SHIP ISLAND.
Captain Mainwright remained so long in the fort, that it is quite
probable he forgot that Mr. Midshipman Dickey was waiting for him at
the pier. Perhaps it would have made no difference with him, if he had
thought of it: at any rate, he stopped a long time; and, when he came
down to the boat, he did not apologize to Mr. Dickey for detaining him
so long. Mr. Dickey did not seem to be offended with him for his want
of consideration; for he touched his cap as politely, when the captain
stepped into the boat, as though his patience had not been sorely tried.
Jack Somers touched his cap very reverently; for he was so grateful to
the commander of the Harrisburg for his kindness to him, that he would
willingly have waited all day and all night in the boat for him. As
Captain Mainwright was engaged in the business of the nation, it is
likely that he did not care whether Mr. Dickey was satisfied or not.
In fact, officers in the navy are not in the habit of consulting the
wishes of their inferiors: and we are inclined to think that they are
perfectly right in doing so; for, if they attempted to please all who
chose to differ from them, the old flag would be the greatest sufferer
by the operation.
Jack wanted very much to know how long the ship was to remain at
Fortress Monroe: but he did not think it prudent to ask the question
even of Mr. Bankhead, much less of the captain; for, even if these
gentlemen had known themselves, they had a provoking habit of keeping
things to themselves. It is not certain that any officer below the
captain knew when or where the ship was going; and it was a fact, that
not a man outside of the cabin and wardroom had the remotest idea
whether they were going to Gibraltar or the South. This may seem very
strange to our readers; but the destination of a ship-of-war is seldom
made public in time of war. Sometimes the seamen can form a tolerably
correct idea from the amount and kind of stores put on board, and
other circumstances. Vessels often sail with sealed orders, which the
captain is permitted to open only when the ship reaches a certain
position. The information is not often communicated to the people,
though they sometimes obtain it by accident.
On board the Harrisburg, everybody wondered where they were going; but
the whole subject was a sealed book to them, and Jack was obliged to
content himself without knowing anything at all about the matter. As he
stood behind Captain Mainwright, with the tiller-ropes in his hands,
he tried to read the expression of his face; yet, when he gave the
order to “toss oars,” he made no headway whatever in the operation. The
captain’s face was as uncommunicative as his lips.
The side was manned when the monarch of the quarter-deck went over
the gangway, and was received in due form by the officer of the deck,
and others who were present. The commander of a man-of-war is always
received with a great deal of ceremony when he comes on board of the
ship, though he may not have been absent fifteen minutes. The “side
boys” form a double line, and touch their caps as he passes through the
lines. He is treated with a great deal of respect at all times. Every
man, from the first-lieutenant to the third-class boys, touches his
cap to him, as every officer and man must do when he approaches his
superior.
Boat-keepers at the swinging-boom stand up, and salute officers
arriving or departing in boats. If Captain Mainwright’s gig, in
going to or coming from the shore, had met a boat containing a
flag-officer,--that is, the commander of a squadron,--etiquette would
require that his crew should toss oars (hold them up, perpendicularly),
and the captain would touch his cap to his superior. Commissioned
officers, in passing him, would lie on their oars, and warrant-officers
would toss oars to him. These are tokens of respect which every
inferior must yield to his superior. Custom or particular regulations
adjust all these matters with the most punctilious care.
When Captain Mainwright had gone up the side, and the accomplished
Mr. Dickey had also disappeared over the bulwarks, Jack secured his
boat, and went on deck. As he passed along the crowd of idlers, he was
roughly congratulated upon his good fortune. He made his way down to
the berth-deck, where he found Tom Livingstone.
“Give us your flipper, Jack!” said the veteran, as he rose from the
mess-bench. “I give ye joy, Jack! It’s a good thing to have someone in
the wardroom to speak a good word for you.”
“Then you think I owe my promotion to the favor of Mr. Bankhead?”
replied Jack, as Tom wrung his hand.
“Sartin of it, my pretty piper.”
“Then I would rather throw up my new rating,” added our hero.
“Why, you lollipop! I don’t say you didn’t desarve it; for every
man aboard knows as how you did. It is not every man that desarves
promotion as gets it.”
“I don’t ask any favors,” continued Jack.
“Yes, you do, my lively gigsman. You want your desarts, and you’ll find
that’s the greatest favor you can get.”
“I don’t see it in that light.”
“Are you going for to kick because you’ve got a good friend in the
wardroom?” demanded Tom sternly.
“No; but I don’t want any favors not bestowed upon the rest of the men.”
“It’s all right: no mistake about that. The whole crew would like to
give you three cheers for what you did; and every mother’s son on ’em
would vote to make you boatswain this minute, if they could.”
“Doubted!”
“Yes, they would: we’ll except that piratical Becket, or such car’on as
he is. For all that, my merry to’gallant-man, kissin’ goes by favor.
There’s a score of old sheet-anchor men for’ad that has weathered Cape
Horn a dozen times; melted the grease out of their bodies in the East
Indies, and been froze up in the arctic; and what are they now? Able
seamen, Jack,--that’s all. They don’t get so much pay as you do, that
never went out of sight of land in a man-of-war. You’re lucky, Jack,
and you ought to be thankful for what you’ve got.”
“I am thankful Tom. But why didn’t the captain choose a cockswain from
these sheet-anchor men?”
“’Cause kissin’ goes by favor, my breezy little topman. But bless
your heart, Jack, them old fellows aren’t good for cockswains. They
want lively, brisk, handsome little fellers like you for cockswains
of the commodore’s barge and the cap’n’s gig. Besides, them fellers
are gettin’ old and stiff, and stow away grog enough to float a
seventy-four. You’ve got what you desarve, Jack; and you ought to be
satisfied.”
“So I am; but I don’t want any man to think that I was promoted when I
didn’t deserve it.”
“You did desarve it.”
“That’s so!” added Bob Rushington with emphasis.
And so said the rest of the mess: for, while the argument was in
progress, the crew had been piped to supper; and Jack had no reason to
complain of a want of sympathy among his mess-mates.
The Harrisburg remained at Fortress Monroe five days; at the end of
which time, she went to sea again. Though the prophets and wise men of
the berth-deck indulged in all sorts of speculations in regard to the
destination of the ship, nothing was known in regard to the future,
except that she was headed to the southward. Whether she was going to
serve as a blockader, or to engage in more active work, was as much a
mystery as ever. If the quarter-deck was any wiser than the berth-deck,
it preserved its own secrets with religious care.
Three days after she sailed, the ship approached the land again; and
Jack learned that she was going into Port-Royal Harbor. A little later,
he saw the forts, on either side of the bay, which had been captured by
the squadron of Commodore Dupont. From the mizzen-top he saw the stars
and stripes floating over them; and his heart beat a livelier pulsation
as he recalled the glorious events of that heroic day.
The ship came to anchor in the harbor, and the captain’s gig was again
in demand. Jack saw a great many things which interested and instructed
him; but no events of sufficient importance to be recorded in these
pages occurred during his stay.
From Port Royal, the Harrisburg went to Key West on the following
day; thence to Havana, where she exchanged salutes with the English,
French, and Spanish men-of-war lying in the harbor; and Jack had a
fine opportunity to observe the perfection of ceremonial observances
which prevail in the navy. Admirals and commodores were as thick as
snow-flakes at Christmas; and such a banging of great guns, such a
dipping of ensigns; such a tossing of oars, even the old salts had
never seen before. Every other man he met seemed to be an admiral; and
he had nearly worn out his cap in touching it to the foul anchors that
glittered upon the shoulders of those who passed his station.
The last time he pulled the captain off from the shore, he heard him
tell a gentleman with him that the Harrisburg was ordered to Ship
Island to relieve the flag-ship Niagara; and, the same day, she got
under weigh again.
“We are in for’t now, Jack. We shall have some music afore long,”
said Tom Longstone, when Jack reported his information to the old
quartermaster. “I’ll bet a month’s pay we pitch into Mobile afore April
Fool’s Day.”
“I hope so,” replied Jack.
“Perhaps you won’t feel so good about it when the time comes. You don’t
know what ’tis, Jack, to see round-shot smashin’ through the sides of
the ship, tearing off splinters, and scatterin’ ’em like kindlin’-wood
all over the decks, knocking over the best men at the guns. We don’t
any on us know much about it.”
“I’m ready for it, if we can only knock Mobile, or any other rebel
place, in pieces. I hoped I should be in when Charleston was taken.”
“Time enough yet, Jack.”
If our hero could have known in what bloody and exciting scenes he was
soon to engage, he would have been satisfied to spend the intervening
time in preparing for the future. Every day the men were drilled at the
guns, and in the use of the cutlass and boarding-pike; so that, the
longer the trying ordeal of battle was deferred, the better prepared
were the crew to meet it.
After a passage of four days, the Harrisburg arrived at Ship Island;
which my young readers are aware is little more than a sand-bar off
the eastern coast of Louisiana. She was now nearer the rebels than
she had been before; and certain little steamers, flaunting the
Confederate flag, were occasionally seen near the land, as they came
out to ascertain what Uncle Sam was doing at the island. They were very
prudent, however; and seldom placed themselves within range of the
heavy guns on board the ships-of-war.
After the ship had been at this station about ten days, a
boat-expedition was organized; though its object, as usual, was a
profound secret to all except the officers. From various indications,
the enterprise promised to be an exciting affair. The first, second,
and third cutters were to compose the boat-party; and, besides the
regular crews, a limited number of seamen were to engage in the
expedition. Forthwith there was a great struggle among the men to
obtain places in the boats; for there was hardly a man on board who
did not wish to be counted in. The men had all been selected by Mr.
Bankhead; and Jack Somers was terribly disappointed when he found that
he was “left out in the cold.”
Tom Longstone was to go in the first cutter, and our hero bemoaned to
him his sad fate in being compelled to stay behind.
“Never mind, Jack; plenty of time yet. It will be your turn next,”
replied Tom in soothing tones.
“Let me go in your place, Tom,” asked Jack, half in jest, and half in
earnest.
“Can’t do that,” replied the veteran, shaking his head. “If there’s
any chance for a fight, I mustn’t lose it. Besides, you may lose your
number in the mess if you go.”
“I’ll risk that. Don’t you think I can get a chance to go?”
“Perhaps you can find someone that will give you his chance, my little
piper.”
“Who wants to go?” said a voice at the mess-table behind them.
“I do,” answered Jack promptly, and before he saw who asked the
question.
“Jack Somers?”
“Yes.”
Jack now found that the speaker was Sam Becket, his topmate, who had
been disrated on account of the affair off the capes of Virginia. He
had fully recovered from the effects of his involuntary bath on that
eventful morning. Popular opinion on board the Harrisburg had set hard
against him; and he had found that the way of the transgressor is hard.
Since his recovery, he had performed his duty in surly silence. If he
felt any gratitude towards his topmate for saving his life, he never
manifested it by word or look; and Jack and his friends had hardly
noticed him.
“You can have my place, Jack, if you want it bad,” added Becket,
without looking at the person he addressed.
“Thank you: I’m very much obliged to you, Becket,” said Jack,
astonished at this self-sacrifice on the part of his enemy.
“I owe you one for what you did that morning,” continued the
ex-cockswain of the captain’s gig.
“That’s handsome!” said Tom Longstone.
“I’d like to go myself,” added Becket; “but I’ll give way to Somers. He
did better nor that by me.”
“That’s a fact, Becket. If it hadn’t been for the lad, you’d ’a been
fish-bait in twenty minutes.”
“Nobody knows it better nor I do. I was wrong that night in the top,
and I axes his pardon.”
“There’s my hand, Becket,” said Jack heartily.
“You haven’t anything agin me, have you, Jack?” asked Becket, as he
took the proffered hand.
“Not a thing.”
“You are welcome to my chance in the first cutter.”
“Thank you, Becket.”
“But you must get leave of the first-lieutenant,” added Tom. “How do
you know but he has something for you to do? ’Spose the cap’n wants
to go ashore: then where’s his cockswain? Perhaps he kept you back on
purpose.”
Jack’s ardor was a little dampened by this suggestion: but he
determined to adopt it; for Tom’s view seemed to be correct. Though
the ship was at anchor, her fires were banked, and her regular watches
were kept. The boat-expedition was to start very early in the morning;
and Jack was fearful that he should have no opportunity to obtain the
desired permission.
When the starboard watch was called at eight bells, he was so fortunate
as to find Mr. Bankhead on deck; and he respectfully presented his
petition. The first-lieutenant promised to consult the captain; and the
result was, that the permission was granted; and Jack was as happy as
though he were going to a feast, instead of to a work which might be
bloody and fatal.