We were cruising off Callao on the Pacific station when it all happened,
and I daresay there are a good many others who will recollect all about
it as well as myself. But to explain the matter properly I must go back
a little in my dates; for, instead of Callao at the commencement of my
yarn, you must read Calabar.
You see, I was in the _Porpoise_ at the time, a small old-fashioned,
paddle-wheel steamer that had been ordered across from the West Coast of
Africa by "my lords" of the Admiralty to reinforce our squadron in South
American waters on account of a war breaking out between Chili and Peru.
Being a "sub" on board of her, and consequently subject to the
authorities that be, when the _Porpoise_ was obliged to abandon the
fragrant mangrove swamps at the mouth of the Congo river, where we had
been enjoying ourselves for over a twelvemonth amidst the delights of a
deadly miasma that brought on perpetual low fever, and as constant a
consumption of quinine and bottled beer to counteract its effects, I was
of course forced to accompany her across the Atlantic and round the Horn
to her allotted destination.
Thence "this plain unvarnished tale," which is as clear as mud in a
ditch, although you needn't believe it if you don't like--there is no
compulsion required to make hungry people eat roast mutton!
Tom Finch, the lieutenant in command of the _Porpoise_, who had got his
promotion through the death vacancy of his senior at Cape Coast Castle--
he was just ahead of me on the roster, luckily for him--was one of the
jolliest fellows I ever sailed with or under, since I entered the
service; and I'm sure I've known a few "swabs" in my time!
Unlike some junior officers I could name, when suddenly intrusted with
the reins of power, there was nothing of the martinet about Tom, even on
the first day he assumed his new rank, when a little extra pomposity
might have been excusable. But no, he gave himself no airs or graces
whatever.
He was the same Tom Finch who had chaffed and larked and talked
confidence with me in the gunroom, now that he trod the quarter-deck "in
all his war paint," as I told him somewhat impudently, the "skipper" of
HMS _Porpoise_, "paddle sloop, 6 guns," as she was described in the
_Navy List_--the same unaffected, jovial, good-natured sailor whom
everybody liked, men and messmates alike. His only weakness was a love
for practical joking, which he would carry out sometimes, perhaps, to a
rather ticklish extent--for his own good, that is, as he never knowingly
did anyone else an injury by it.
"What will you do with your monkey?" I said, when the mail brought in
our orders from the commodore on the West Coast for us to sail for Monte
Video at once, and there await our further instructions--which would be
sent on from England; "what will you do with him when we go?"
"Take him with me of course," answered Tom; "why shouldn't I?"
"Well, I don't see any reason against it certainly," I replied; "now
that you are captain of the ship, and can do as you please without
asking anybody's leave."
"Poor Griffin," said Tom, "he _did_ object to Jocko's society; that was
the reason I always used to keep the dear fellow ashore; however, as you
say, Gerald, I am my own master and can do as I like now. You don't
think the crew dislike my monkey, do you?" he added eagerly.
He was such a kind-hearted obliging chap, that if he thought that even
the loblolly boy objected to the presence of Jocko on board, he would
have banished him from the ship for ever, especially from the very fact
of his being the commander and having no one to dispute his authority.
"Oh dear, no, certainly not," I replied at once, with "effusion," as the
French say in their idiom. "The men like him better than you do, if
that is possible; and I don't know what they would do without him, I
only thought the change of climate might be deleterious to his health,
that's all!"
"Deleterious indeed, Gerald! wherever did you pick up such a fine word?
I suppose you have been interviewing old Jalap about your liver, eh, you
hypochondriacal young donkey! Why, Monte Video is a regular paradise
for the monkey tribe, and Jocko will be in his element there!"
"But I don't suppose we'll stop there, Tom; didn't you say that you
thought it probable that we would have to go round Cape Horn and join
the squadron at Callao?"
I may here explain that while on the quarter-deck, I invariably
addressed Tom Finch as "Sir," for was he not my commanding officer?
But, while below, or when off duty, he insisted on my retaining my old
custom of calling him by his Christian name, the same as when we were
together in the gunroom, and he only a "sub."
"And if we _do_ go round the Horn, what then, Mr Sub-lieutenant
Follett?" said he.
"Won't Jocko find it cold: you know it's winter time there now?"
"And can't I have him clothed like a Christian, stupid, and keep him by
the fire, or in the cook's cabin, where he will be so warm, that he'll
fancy himself in his native clime?"
"Oh, yes," said I, "I quite forgot that his dearest friend next to you
was Pompey!" alluding to the ship's cook, a sable African, who came very
probably from the same locality as the monkey; the two being very much
alike, not only in the colour of their complexions, but in their
features and facial development.
"Yes," said Tom reflectively, "Pompey will take care he doesn't freeze.
He could not be fonder of him than his own brother would be; he might,
indeed, _be_ his relative, if Darwin's theory should prove to be true!
However, I must see about getting Jocko rigged out properly in a decent
sailor's suit so that he may get accustomed to the clothing before we
come to the cold latitudes. I daresay my marine, who is a smart fellow,
can manage to cut down a guernsey frock and a pair of canvas or serge
trousers to fit the brute: I will give an order on the paymaster for
them at once and Smith can set to work on them without delay;" and he
bustled out of his cabin to carry his intentions into effect.
Not being intimately acquainted with even the rudimentary elements of
natural history, I cannot say to what order or genus of the monkey
family Jocko belonged; but, roughly speaking, I think he was a specimen
of chimpanzee or small gorilla, as he had no tail, and when he walked
erect, which was his favourite position, he looked uncommonly like the
"superior animal."
Tom Finch had shot the monkey's mother in the bush when on a hunting
excursion up the interior of the country, which he indulged in on first
coming to the coast; and having captured and nursed the youngster with
the utmost solicitude, Jocko repaid his master's attention by learning
so many tricks and imitating the deportment, of those with whom he was
brought in contact so carefully, that he was now, at the time of which I
speak, such a thoroughly educated and well-bred monkey as to be "um
purfit genelman," as Pompey, the cook, said--one "fit to shine in any
circle," especially on ship-board, where he was an endless source of
amusement to us all, from the lieutenant-commander down to the loblolly
boy aforesaid.
Pursuant to Tom Finch's directions and the exertions of his marine
servant Smith, before we left the mouth of the Congo our friend Jocko
was decorously habited in a smart seafaring costume; and, long ere we
had crossed the Atlantic and arrived at Monte Video, the intelligent
animal had got so habituated to his new rig that the difficulty would
have been to persuade him to go about once more in his former unclothed
state--and yet some sceptics say that monkeys aren't human! You should
only have seen him walking up and down the quarter-deck, or on the
bridge by Tom's side, he looked for all the world like a juvenile
"reefer!"
It was in the cabin, however, that Jocko's acquirements came out in the
strongest relief. Tom had taught him to sit at table and use a spoon or
fork in helping himself from his plate as naturally as possible; and, as
for drinking, you should only have seen him pour out a tumbler of
bottled stout, for which he had an inordinate relish, and tossing it
down his throat, give a sigh of the deepest satisfaction when he had
finished it, when, replacing his glass on the table, he would lean back
in his chair as if overcome by the exertion.
Before he had been clothed in sailor fashion, Jocko used to be very fond
of skylarking with the men forward, stealing their mess utensils and
scampering up and down the rigging to evade pursuit when his
mischievousness had been found out; but, after that period, he seemed to
become possessed of a wonderful amount of dignity which made him give up
his wild frolicsomeness, and leave off his previous habits, for he never
went to the forecastle again, but restricted himself to the officers'
quarters aft. This he did, too, in spite of the coaxings of the crew,
who were very fond of him, and the fact of Tom often kicking him out of
his cabin, where he would take possession of his sofa whenever he had
the chance, wrapping himself in Tom's boat-cloak and reclining
gracefully on the cushions. One of Jocko's chief amusements also was in
watching the machinery when in motion; and he would spend hours in
looking down at it through the engine-room hatch.
Once, when the skylight was up, he had a narrow squeak for his life;
for, carried away by his excitement, in trying to put his hands--paws I
should say--on the revolving shaft, he tumbled through; and, but for the
chief engineer seeing him in time and stopping the engines, which were
just then going slow, poor Jocko would have come to grief.
This accident, however, never broke him of the habit of inspecting the
machinery. It had a sort of weird attraction for him which he could not
resist. Possibly, he might have been a sort of incubating Watt or
Brunel, who knows? But, alas, he never became sufficiently developed or
"evolved" from his quadrumanous condition to answer the question in
person, as the engines which were his hobby in the end compassed his
untimely death!
Those paddle-wheel steamers that were built for the navy some forty
years ago, although designed for capturing Cuban slavers, were certainly
not remarkable for their speed, and the _Porpoise_ was no exception to
her class; so, what with her naturally slow rate of progression through
the water, and the strict Admiralty circular limiting the consumption of
coal even on special service like ours, we did not make a very rapid
passage across the south Atlantic to Monte Video. This place is
charmingly situated on the estuary of the Rio de la Plata, and very
appropriately named; for it can be seen far away off, for miles at sea,
and itself commands magnificent views of its own beautiful harbour and
the surrounding inland scenery.
Here despatches awaited us, as Tom Finch had previously been informed at
Cape Coast Castle would be the case, ordering the _Porpoise_ to proceed
immediately to the Pacific and join the admiral on that station at
Callao; and, accordingly, after one of the briefest of stays at a port
which I have always longed since to have a more extended
acquaintanceship with, we up anchor and paddled away to our assigned
rendezvous--not by way of the "Horn," which we did not go round, as I
had imagined we would, for it was far too stormy; but, through the
Straits of Magellan, which are easy enough of passage to a steamer,
independent almost of winds and currents, although somewhat perilous to
sailing vessels, especially during the winter months.
Jocko seemed to feel the cold as soon as we began to run down towards
Terra del Fuego, and had some additional garments placed round him; but
true to what he evidently thought was his new and proper position, he
would not take up his quarters with his "old friend and brother,"
Pompey, in the cook's caboose, preferring to shiver in Tom's cabin till
he almost turned blue.
"Bress dat Massa Jocko!" Pompey would say after a vain attempt to coax
him to share his hospitality. "I can't make he out nohow! Guess he
tinks himself buckra ossifer and bery fine genelman, now de captin take
um into cabin, sure; but, he no rale genelman to turn up nose at um ole
frens! No, sah, I no spik to him no more!" and the negro cook would
retire with ill-suppressed anger, which was all the more amusing to us
from its having been occasioned by a monkey!
On our getting round into the Pacific, and sighting the coast towards
Valparaiso, where we had to stop and coal once more, the _Porpoise_ not
having much storage room in her old bunkers, Jocko got more on friendly
terms with the thermometer, making faces and jabbering away in his
lingo, which unfortunately no one but himself could understand, just as
if he were still in his native clime on the African continent.
Occasionally, too, as if his spirits carried him away on his restoration
to warmer latitudes, he would indulge in one of his old skylarking bouts
with the crew, and even made advances to Pompey in his caboose, which
that worthy, in spite of his indignation at the manner in which he had
been treated by Jocko when he assumed the dignity of the _toga virilis_,
was only too glad to welcome and reciprocate; but, after one of these
unusual unbendings, the monkey grew even more dignified and
inapproachable than before, except to Tom and myself, who could do
anything with him, and he then confined himself exclusively to the cabin
and quarter-deck.
At Valparaiso we got further despatches hurrying us up to the Peruvian
coast, where the admiral much wanted to use us as a despatch vessel; so,
taking in as much coal as our old tub, the _Porpoise_, could cram into
her, we started for Callao, steaming hard day and night all this time--
but it took us no less than ten days to reach our port at last.
The admiral's ship was in the offing as we entered the harbour; and,
without the slightest warning or time for preparation after we had made
our muster, the old gentleman signalled, much to Tom's discomposure,
that he was coming on board of us for inspection at once.
"A pretty kettle of fish!" exclaimed Tom; "just as if he couldn't give a
fellow time to paint up a bit and look tidy after sweltering all the
pitch off her for eighteen months on the coast, and scuttling across the
Atlantic as if the deuce were after us, and not a day allowed us to
overhaul and make the old ship look presentable--why, it's too bad!"
"You needn't grumble, sir," said I--we were both on the quarter-deck
now, and the _friend_ had, of course, to yield to the _office_--"I'm
sure the admiral won't be able to find much fault with the _Porpoise_,
even if he were predetermined to do so, as she's in apple-pie order!"
And so she was; while her crew, who almost worshipped Tom and would have
followed him to a man anywhere, were in the highest state of discipline
and health, the African fever having disappeared almost as soon as we
lost sight of the pestilential West Coast and got into blue water.
"Do you think so, Follett?" he said more calmly.
"Certainly," I answered, "I would back her against any other vessel on
the station for being in the highest state of efficiency."
"I'm glad you think so, Gerald," he said to me aside, so that the
middies who went to man the side ropes for the admiral at the gangway
could not hear him. "You know these big guns are always sharp on a
fellow who holds a first command; and, as I have no interest to back me
up at the Admiralty board, I don't want a bad report to go in against
me, and a black mark be set before my name for ever!"
"Don't you fear, Tom," said I cheerfully, "you'll pass muster with
flying colours!"
Well, the admiral came on board and the inspection turned out just as I
expected.
Not only was the gallant chief satisfied with the condition of the
_Porpoise_; but, after having mustered the men at quarters, and having
them exercised at gun-drill and cutlasses, he was so pleased that he
publicly complimented Tom Finch on the state of his ship and crew,
saying that they were not only creditable to him, but to the service
generally.
So far, so good.
When the admiral, however, descended presently to Tom's cabin to sign
papers, and perhaps to give a look around him, too, to see how such an
efficient officer comported himself when "at home" so to speak, Tom's
evil genius placed Master Jocko in the way.
There he was, seated on the sofa, dressed up in some nondescript sort of
uniform with which the youngsters had invested him during Tom's absence
on deck--the young imps were always up to some of their larks--and being
of a kindred disposition himself, Tom was never hard on them for their
tricks.
The monkey had on a blue coat and trousers with a red sash across his
chest and a Turkish fez on his head, which gave him the appearance of
one of the many Chilian field marshals, and generals, and colonels whom
we had seen at Valparaiso, his wizened, dried-up face adding to the
delusion.
As luck would have it, too, what should Jocko do, as the admiral and Tom
entered the cabin, but rise from the sofa; and taking off the cap from
his head with one of his paws, while the other was laid deferentially on
his chest, he made a most polite bow, in the manner he had always been
used to do, when either of us greeted him on coming in.
"Who's this gentleman?" said the admiral pleasantly, taking off _his_
cocked hat likewise, and returning the salute--"I suppose someone you've
given a passage to on the way, eh?"
Tom was at his wit's end, as he told me afterwards, for the moment; but
his native "nous" came to the rescue, and, combined with his love of a
practical joke, suggested a loophole of escape.
"Oh, sir," said he, "this is one of the aides-de-camp of the Chilian
generalissimo, a Senor Carrambo, who begged me to land him at Callao on
some urgent private business. Of course, I know, sir, of the
hostilities between his native state and Peru, and that as a neutral I
ought not to offer any means of communication between the two powers;
but, sir, as you see for yourself, he's a very harmless sort of fellow,
and--"
"Hush!" said the admiral, apparently shocked at Tom's speaking out in
such an off-hand way his opinion of the foreign gentleman, as he took
Jocko to be.
"Oh, bless you," went on Tom, forgetting for the moment to whom he was
speaking--"he cannot understand a word of English, and I can't make out
a single word of his Chilian Spanish--but he's very polite."
"So I see," replied the admiral affably, as master Jocko made another
obeisance at this juncture; "pray ask him to accompany you on board the
flagship with me to dinner. Tell him I shall feel honoured by his
company, as indeed I shall be by yours."
To say he was thunderstruck at the admiral's request would not convey
the slightest idea of Tom's mental condition when he found himself in
such a dilemma. He could have bitten off his tongue for its having got
him into such a scrape, by telling the fib about the monkey in the first
instance; but it was too late now, for the admiral had turned to leave
the cabin, and the marine was at the door, besides others, who would
hear any explanation he might make.
Tom determined, therefore, with a courage that was almost heroic, to
carry the thing through to the bitter end--giving me a pathetic wink to
instruct everybody to "keep the thing dark" on board--for none knew
about Jocko excepting our ship's company.
Furtively shoving the fez down over the monkey's head, so that it almost
concealed its features, he threw the boat-cloak that rested on the sofa
around him; and, taking hold of his paw, marched in the admiral's wake
to the gangway, and thence down into the chief's barge alongside, where
the admiral and he and Jocko took their seats in state in the stern-
sheets and were rowed off to the flagship--our crew manning the rigging
as they left and giving three hearty cheers!
"I like to see that proof of affection in your men," said the admiral,
as he witnessed this unofficial performance. "They are proud of their
commander, and, I am sure, you have a crew to be proud of!"
Tom bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment. He knew well enough what
had occasioned the enthusiasm of the blue-jackets, and bit his lips to
restrain his laughter, which so suffocated him that he felt he would
burst if he had to keep it in much longer!
All he could do now was to brazen out the imposture, and he huddled the
boat-cloak round Jocko so as to conceal his form.
"Poor Senor Carrambo is suffering fearfully from the ague," he said in
explanation to the admiral of this little attention on his part--"I'm
afraid he should not have ventured out of the cabin."
"A good glass of sherry will soon warm him," said the admiral smiling,
"and I think I shall be able to offer him one."
"He's rather partial to bottled ale or stout," suggested Tom, "and he
may possibly prefer that."
"Rather a queer taste for a Spaniard," said the admiral, as the barge
reached the side of the flagship; "but I think I can also gratify on
board my ship this predilection of Senor--"
"Carrambo," prompted Tom.
"Yes, Carrambo," added the admiral as he mounted the accommodation
ladder of the flagship--Tom Finch with Jocko on his arm following in his
wake, as before, amidst the mutual salutes of the admiral and the
officers, to the state cabin of the chief.
Seated at the dinner-table, to which all were summoned with all proper
ceremony to the exhilarating tune of the "Roast beef of old England,"
Jocko, who had a chair alongside of Tom, behaved with the utmost
decorum.
He indeed appeared to eat little but bread, biscuit, tart, and fruit;
but, beyond a grimace, which must have caused the admiral to reflect
that of all the ugly persons he ever beheld in his life, this Chilian
officer was certainly the ugliest, nothing particularly happened, and
the dinner passed off without an exposure.
Tom, the admiral observed, frequently helped "the generalissimo's aide-
de-camp," especially in pouring out his wine, which he limited in a
marked degree; but the jocular lieutenant-commander passed this off by
saying that his distinguished friend--whom he exchanged a word with
occasionally, of some outlandish language, a mixture of Spanish and High
Dutch, with a sprinkling of the Chinese tongue--was in the most feeble
health and acting under the doctor's directions regarding his diet:--
that was the reason also, he explained, of his remaining cloaked and
with his head-covering on at the admiral's table, for which he craved a
thousand pardons!
After dinner, Tom would have given worlds to have beaten a retreat to
his own ship, as several officers came into the saloon while coffee was
handed round, and he dreaded each moment that Jocko would disgrace
himself and the bubble would burst; but no, there the admiral, would
keep him, talking all the time, and directing most of his attention
towards the pseudo "Senor Carrambo," for whose benefit Tom had to
translate, or pretend to translate, what was said.
Tom said he never got so punished for a joke in his life before, and he
took very good care not to let his sense of the ridiculous put him in
such a plight again, as for more than two mortal hours he suffered all
the tortures of a condemned criminal; as he said, he would rather have
been shot at once!
But when the admiral shook hands with him on his departure, Tom felt
worst of all.
"Good-bye, lieutenant," said the admiral, "and thanks for your
introduction to `Senor Carrambo.' I admired the condition and
discipline of your ship to-day, Mr Finch, and, in forming my opinion of
your character I must say that you carry out a joke better than anyone I
ever met. _But you should remember, lieutenant, that those who have the
end of the laugh, enjoy the joke best_. Good-night, I shall communicate
with you to-morrow!"
Poor Tom! after believing that the admiral had suspected nothing up to
the last moment, to be thus undeceived.
It was heartrending!
Gone was his commission, he thought, at one fell blow, with all the
pleasant dreams of promotion that had flashed across his brain after the
admiral's encomiums on him that afternoon; and he would have to think
himself very lucky if he were not tried by court-martial and dismissed
the service with disgrace.
It was paying dearly for a practical joke, played off on the spur of the
moment, truly!
When he reached the _Porpoise_ he felt so disgusted that he kicked poor
Jocko, boat-cloak, fez and all, down the main hatch, gruffly ordered his
gig to be triced up to the davits, and went below to brood over his
anticipated disgrace in the solitude of his own cabin, where I presently
found him.
After a great deal of persuasion, I got him to indite a letter of
apology to the admiral, detailing all Jocko's perfections, and how he
had been constantly an inmate of his cabin; while assuring him that the
passing off the monkey as a "foreigner" had not been a planned thing,
but was only the result of an accident and his own unaccountable love of
fun, although the falsehood he had been guilty of was most
reprehensible.
Indeed, as I made him observe, if it had not been for the admiral
himself suggesting the imposture, he, Tom, would never have dreamt of
it; but, he concluded, he would regret it all his life, for he had not
only told a lie, but the whole matter appeared like a deliberately
contemplated insult to his superior officer.
This letter Tom, still acting under my advice, sent off immediately to
the flagship, as it was yet not late, and within half an hour he
received an answer which made him dance an Indian war-dance of delight
around the cabin table, where he and I were awaiting the news that was
to make or mar poor Tom's future life.