THE COCKSWAIN OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
The Harrisburg stood in between the capes, and, in the course of the
forenoon, dropped her anchor off Fortress Monroe. Jack, from his lofty
perch in the mizzen-top, obtained a fine view of that celebrated
fortification, of which he had heard and read so much. As he gazed
upon the “sacred soil” of Virginia, now consecrated by the ashes of
heroic martyrs who had fallen in defence of the glorious old flag, his
thoughts reverted to his soldier-brother; for there had occurred the
stirring events in which Tom Somers had been an actor.
Jack was proud of his brother, and thankful that he had done his duty
bravely and faithfully in the army. He hoped he should soon have an
opportunity to do something for the old flag; and, as he glanced at the
ensign floating at the peak of the Harrisburg, he felt more than ever
devoted to the good cause, and ready to die in defence of the cherished
emblem.
There was Virginia; and Tom could not be a great way off. He longed to
see him; and he could not help thinking how smart he should feel in
presenting himself before his soldier-brother in the uniform of the
navy. But everything was very uncertain in time of war; and a bullet
might kill Tom, a splinter or a round-shot place the gloomy “D. D.”[B]
against his own name on the ships books. What would his poor mother do
if either of them should be killed? His eye grew dim at the thought.
His father, too, if living, was probably somewhere in Virginia; and
these reflections had a very strong tendency to give him a fit of the
blues. He felt like crying a little,--just as though a few tears would
do him good.
“What’s the matter, Jack?” demanded Bob Rushington. “You are foggy
about the top-lights.”
“I was thinking of my father and my brother,” replied Jack.
“Well, aren’t it pleasant to think of, my lad?”
“I haven’t seen my father for nearly a year. I suppose he is in the
hands of the rebels, if he is alive.”
“Don’t cry about it, Jack! The old gentleman will turn up all right one
of these days,” added Bob in sympathizing tones.
Just then, the boatswain’s whistle piped away the crew of the captain’s
gig; and Jack, who was one of them, ran down the mizzen-rigging, and
was one of the first to report on the quarter-deck. In anticipation
of this duty, the oarsmen of the gig had been ordered to dress in
clean clothes. They were young, fine-looking, athletic men, who had
been selected, on account of their personal appearance, to pull the
commander of the Harrisburg wherever his duty or his inclination should
lead him.
While the men were waiting for orders, Jack saw Lieutenant Bankhead
point to him; and the captain seemed to be very anxious to have
him carefully designated, so that he could identify him. Now, our
hero, like all brave and noble-hearted young men, was as modest and
bashful as a school-girl. His cheek glowed with blushes when he
became conscious that he was the subject of the officer’s remarks. He
wished himself at that moment on the mizzen-top-gallant yard-arm, or
surrounded by the favoring darkness of the fore-hold.
The idea of being looked at and particularly noticed by so magnificent
a person as Captain Mainwright, commander of the United States steamer
Harrisburg, was rather too much for Jack’s susceptible nature; but
I am happy to inform my sympathizing readers that he did not faint,
or commit any other foolish act. It wasn’t his fault that he was a
handsome young man; that he was well-formed, and had an exceedingly
pleasant countenance, with bright blue eyes, through which his soul,
as the novelists would say, proclaimed its own nobility. I am not
quite sure it was his fault that he blushed; but, considering his
youth and inexperience, he may well be pardoned for this display of
feminine weakness. Jack was opposed to blushing on principle, and he
felt exceedingly awkward while his cheek tingled with the warm blood
that did not belong there; and, in his efforts to appear indifferent,
he was on the point of committing a breach of discipline, and of
sinning against the immaculate stainlessness of the quarter-deck, by
whistling,--an expedient to which people on shore as well as on board
ship resort to make their looks belie their actions.
If it was a sin to blush, the captain and the first-lieutenant of the
Harrisburg had determined not to see it, or not to punish it on the
present occasion; for they continued their remarks, without the least
regard to the agony they were causing our sailor-boy. They were even
cruel enough to utter some very flattering commendations upon the
conduct of Jack that morning, in a tone so loud, that the whole gig’s
crew couldn’t help hearing them.
“Bully for you, Jack Somers!” said the stroke-oarsman in a whisper.
“Poh!” replied Jack contemptuously; but, at the same time, his cheeks
glowed with a ruddier tint, and his heart beat a more lively tattoo
against his ribs.
The first and second cutter and the captain’s gig were already moored
to the swinging-boom, to which the boats of a man-of-war are fastened
when she lies in port. Jack wished the order would be given to pipe
over the side into the gig; for he felt just as though he should sink
through the deck-planks, if this scene continued much longer. But there
stood the captain and Mr. Bankhead, talking about him, just as though
he had been some great man. The executive officer was evidently giving
his superior a history of Jack’s cruise on the life-buoy; and our hero
thought he was spinning out the yarn to a very unnecessary length.
At last the story came to an end. The two great men of the ship wheeled
round upon their heels, and walked aft. They paused a few moments at
the taffrail, and continued the conversation in a more earnest manner.
Suddenly the captain wheeled round again,--just as naval officers do
who have spent years of their valuable lives in pacing the weather-side
of the quarter-deck,--and walked briskly towards the boat’s crew, who
were--all but Jack Somers--patiently waiting for a further expression
of his mighty will and pleasure.
“Cockswain!” said Captain Mainwright sharply; for he was an officer who
always spoke quick and to the point.
“He’s on the sick-list, your honor,” replied the stroke-oarsman,
touching his cap.
“Sick!” exclaimed the captain with well-feigned astonishment; for
everyone of the gig’s crew was perfectly well aware that the captain
knew where his cockswain was at that particular moment, and also what
had occasioned his sudden illness.
“He’s very bad, your honor,” added the stroke-oarsman, touching his hat
again with a smile which indicated that he was presumptuous enough to
understand and appreciate the joke that the majesty of the quarter-deck
was engaged in perpetrating.
“What business has my cockswain to be sick?” added he, turning to the
executive officer; for the captain of a man-of-war never jests with the
denizens of the berth-deck.
“Mutiny!” replied Mr. Bankhead, with a smile.
“What’s his name?” asked the captain, who could not be expected to
know the cognomen of so humble an individual as the cockswain of his
own gig, especially as the ship had been in commission less than a
fortnight.
“Becket,” replied the first-lieutenant, who might possibly have
consulted the station-bill within half an hour. At any rate, his
information was sufficiently accurate to enable him to answer the
question without any embarrassing hesitation.
“That’s the man that fell overboard, and was saved by Somers!” added
Captain Mainwright with apparent astonishment; but it is more than
probable that he was not half so much astonished as he appeared to be.
“The same, sir.”
“He had no business to fall overboard, and I shall disrate him for
doing so.”
Mr. Bankhead bowed with becoming reverence to the fiat of his superior.
“I want a new cockswain,” continued the captain.
“Bully for you, Jack Somers!” said the stroke-oarsman in an awful
whisper.
“Somers!” said the captain in a tone which seemed to be fearfully
majestic to our blushing, trembling sailor-boy.
Jack stepped forward, and touched his cap, as much awed as though he
had stood in the sublime presence of the Autocrat of all the Russias.
“Somers, I am told you did a foolish thing this morning.”
Jack touched his cap again, as deferentially as before; and the
captain’s view of the act, at least as he expressed it in his remark,
was really a relief to him; for he was one of that sort, who, if it
were not for the name of the thing, had rather be blamed than praised.
“Never jump overboard after a man again, if he is the best friend you
have in the world,” added the captain, in a tone so decided, that the
gig’s crew began to pity poor Jack, and to think that the captain was
using him very harshly after he had behaved so handsomely.
It is true, Tom Longstone and Ben Blinks had told him the same thing;
and their advice must certainly have been good, since it was enforced
by such high authority as the captain. Jack touched his cap before the
admonition of his commander, and really began to think that he had done
a mean thing, instead of a noble and magnanimous deed.
“Never do it again, Somers,” continued the captain. “We can’t afford
to lose a man like you, especially for such a fellow as Beckett.
Henceforth you will be rated as cockswain of my gig. Pipe away your
crew, Somers!”
Jack would not have been more astonished if the Minnesota, which lay at
anchor near the Harrisburg, had poured a broadside into the ship, than
he was to find himself so suddenly and unexpectedly promoted to the
elegant and dignified office of cockswain of the captain’s gig. He was
amazed, confounded, bewildered, at the magnificent position to which he
had been elevated.
“Thank your honor!” stammered Jack, pulling off his cap, and bowing as
low as though he had been in the presence of the Sultan of Turkey.
Captain Mainwright turned, and walked aft; leaving Jack standing like a
statue, as immovable as the mainmast of the ship.
“Away with you, Jack,” said Mr. Bankhead in a low tone, as he walked by
him towards the waist.
“Gig-men, away!” added Jack, giving his first order in virtue of his
new position.
He was perfectly familiar with the duties of a cockswain, though he
had never performed them, or even, in his wildest dreams of future
distinction, aspired to such a splendid position. In a moment more,
he was over the side with his crew, and the gig was brought up to the
gangway, ready to receive its distinguished passenger. While he was
waiting, the new hand appointed to fill his place entered the boat.
“Bully for you, Jack!” said the stroke-oarsman, while the new cockswain
was adjusting the cushions in the stern-sheets of the gig.
“Good on your head, Jack!” added another. “You deserved it; and there
is not a man in the ship that won’t be glad of it.”
“That’s so.”
“Except Becket.”
“Becket’s only fit for shark’s meat,” added the first speaker.
Jack was very glad to find that there was no ill feeling towards him
among his shipmates on account of what had been done, which added
very much to his satisfaction. He was as happy as a boy of seventeen
could be; and he longed for the time when he could sit down on the
mess-bench, and hear Tom Longstone’s comments on the matter. And what
a topic for a letter to his mother! Wouldn’t she feel good when she
heard all about it! He intended to write that letter as soon as he
returned from the shore; but in it he intended to promise his mother
never to jump overboard after a shipmate again, in accordance with the
injunction of the captain and the advice of his best friends. He should
have a word to say about the increased pay he would receive in his new
capacity.
While he was thinking over the bright prospects which had suddenly
dawned upon him, Mr. Dickey, midshipman,--the elegant and accomplished
bantam of the quarter-deck,--came over the gangway, and installed
himself in the stern-sheets as the officer of the boat. Jack paid him
the homage due to so important a personage, and the distinguished Mr.
Dickey subsided upon the cushions in languid consciousness of his own
magnificence. On ordinary occasions, our hero could not look upon this
notable young gentleman without a strong tendency to exercise his
risibles: but at this time he actually felt a profound respect for him;
probably because his own position, being a peg higher, placed himself
so much nearer to the ineffable grandeur of that held by Mr. Midshipman
Dickey.
The captain came over the side next, and was received with due honor by
all in the boat.
“Toss!” said Jack. “Let fall! Give way!” and the gig was dashing over
the waves towards the sallyport of the fortress.
Our innocent readers must not suppose, from the elevated position to
which our hero had been exalted, that he was admitted to the counsels
of the captain. Not even the magnificent Mr. Dickey could aspire to
this honor; and both of them had to wait in the boat till Captain
Mainwright had finished his business on shore.