We were ordered to join Sir John Jervis’ fleet in the Mediterranean
without the loss of a day, and, when the tide served at nine o’clock
that night, Sir Peter Hawkshaw was ready for it. The officers, who
knew Sir Peter’s capacity for picking up his anchors at short notice,
were generally prepared, and were but little surprised at the sudden
departure of the ship. The men, however, are never prepared to go, and
the ship was besieged, from the time she showed the blue peter until
she set her topsails, by the usual crowd of bumboat women, sailors’
wives, tavern-keepers, shop-dealers, and all the people with whom
Jack trades, and who are loath to part with him for reasons of love
or money. Although all of the stores were on board, there were market
supplies to get, and the midshipmen were in the boats constantly until
the last boat was hoisted in, just as the music called the men to
the capstan bars. It was a brilliant moonlight night, a good breeze
was blowing, and the _Ajax_ got under way with an unusual spread
of sail. As we passed out the narrow entrance into the roads, the
wind freshened and the great ship took her majestic way through the
fleet, a mountain of canvas showing from rail to truck. The first few
days I was overcome, as it were, with my new life and its duties.
Two other midshipmen, junior to myself, had joined, so I was no
longer the exclusive butt of the cockpit. We spent most of our spare
time expressing the greatest longing for a meeting with the French,
although for my own part, even while I was bragging the most, I felt
a sickness at the heart when I imagined a round shot entering my
vitals. Giles Vernon was still the dearest object of my admiration and
affections--always excepting that divinely beautiful Lady Arabella. But
this was rather the admiration of a glowworm for a star. I had no one
else to love except Giles, and even a midshipman must love something.
I did not much trouble myself about that meeting, so far in the future,
between Giles and Overton. Youth has no future, as it has no past.
Naturally, I did not see much of my great-uncle, the admiral. He was a
very strict disciplinarian, probably because he was used to discipline
at home, and busied himself more with the conduct of the ship than the
captain liked. The other midshipmen alleged that there was no love
lost between Captain Guilford and the admiral, and the captain had
been heard to say that having an admiral on board was like having a
mother-in-law in the house. Nevertheless, Sir Peter was a fine seaman,
and the gun-room joke was that he knew how to command, from having
learned how to obey under Lady Hawkshaw’s iron rule.
One day the admiral’s steward brought me a message. The admiral’s
compliments, and would I dine in the great cabin at five o’clock that
day?
I was frightened out of a year’s growth by the invitation, but of
course I responded that I should be most happy. This, like my professed
anxiety to meet the French, was a great lie. At five o’clock I
presented myself, trembling in every limb. The first thing I noted in
the cabin was a large portrait of Lady Hawkshaw as a young woman. She
must have been very handsome.
Sir Peter gave me two fingers, and turning to the steward, said, “Soup.”
Soup was brought. We were mostly out of fresh vegetables then, and
it was pea-soup, such as we had in the cockpit. Sir Peter grumbled a
little at it, and it was soon removed and a leg of pork brought on; a
pig had been killed that day.
“Aha!” sniffed Sir Peter delightedly. “This is fine. Nephew, you have
no pig in the gun-room to-day.”
Which was true; and Sir Peter helped me liberally, and proceeded to do
the same by himself. The steward, however, said respectfully,--
“Excuse me, Sir Peter, but in the interview I had the honor to have
with Lady Hawkshaw before sailing, sir, she particularly desired me to
request you not to eat pork, as it always disagreed with you.”
“Wh-wh-what!” roared Sir Peter.
“I am only repeating Lady Hawkshaw’s message, sir,” humbly responded
the man; but I thought I saw, under all his humility, a sly kind
of defiance. Sir Peter had no fear of either round, grape, or
double-headed shot, and was indifferent to musketry fire. Likewise,
it was commonly said of him in the service that if he were ordered
to attack hell itself, he would stand on until his jib caught fire;
but neither time nor distance weakened the authority over him of Lady
Hawkshaw.
Sir Peter glared at the steward and then at the leg of pork, and,
suddenly jumping up, seized the dish and threw it, pork and all, out of
the stern window. As I had secured my portion, I could view this with
equanimity.
The next dish was spareribs. The steward said nothing, but Sir Peter
let it pass with a groan. It seemed to me that everything appetizing
in the dinner was passed by Sir Peter, in response to a peculiar kind
of warning glance from the steward. This man, I heard afterward, had
sailed with him many years, and was understood to be an emissary of
Lady Hawkshaw’s.
We had, besides the pea-soup and roast pork, spareribs, potatoes,
turnips, anchovy with sauce, and a custard. Sir Peter, however, dined
off pea-soup and potatoes; but I observed that he was his own master as
far as the decanters were concerned, and it occurred to me that he had
made a trade with the steward, by which he was allowed this indulgence,
as I noticed the man turned his back every time Sir Peter filled his
glass.
Dinner being over, the cloth removed, and the steward gone, Sir Peter
appeared to be in a somewhat better humor. His first remark was,--
“So you are fond of the play, sir?”