done wot?' asked Pincher, grinning innocently.
'Cut my ruddy foot lanyard an' put sugar on my blanket,' the Irishman
shouted, advancing threateningly with his fists clenched. 'I see'd yer
larfin' last night, an' yer larfin' now. If it wos you 'oo done it
I'll'----
'Stop yer bloomin' noise, Paddy!' chipped in Strumbles, who was always
inclined to be irascible in the early morning. 'If yer wants ter fight
Pincher you'd best take 'im on in the dog watches arter tea, not at
this un'oly hour o' the mornin'.'
'But if it was 'im wot cut'----
'Don't chaw yer fat!' growled the leading seaman, giving the Irishman a
push in the chest. 'If it was Pincher wot done it, I reckons you arsked
for it. If you comes makin' a row 'ere I'll land you one on the conk,
so you'd best clear out!'
Popular opinion was evidently not on his side; and, seeing how affairs
stood, Flannagan slouched off, vowing vengeance on some person or
persons unknown.
But he never had his revenge; for, though he had a shrewd suspicion
that Martin was somehow responsible for his discomfiture, he could
never fix the blame on him for certain. The tables were turned at last,
and Pincher suffered no further inconvenience at the hands of Peter
Flannagan. The end had justified the means. Joshua Billings, A.B., was
an adept at dealing with a young and bumptious ordinary seaman who made
himself objectionable.