It was getting on for the expiration of the fourth year of our
commission, when we had finished this tour and we paid a last visit to
Hong Kong, before going on to Singapore to await our relief from
England.
Here, having been over three years a midshipman and being specially
recommended for promotion by Captain Farmer, there being three captains
in port to constitute our examining board, according to the Admiralty
regulations, I passed for lieutenant; whereupon, I was given an acting
commission as mate until my return home, when, on getting my
certificates in gunnery and steam at the Naval College, I would be
entitled to my epaulets--the which, I may here state, I ultimately
obtained in due course.
At Singapore, we sweltered from the month of April, when our relief was
due, up to June without her even putting in an appearance; and, we were
all beginning to believe she had gone down to "Davy Jones's locker" and
that we were never going to be relieved at all, when one fine morning,
as our hearts were getting sick within us, the ship was sighted in the
offing.
I don't think I can ever forget the excitement and enthusiasm aroused on
board as the news became known, and on her coming up with the sea breeze
at breakfast-time everybody seemed to go mad with joy, the officers
shaking hands with each other all round and the men crowding the rigging
and cheering the _Daphne_ as she passed up to her anchorage inside of
us.
That very same afternoon, being all ready and waiting, we sailed from
Singapore for the Cape, "homeward bound."
What a night that was down below in the gunroom.
Although it was not Saturday evening, when our weekly sing-song was
usually celebrated, youngsters and oldsters alike united with a common
impulse to have a general hullabaloo, their efforts resulting in such a
row as never had been heard, I believe, on board the old _Candahar_
before, and, I am equally positive, has not been equalled since, even
after she became a harbour ship and was reduced to her present condition
of "Receiving Hulk."
I can fancy I see the scene now before me as I write these last lines of
my yarn.
There were Larkyns and Ned Anstruther, both of whom, like myself, had
passed through the chrysalis stage of midshipmen and came within the
category of oldsters, the one with a banjo, and the other handling a
broken-down concertina, very wheezy about the gills; with little Tommy
Mills, who was only a "midshipmite" still, in every sense of the word,
accompanying them with a rattling refrain from a pair of ivory castanets
which he had purchased for a paper dollar in a curio shop at Canton.
All the rest of the fellows were shouting out at the pitch of their
voices, as only middies and mates and such-like fry can shout, the
chorus of the old sailors' song:--
"We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England;
From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues!"
Those on the deck above, however, did not wait until we had arrived "in
soundings"; for, just as the song was being repeated by acclamation for
the third time, the chorus getting louder and louder after each
repetition, Sergeant Macan, as he now was, having gained his extra
stripes soon after his reinstatement as corporal for his gallantry in
the assault on the Taku Forts, appeared at the door of the gunroom in
his old fashion, being yet retained by express permission as Dr
Nettleby's factotum.
"Plaize, yer 'onner," said he, addressing Larkyns, who was still caterer
of the mess and the senior in rank of those present, as he was twanging
away at his banjo with infinite zest, "the docthor sez if ye can't be
aisy he axes ye to be as aisy as ye can."
An uproarious shout was all the answer he got; and, grinning from ear to
ear, he retreated, only to be succeeded by the master-at-arms, who came
down to put out the lights by the commander's orders, when those who had
not to go on night duty turned in and peace was restored.
Sailing with the south-west monsoon, we did not have so speedy a passage
homeward as we did when outward bound, but we made way southward as well
as we could, close-hauled, and reached the Cape two months after passing
through Java Heads.
At Simon's Bay we refitted ship and took in fresh supplies; and while we
remained getting these latter on board several old friends came to see
us from Cape Town.
Amongst these was no other than Don Ferdinando Olivarez, who told us he
had given up the sea as a profession.
He still adventured on the deep, however, despite his memorable
experiences of its perils; for, he said, he had to voyage about a good
deal from port to port in the prosecution of his new avocation as the
agent for a large firm of wine exporters at Cadiz, where he lived when
at home, being now married.
At Captain Farmer's request, Don Olivarez took passage with us to
Madeira; and while on board with us made himself, if possible, better
liked than before.
All of us parted with him with regret when he left us at Funchal, where
we put in to land him and correct an error in our chronometers, which
had gone wrong from an accident resulting from a violent thunderstorm we
fell in with when crossing the Equator for the last time, in which the
ship got struck by the lightning, when the captain's cabin, where the
chronometers were kept, was seriously damaged by the electric fluid.
From Madeira to England we had fair winds and fine weather, crossing the
Bay of Biscay, which had given us so much trouble going out, with all
our kites flying and the wind well in the quarter, which made all the
old hands say that the "Portsmouth girls had got hold of our towrope."
Talking of the men, Master "Downy," the ex-gravedigger, although he had
been scraped into something of a sailor in appearance in the time he had
been afloat, now nearly five years, in which period, by the way, he had
accumulated enough prize-money to more than discharge the debts he had
left behind on quitting his country, could never be taught to be smart
in his movements, always going about the deck as if he were engaged at a
funeral.
One day, a wag on the forecastle, as we heard through the marine sentry,
took a good rise out of this slow-going individual.
"Hi, Downy!" said he, seeing him creeping forward, with his eyes bent
down, counting the planks, apparently. "Chips, the carpenter's mate,
wants to see you, sonny."
"See me?" repeated the other, wonderingly. "What does he want to see me
for?"
"Why," said the other, "he wants to measure you for your coffin. He
says you're more'n half dead already, cos you crawls about like a
cripple. Only you're so bloomin' lazy, you'd die out and out at once
and be chucked overboard comfortable like!"
Downy did not make any reply to this, which was an acknowledgment of his
having the worst of it, as he was generally credited with possessing the
gift of the gab and not easily silenced.
Another queer old stick came to the sick bay complaining of being ill,
notwithstanding that he looked hale and hearty.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Dr Nettleby, in his sharp, incisive
manner, which had not grown any milder from his sojourn in the China Sea
and an attack of liver complaint. "You seem all right, my man."
"I've got overhand knots in my gaffs, sir."
"What on earth do you mean?" cried the doctor, puzzled by the name of
this new disease.
"Overhand knots in your gaffs--why, you must be drunk!"
"No, sir, I ain't," replied the old sailor, soberly enough, holding out
his hands, which were twisted about, the fingers resembling the strands
of a rope overlaying each other, and the knuckles distorted out of
shape. "My spars, sir, refuses duty."
He had very aptly described his complaint, although it might not be
similarly designated in any medical dictionary.
The poor fellow was suffering from rheumatism!