We lived in a queer little double-fronted, old-fashioned cottage near
Bonfire Corner. This is close up against the dockyard wall, and not far
from the Marlborough Gate, you must know, if you be a stranger to the
old town of Portsmouth and that labyrinth of narrow streets lying to the
north of Hardway and the harbour. Yes, a labyrinth of rectangular rows,
arranged in parallel lines and all precisely alike, of twin two-storied,
russet-bricked houses of the same size and pattern, all looking as if
they had been turned out of a mould, and all of them having little
projecting circular bay-windows of wood, mostly English live oak, or
teak from the Eastern Indies. All were painted green alike, and
furnished with diamond panes, or bottle glass with bull's-eye centres,
of the last century; and all, likewise, had similarly retreating
doorways, sheltered by timber pent-houses to keep off the rain, access
to them being gained by three or four perpendicular steps, so as to
avoid flooding from the rivers of mud that covered the cobblestone
roadway in wet weather, overflowing the narrow gutters, and narrower
flagging along the side that did duty for a pavement.
Attached to our cottage was an out-house which ran flush along the side
of Beacon Street, fencing off our bit of a garden from the road and an
adjacent tenement; and this out-house, mother, who was of an inventive
nature, with a strong proclivity for money-making, had converted into a
shop for the sale of all sorts of birds, both foreign and native born,
and pigeons, in addition to sundry specimens of the rarer species of
poultry.
Mother said she had been forced into the trade from the necessity of her
having to do `something for a living' after grandfather's death, on
account of her having us two children to keep, as well as herself, on
only the allotment pay of father, who was away at sea at the time; but,
in a weak moment she once confessed she had started the bird-keeping
business more for the sake of having her hands employed than anything
else, she not being partial to needlework, like most west-country women,
while she was particularly fond of birds!
Not only that, she was certainly accustomed to their feathery ways, and
learned in the art of their breeding and bringing up, even from the
nest; for Jenny and I could bear witness to having seen her often enough
poking pap with a stick down the outstretched throats of gaping young
blackbirds and thrushes as soon as they had sufficiently developed beaks
to open, and coddling up shivering little canaries and larklets in
flannel before the fire when their proper parents would not attend to
their infantile needs--mother tenderly feeding them with the point of a
camel's-hair brush dipped in egg paste and weak wine and water before
they were old enough even to `peep' or flutter their nascent little
wings.
Bye-and-bye, when my sister got big enough, she took charge of all this
part of the business, and saved mother a world of trouble, as she
thankfully acknowledged, without being a bit jealous of her greater
success with the fledgelings; for Jenny handled the little things as
tenderly as if she were a canary herself, and was so fortunate in her
treatment of them, medical and otherwise, that she never lost even the
most delicate of her bird baby patients, nursing them through their
various ailments, and rearing them triumphantly up to the full
perfection of their plumage and song.
You should only have seen her amongst them of a morning when I had the
job of cleaning out their cages, while Jenny gave them all fresh food
and water!
They did not pay much attention to me, save to flutter a bit as I moved
them about, and especially when I put my hand between the bars of their
little wooden prisons; but with Jenny the case was very different.
"Bless you!" as father would say, every one of them knew her and
recognised her as a friend and fellow-comrade, for she would sing to
them sometimes like a lark, which always set them all on the twitter;
goldfinches, linnets, and bullfinches, of which mother kept a large
stock, hopping about their cages trying by every means in their power to
attract her notice on her entering the shop and coming near them; while
the lemon-crested cockatoo, who was christened `Ally Sloper,' on account
of his fine flow of language, and a habit he had of ruffling up the
feathers round his neck when spoken to, making him look as if he had a
particularly high and stiff collar on, would shriek out `Say-rah!' which
was mother's name, just as if father were shouting for her to come
downstairs in a sort of `reef topsails' on a stormy night sort of voice.
Our pet thrush `Jack' also liked her better than any of us, though he
was tame enough to eat out of my hand, giving me a friendly nip with his
sharp beak occasionally, just to show what he could do if he had a mind
to and was not socially disposed.
But he never nipped Jenny's little fingers--not he!
On the contrary, he used to dance with delight if she only uttered his
name in a whisper, chuckling first to express his great pleasure at the
sight of her, and then breaking into a regular roulade that wound up
with the call `Jenny! Jenny!' or something which we all thought sounded
uncommonly like it; for he used to keep it up for a good spell if she
went away without speaking to him, or even failed to put in an
appearance to wish him "good morning."
Avast there, however.
I'm afraid I am making a long circumbendibus from my original yarn; but,
as mother says of father, it runs in the blood, all the Bowlings having
their jaw tackle well abreast, and not knowing when to stop when once
they begin; so, being a `chip of the old block' and a Bowling all over
in my love of talking and love for the sea, I hope you will excuse me
and let me start afresh again.
I was saying when I went off my course on this tangent about the birds,
that little Jenny stepped in just as father and mother were getting to
loggerheads about my going on board the _Saint Vincent_, the old lady
saying she couldn't possibly spare me, and that he, to put it mildly,
was not a very sensible person to think so lightly of losing my services
in the wherry just when I was beginning, as she pointed out to him, to
be of some use to him.
"But it's no good my talking," she cried at the end of a long harangue,
to which father politely listened, with his knife and fork expectantly
in hand, and his dinner getting colder and colder on the plate before
him. "It's just like you Bowlings all over! You're all headstrong and
foolish, and always bent on having your own way, in spite of all the
good advice one gives you!"
"All right, Sarah," said father, in his quiet way, bowing, wise man that
he was, before the storm. "All right."
"No, it's nothing of the sort," retorted mother. "It's all wrong!"
At that moment a happy diversion was made by the lemon-crested cockatoo,
who, by reason of his highly respectable deportment and polished
manners, had been made free of our parlour, and could hop in and out
from the shop when the mood seized him, through a small trapdoor or
porthole, originally constructed for a window, and which served `Ally
Sloper' as a means of intercommunication between the two apartments, the
wily bird being easily able to unlatch at pleasure the swing door of his
cage.
"I'll wring your neck!" he screamed in his hoarse, sepulchral voice;
"I'll wring your neck! Say-rah! Say-rah!"
This, of course, made us all laugh, even mother joining in, though the
joke was certainly against her; and taking advantage of the opportunity
thus afforded of `throwing oil on the troubled waters,' little Jenny
went on to speak of the advantages to be gained by my going to sea and
earning my living as a gallant seaman in the service of my country,
pointing out to mother how I had always hankered after father's
profession, and that she was sure I would never be contented in any
shore billet, and might possibly go to the bad if I had my inclinations
thwarted!
"Who knows, too," she added, as a clincher to her argument, "whether Tom
may not rise to be a leftennant, ay, and even an admiral, through this
good Captain Mordaunt's introduction!"
"Right you are, my lass, bless you!" chimed in father, rising up
enthusiastically from his seat and tossing off the glass of beer he held
in his hand. "So he will too, you'll see, or I'm a Dutchman. Hurrah,
Sarah, here's good luck to the boy and speedy promotion!"
"'Oo-ray, Say-rah!" screamed `Ally Sloper,' the cockatoo, in cordial
appreciation, apparently, of this sentiment. "'Ip, 'ip, 'oo-ray!"
That settled the matter.
So, early the following morning, after an affectionate hug from mother
and a kiss from Jenny, who came to the corner to see the last of me, I
started off for the _Saint Vincent_ with father, who rowed me aboard
himself, I being the very first fare he had for the day, though, of
course, as you can imagine, he did not earn much by the job.
However, it pleased father at any rate; and, as soon as he had landed me
safe and sound at the foot of the accommodation ladder on the port side
of the old ship, which lay broadside on, almost on the mud abreast of
Haslar Creek, the tide being out, he handed me a big official letter
which Captain Mordaunt had given him overnight, as he had promised,
recommending me to the commander of the training-vessel, and enclosing
certificates of my birth and character.
"There, sonny, them's yer papers," said he, thus laconically wishing me
good-bye, sheering off out of the way of an approaching galley from the
shore whose sternsheets were chock-full of big quartern loaves of bread,
and then laying on his oars as I skipped up the ladder. "You jest give
that there letter to the cap'en when you sees him, and good luck to you,
my lad!"
I waved my hand in reply as he sculled away, all alone now in the
wherry, towards the flagship to try and pick up some stray passenger for
Gosport or Hardway; and the next instant I had gained the top of the
accommodation ladder, and was standing within the entry-port leading on
to the middle deck.
"Hullo!" cried a bluejacket stationed at the gangway, who, I noticed,
had a red stripe on his arm, and subsequently learnt was one of the
ship's corporals, who serve as police always aboard a man-of-war. "What
do you want here, boy?"
"I've come to join the ship, sir," said I to him respectfully, seeing
that he was some one in authority, and having been taught by father to
be deferential to everybody, especially those who were my superiors,
respect to rank and station being the very essence of the discipline of
the service. "Got a letter for the cap'en."
"Give it here, my lad," said the man more civilly to me, calling to a
marine close by. "I'll have the letter passed off to him at once; and
you'd best step into the office there and wait till the master-at-arms
can see you."
So saying, he pointed to a large open sort of cabin, with glass sides to
it, immediately adjoining the entry-port, where I found a couple of boys
of about my own age, and who had evidently come aboard on a similar
errand.
One of these was a red-haired, short, thickset fellow, with an ugly,
bulldog sort of a face, whose beetle-brows met over a pair of ferrety
eyes, giving him a most forbidding appearance, and I did not like the
look of him at all.
The other was a poor ragged chap, without any shoes to his feet; but he
had a jaunty devil-me-care air, and such a pleasant smile and merry
twinkle about the corners of his mouth, that I could not help taking a
fancy to him, at once hoping that we might be chums.
However, I did not have much time for reflection anent either of them;
for hardly had we taken stock of each other, when a stoutish middle-aged
man, dressed in a tight-fitting monkey-jacket, ornamented with the
letters `NP' on the collar, and a row of bright crown-and-anchor buttons
down the front, besides having a gold badge bearing the same device over
the mohair band of his blue peaked cap, appeared at the doorway of the
cabin, or `police office,' as the place is properly called, where we
three boys were waiting anxiously to learn our fate.
"Ha, humph! A nice lot of raw material to be licked into shape!"
observed this gentleman, whose uniform denoted that he was the master-
at-arms, or head of the ship's police. He was evidently cogitating
within himself as to our respective and collective capabilities, for he
eyed us critically the while as we stood before him, hats off and mute
as mice. "Hi, my lads! I fancy I know what you're after this fine
morning. You want to join the service, I can see, eh?"
"Yes, sir," the three of us shouted in three different keys--"yes, sir--
yes, sir!"
"Keep your hair on, lads," he said, amused at our eagerness. "Got your
papers all right, eh?"
To this the ugly chap, as well as the one to whom I had taken a liking,
responded by handing over to the master-at-arms certain official
documents representing their certificate of birth to show they were of
the proper age, and a declaration of their parents that they were
joining Her Majesty's Service with their full consent and goodwill.
When it came to my turn, though, I had absolutely nothing to show.
"Hullo!" exclaimed the master-at-arms. "Where are your papers, young
'un?"
I was about to explain; but the ship's corporal who had first spoken to
me at the entry-port and taken on to the captain the letter from Captain
Mordaunt which father had handed to me, saved all further trouble.
"Here are Tom Bowling's certificates, sir," said he, giving the couple
of sheets of foolscap in question to his superior officer. "The cap'en
says they're all right, and he's to be entered if he passes the
schoolmaster and is medically fit."
"That's all right, then, Mister Bowling," said the master-at-arms to me,
with a mock bow. "Hullo, though, Bowling--Bowling? It strikes me I've
heard that name before, my lad. Father in the service, eh?"
"He _has_ served in the navy, sir," I replied. "But he's a pensioner
now, and works as a waterman up and down the harbour."
"Ah, I thought so! He and I were old shipmates together out in the
Ashantee War on the West Coast, and I recollect him well. You are very
like him, too, I can see now from the cut of your jib, youngster!
You're a regular chip of the old block."
"So everybody says, sir," I said with a grin. "I only hope, sir, I will
turn out as good a sailor!"
"Only act up to that wish, my boy, and you'll do! I say, corporal, take
these three lads down to the schoolmaster and see what he makes of
them."
With that, giving me a friendly nod, the master-at-arms dismissed us,
and the ship's corporal conducted us down the nearest hatchway to the
lower deck.
At the other end of this we three neophytes were ushered into a large
apartment, fitted with rows of desks and benches, arranged in parallel
lines, which gave it the appearance of an ordinary schoolroom ashore;
the only difference being that there was a harmonium on one side, and a
cottage piano on the other, while a large circular band-stand stood in
between the two in the centre.
Here one of the assistant-masters took charge of us, placing `Ugly' and
`Rattlebrains,' as I had mentally christened my two companions, along
with myself at a table in a corner of the room, away from the rest of
the boys, some three hundred odd in number, who were all busy at their
lessons.
No great obstacle to our joining the service was put in our way by the
examination which we underwent; for, after being asked to spell a few
easy words, tested as to our arithmetic with a sum in simple addition,
and the multiplication table as far as six times six, besides being
given a short sentence from some reader to write from dictation, the
head schoolmaster filled up a form, which he attached to our papers,
notifying that we were sufficiently educated to become _Saint Vincent_
boys.
Our ordeal was thus ended.
The three of us were then escorted back again to the police office on
the middle deck, where our papers were again handed to the master-at-
arms to show that the regulations had been complied with.
This functionary did not seem at all surprised at our reappearance.
"Ha, Bowling, so you've passed your schooling all right, my lad, eh?" he
said to me. "I thought you'd manage to pull through, somehow or other;
and you, too, young shaver--you with that fine pair of flesh-coloured
stockings on, I mean! I can't quite make out your name here from the
writing. It looks like `Damerum,' or `Dunekin,' or `Donkeyvan,' or
something of that sort! What do you call yourself, my lad, when you're
at home, eh?"
"Donovan, sor," promptly answered my friend the ragged boy without any
covering to his feet, whom, of course, he was addressing. "Me name's
Mick Donovan, sor."
"An Irishman, eh?"
"No, sor; Oi'm an Oitalian, yer honour."
The master-at-arms burst out laughing, for really the devil-me-care
chap's brogue was strong enough to have hung a kettle full of potatoes
on it. Even the ship's corporal could not help smiling, though in the
presence of his superior officer.
"Nonsense, boy, don't you try to gammon me," cried the master-at-arms,
as soon as he was able to speak. "An Italian from the county Cork, I'm
thinking!"
"Oi'm that same, yer honour," protested the other, as grave as a judge.
"Me fayther came over here harvestin' last summer, sor, an' turned
organ-grinder; an' now, sure, he's an Oitalian."
"Was it him that signed this paper?" asked the master-at-arms, when he
was able to control his speech again after a second burst of merriment
at the Irish boy's droll way of expressing himself, and comical look.
"I s'pose it's his new foreign style of writing and spelling that
prevented my making out your name at first?"
"Sure, sor, he wanted the praste fur to soign it," said the other in his
racy brogue. "But Father Maloney said he'd be persecuted for bigummy if
he did it, an' he'd have fur to do it himsilf; an' so, bad cess to it,
fayther stuck the ind of his dhudeen in the ink-bottle, I'll take me
oath, sor, an' soigned his name thare, sor, jist whare ye say it, wid
his own hand, as Oi'm a livin' sinner!"
"Well, well, Donovan, that's enough. I'll take your word for it," said
the master-at-arms, anxious to get rid of him, feeling his gravity
giving way again. "But you'll first have to pass your medical
examination, my lad, before you can join the ship. Corporal, take all
three of them to the doctor in the sick-bay, at once!"
With that, the lot of us started off, in company with the corporal.