"Ah! my little friend, here you are, I see, in your proper place," said
Commander Nesbitt kindly to me, on my ranging myself by his side on the
poop, where he was standing with the captain; for, being his special
messenger, or aide-de-camp, so to speak, although it was not really my
watch on deck again till late in the afternoon, I thought on hearing the
drummer beat to quarters that I ought to go to him at once. "Every man
to his station is the rule on board ship. That is only how order and
discipline can be carried out with such a large company to deal with!"
I could see, too, that this rule was observed to the very letter, for
the first lieutenant was already on the forecastle, eyeglass in eye, of
course, as usual; while Mr Bitpin was on the quarter-deck, just below
the break of the poop; and "Joe" Jellaby on the main deck, close to the
hatchway, so as to be within easy hail.
Mr Cheffinch, the gunnery lieutenant, and Charley Gilham, in their
turn, were on the lower deck, looking after things there, with all the
mates and midshipmen and cadets, each at his allotted post and everyone
equipped with sword or dirk buckled on ready for instant action.
Mr Triggs, the gunner, likewise had taken the keys of the magazine from
their proper resting-place when not wanted for use, just without the
door of the captain's cabin, where a sentry always stood guard over
them; and was now prepared with all his staff of "powder-monkeys" to
send up whatever ammunition might be required at a moment's notice.
The carpenter, too, stood by the pumps, and Dr Nettleby, with Mr
Macgilpin and Mr Leech, the two assistant-surgeons, had all the
contents of their surgical cases--most murderous-looking instruments
they were, too--spread out on the wardroom and gunroom tables, as well
as plenty of lint and bandages for dressing; while Corporal Macan, with
a working party of marines, were told off to act as stretcher bearers,
and supply hospital aid to the imaginary wounded.
The remainder of the "jollies" were drawn up in martial array on the
after part of the poop, under the command of Captain Targetts and
Lieutenants Wagstaff and Shunter of the same serviceable corps; all of
the men spick and span in their full regimentals and appearing as smart
as if on the parade ground at Forton; although, but a few minutes
previously, most of the poor fellows had been washing plates and mess
traps, and performing other menial duties below.
Young as I was, I could not help observing all this, and noting, as the
commander had pointed out to me, how, thanks to a rigid discipline and
the inexorable regularity, almost like that of a machine, with which the
routine of duty is conducted on board a man-of-war, every officer and
man, from the captain down to the smallest "powder-monkey," was in his
proper place and at his station before the rat-tat-tat of the drum had
ceased reverberating fore and aft; albeit, most of the hands had only
recently joined the ship, while some, indeed, had never before been to
sea.
Of course, there was a good deal of scurrying to and fro and apparent
confusion whilst the men were getting to their stations, the hasty
trampling of feet along the decks and the scrambling up of hatchways,
some snatching their rifles from the arm racks and belting on their
cutlasses as they hurried by, slinging their cartridge pouches over
their shoulders at the run; and, meanwhile, Commander Nesbitt, with my
insignificant self by his side, remained at the end of the poop-rail,
taking in everything that went on with his quick-glancing, watchful eye,
waiting quietly till all the preparations were complete.
"Bosun's mate!" he sang out when all were ready. "Pipe the hands to
secure the guns for sea!"
This was a sad come down from all the grand things which some new to the
game expected; but, as we all learnt within a very short time of our
novitiate, life at sea is a series of surprises, and, if the ruling
maxim be "To hear is to obey," carried out with Draconian severity to
the extreme letter of the law, the beauty of it lies in the fact that
you never know what you _are_ going to hear until you actually hear it.
The captain, is, it must be remembered, a sort of Delphic oracle of the
marine genus, who invariably keeps his mystic intentions locked within
the secret recesses of his own breast and only gives them utterance,
when the occasion arrives for him to speak, through the lips of his
chief augur, the commander.
None of "the profane vulgar," in the shape of the ship's company, know
what will be the next move on the board until he gives the inspired
word; although, if unguessed until finally uttered, it is generally
short, sharp and to the point!
That word being now given, needless to add, it was immediately acted
upon.
The breechings of the guns on each deck were bowsed up and the side
tackle falls hove taut and frapped, with preventer tackles rigged and
secured round the brackets at the after part of the carriages and hooked
to the ring-bolts in the ship's side; all the guns' crews assisting in
this task, and the marines and idlers tailing on to the falls and
hauling away at the sound of the boatswain's pipe and only stopping
pulling at the order being given "Avast heaving!"
When passing round with the commander presently to see if all the guns
had been properly made fast, so that there should be no chance of their
"taking charge" in a heavy seaway and running themselves out without
leave or licence when we least expected it, I overheard "Joe" Jellaby
talking to Charley Gilham, who had now come up from the lower deck and
was standing by the main hatchway.
"I say, Charley," observed Mr Jellaby, "have you seen our `sky pilot'
yet?"
"No, `Joe,'" replied the other. "He didn't come into the wardroom till
after dinner, and I had to go on deck for the first watch, and so didn't
see him."
"Well, he's the greenest chaplain I ever saw on board ship before," went
on "Joe," with a chuckle of merriment. "He's been dodging in and out of
his cabin since One Bell sounded, with all his pulpit rig on, as if he
didn't know what exactly to do with himself and was afraid to ask
anyone."
"Perhaps he thought the bell rang for church," suggested Mr Gilham.
"One of the fellows told me the parson has never been to sea before; so,
my boy, of course, he doesn't know he's got to wait till the cap'en
gives the order for service to be held. Those shore Johnnies have got a
lot to be knocked into them! He doesn't know Farmer as we do, or he'd
fight shy of taking a liberty with him!"
"Fancy, though, his skylarking round, in all his war paint," said "Joe,"
breaking into his jovial laugh, which always made me join in for
sympathy. "I shouldn't wonder if he belonged to what they call the
church militant; and on hearing the drummer beat to quarters, he
naturally thought he ought to be prepared with his spiritual weapons as
we were buckling on our arms, eh? By Jove, there he is now coming out
of the wardroom right up to us! I say, Charley, stand by me, like a
good chap."
But, Mr Gilham, thought in this instance that "discretion was the
better part of valour," for he gave poor "Joe" the slip by incontinently
bolting up the hatchway, leaving his comrade to encounter alone the
chaplain, who the next moment, in full canonicals, surplice and hood and
cassock and all, confronted him.
He was a slim, sandy-coloured gentleman, I noticed, with hair of the
tint of tow. He had also white eyelashes, and spoke in a thin,
hesitating voice, with a timid manner, as if very nervous and uncertain
of his footing.
"A-hem," he began, with a slight affected cough of introduction. "I
be--believe I'm addressing Mr --?"
"Jellaby is my name, sir," said the lieutenant, filling up the hiatus in
his speech and bowing politely. "Joe Jellaby, at your service. Is
there anything I can do for you, Mr --?"
"Smythe, sir, is my name," replied the other. "I am the ah--chaplain."
"So I see, sir," said Joe, drily, glancing at his canonicals. "Glad to
have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Mr Smith."
"`Smythe,' that is `Smith' with a final `e,' if you please," corrected
the reverend gentleman in a plaintive tone. "My name is not `Smith,'
Mr Jellyboy."
"Nor is mine Jellyboy, Mr Smythe," retorted "Joe," laughing outright at
the comical situation. "We've both made a mistake, Mr Smythe; and I
apologise for mine. But, is there anything I can do for you, sir?"
"Well," hesitated the other, "I want, you know, to hold a service, you
know--ah, and--"
"You'll have to ask the captain after divisions, sir," put in "Joe"
anxious to close the interview, for the drums had begun to beat the
Retreat for the men to return their arms. "Excuse me, though, please,
Mr Smythe, I've got to go on deck now."
With that he vanished up the hatchway after Mr Gilham; and, thereupon
the unhappy Mr Smythe found himself, with his "final e," in the midst
of a seething mass of men racing along the deck to put their rifles and
cutlasses back in the racks, being finally compelled to beat a retreat
himself to the wardroom, while the boatswain and his mates were piping
and shouting all over the ship for the hands to clean themselves and
dress for "Divisions."
A quarter-of-an-hour later, both watches were mustered, all decently
dressed, like "Sally in our Alley," in their Sunday best, according to
their respective stations; the first and second divisions on the upper
deck and forecastle, under the first lieutenant and Mr Jellaby; the
third and fourth divisions on the main deck, with Mr Gilham and Mr
Bitpin at the head of the men; and the fifth and sixth on the lower
deck, in charge of "Gunnery Jack," in lieu of one of the regular
lieutenants, and the second mate, the fat Plumper, bursting out of his
buttons as usual, who was at the head of the after-guard, among whom I
recognised the ex-gravedigger, "Downy."
This worthy, I noticed, looked quite smart and seaman-like in the
dungaree suit he had purchased from Mrs Poll Nash, the bumboat woman,
which his messmates had taught him to rig up in proper man-o'-war
fashion, the good-hearted chaps also supplying whatever other
necessaries were required for his wardrobe, such as the black silk
handkerchief, tied in a loose knot round his neck, and the knife and
lanyard without which no bluejacket's toilet is complete.
The men were drawn up in line, two deep, in open order, ready for
inspection, and the captain and commander were just about descending
from the poop to go round the ranks; when, up came the Reverend Mr
Smythe on the quarter-deck in his complete clerical regalia, only now
with his college cap on, which, when I had seen him before by the main
hatchway, he had carried in his hand.
He now raised this in salute to the captain and then immediately
replaced it, seeing that none of us were uncovered, all of us having our
caps on of course, being in uniform.
Captain Farmer only gave the regulation touch to the peak of his in
return for the chaplain's courtesy.
"Well, sir," said Captain Farmer in his direct way, as Mr Smythe
struggled to speak, feeling that the eyes of all hands were upon him,
blushing a rosy red up to the roots of his sandy hair, "what is it?"
"Am I--ah--to begin now, sir," he stammered; "or, wa--wa--wait till the
bell rings again, sir?"
"Bell rings!" repeated the captain, abruptly. "For what, sir?"
"For service, sir."
"Service?" said Captain Farmer, in a questioning tone still. "I've
given no orders about any service to-day. There's no time for it now.
We're going to weigh anchor in another minute or two."
"Weigh the anchor, sir!" exclaimed Mr Smythe, in a voice of holy
indignation, losing all his hesitancy and awkwardness of speech. "Why,
it is Sunday!"
"The better the day, the better the deed," rejoined the captain, rather
sternly, I thought. "If you overhaul your Bible you'll find it was only
the Pharisees who objected to any necessary work being done on the
Sabbath, and I myself see nothing wrong in our sailing on this day if we
have a fair wind, Sunday though it be; besides which, I am obeying the
orders of my queen and country."
"But, sir," cried Mr Smythe, flushing up again, though now more from
the heat of argument than from the feeling of bashfulness which at first
oppressed him, "it is my duty to celebrate divine service, and my
bishop--"
"Mr Smythe, I'm bishop here; and, as commanding officer, my word is
law," interrupted Captain Farmer. "The next time you may desire to hold
service on board this ship, please be good enough to ask my permission
first; for, remember, my rule is paramount here over matters spiritual
as well as things temporal. No doubt you have erred through ignorance
in trying to set your authority against mine, and I'll not dwell further
on the matter. I am sorry there'll be no time to-day for you to hold
any regular service, for I am now going to inspect the men at divisions;
but, after that, you may have a short prayer, if you like, before we
make sail."
The Reverend Mr Smythe, I was glad to notice, took this rebuke in
dignified silence, standing aside on the quarter-deck while the captain
and commander descended the poop-ladder and went their rounds.
He waited until they had passed forwards before he went down the
after-hatchway to the main deck; where, on the completion of the
inspection, all hands were mustered and he read the form of prayer
enjoined by the rubric for those about to travel by sea, which was
listened to more attentively perhaps than it is in any church ashore.
Sailors, however, watch as well as pray; so, no sooner had the chaplain
finished than his congregation dispersed instantly to their stations,
the commander singing out from the poop, the moment he had reached that
coign of vantage, the long-delayed but welcome order, for which we had
all been waiting in expectancy since the morning.
"Hands, up anchor!" he cried in a brave shout, to which the boatswain on
the forecastle gave a shrill response with his whistle, while his mates
re-echoed the cry between decks, up and down the ship fore and aft, "All
hands, up anchor!"
The capstan was again manned below, and the marines and idlers heaved in
the cable to the sound of the drum and fife, as before; although, this
time, the tune was "The Girl I Left Behind Me," the tramp of their feet
coming in every now and again as a sort of chorus to the music, while on
the forecastle above, the boatswain overhauled the catfalls, and got up
the up and down tackle, and the gunner's crew rigged out the fish davit
with its gear.
"The cable's `up and down,' sir," presently reported the boatswain to
"glass-eye," our first lieutenant, who passed the word aft in the usual
manner to the commander on the poop. "Cable's up and down, sir!"
The merry sound of the drum and fife, and steady tramp of the men round
the capstan on the main deck continued until, anon, the boatswain once
again reported to the Honourable Digby Lanyard, as he stood surveying
the progress made in heaving in from the knight heads, "Anchor's
weighed, sir."
This implied that the heavy mass of metal, of some four tons weight, by
which we had been moored, was now off the ground, a fact that increased
the strain on the cable and messenger, taking a longer and a stronger
pull out of those working the capstan, and making the nippers, too, pass
a trifle less briskly than before.
"Anchor's in sight, sir, and a clear anchor, too!" was the next cry from
the forecastle that went from hand to hand aft, causing `The Girl I Left
Behind Me' to come out stronger than previously and the tramping feet to
hasten their measured tread; and, in another minute or so, the ring of
the anchor was chock up to the hawse pipe at the bows, and the boatswain
piped "Belay!"
"Hands make sail!" next came from the commander aft, the midshipmen
stationed in the tops jumping into the rigging and scrambling up the
ratlines before he could shout "Way aloft!"
In an instant, up started the topmen in pursuit, as it seemed, of the
middies in a sort of `follow my leader' chase; and ere the vibration of
the commander's voice had ceased to tremble in the air, the active
fellows were spread out along the footropes of the yards, loosing the
lanyards of the gaskets and casting them off, while the deck-men let go
the buntlines and clewlines and other running gear.
"All ready for letting fall, sir," the middy stationed in the foretop
was the first to sing out. This was Dick Popplethorne, a smart lad, who
prompted the topmen under his charge to emulate his ready example, so as
to get ahead of the others. Larkyns at the maintop was a good second,
while Adams at the mizzen was the last; the officer of the watch, on
hearing his hail, reporting "All ready!"
"Let fall and sheet home!" thereupon shouted out Commander Nesbitt, with
the captain standing behind, as it were, to "back him up," following
this order with another warning hail--"Topsail halliards!"
Our topsails and courses were at once spread; and, then, the men on deck
stood by the halliards, hoisting the yards up as soon as the word of
command reached them from the commander with his next breath "Hoist
away!"
The wind was blowing steadily from the northward and westward as the
yards were braced up, and the _Candahar_ payed off handsomely on the
port tack with the tide, making for the Warner Lightship to the
eastwards; and, as we trimmed sails and bore away from our whilom
anchorage in the roadstead, the breeze brought out to us the silvery
chimes of the bells of old Saint Thomas', ringing the good people to
church while we stood out to sea.
There was a clear blue sky overhead and the bright sun mellowed the
frosty feel of the air, lighting up the blue water around us, as we
ploughed our way through the dancing wavelets; our noble ship curvetting
and prancing along, similar to some gallant charger tossing its head and
showing off its paces, throwing up the spray over her forecastle when
she dipped deeper than usual and leaving a long wake behind her, like a
lady's fan, all sprinkled over with pearls, stretching back to Spithead,
now far away astern.