WAR AHEAD!
The skipper was on the bridge near the quarter-deck next morning,
when the surgeon tripped up the ladder, saluted, and handed him the
sick-list book.
"What!" shouted Flint. "Fifteen on the sick-list, sir, out of a
small crew like this?"
"Yes, sir."
"What's the meaning of it, sir? What's the meaning of it? I've been
in a line-of-battle ship with no more on the list than this."
"The cases, Captain Flint, are chiefly coast ulcer. I do my duty,
sir, and it will go hard with anyone who denies it. And it is also
my duty, sir, to inform you, that if you continue to get into
red-faced rages, like that from which you are now suffering, you will
before long have a fit of apoplexy."
"When I want your valuable advice, Dr. Grant, I will send for you."
"Thank you, Captain Flint. Delighted, I'm sure!"
The captain took a turn up and down the bridge.
Then returning to the charge:
"Is there any hygienic measure you could suggest for the removal of
this ulcer plague?" he roared.
"Oh, yes, the place where the sick lie is as hot and stuffy as the
stoke-hole. I'd like screen-berths on deck."
"Well, well, have my quarter-deck by all means!"
The commander was talking sarcastically now, of course.
But the surgeon's chance had come.
"Thank you, sir," he cried, laughing in spite of himself. Then he
wheeled, and was down below before Flint had time to utter another
word.
Now, the little man dearly loved his quarter-deck. He was king
there; a sea-king and monarch of all he surveyed. Well, he was in
the habit of taking a sleep-siesta every afternoon, as soon as
luncheon was over. And this was the surgeon's time. He got the
carpenter and his mate to remove their shoes, and put up the
screen-berths and hang the hammocks as silently as moles work. Then
the worst cases were got up and put to bed.
It was really very nice for them, because they could look at the blue
sparkling sea, get fresh air, and watch everything that went on
around them. When the skipper came on deck, he was fain to catch
hold of a stay to prevent himself from falling. So at least the
quarter-master said. But he himself had given the order, and as the
surgeon had obeyed it, nothing could now be done.
Two days after was the Sabbath, and before divisions the commander
and first lieutenant, accompanied by Surgeon Grant, walked round the
ship and down below to inspect. As usual, those of the sick who
could stand were drawn up in single file. Now, the skipper ought to
have asked the surgeon, not the men, about their complaints, only
Flint was still intent on bringing the doctor low.
"What's the matter with you, my man? And what is the surgeon giving
you?"
"It is my business to answer that question, sir," said the surgeon
angrily.
"I'm not talking to you, doctor."
Grant said nothing. He simply lifted his cap, wheeled about and
walked on deck.
His flag wasn't down yet.
The war went on.
Next morning a boy was, by the captain's orders, introduced to the
gunner's daughter for some trifling offence. This means that without
being undressed, a boy is tied breast-downwards to a gun, and in this
position receives a rope's-ending.
The doctor was walking the quarter-deck laughing and chatting with a
messmate, when the commander advanced.
"Surgeon Grant," he said, "attend to that boy's flogging."
Now, if a real flogging[1] or "flaying match" had to be played, and a
man--guilty of some great crime--was stripped to the waist and tied
to the rigging to receive four dozen with the cat, not only the
doctor, in cocked hat and lashed to his sword, but all the officers
and crew as well would have to be piped up to witness this fearful
punishment. But it was no part of the surgeon's duty to attend a
boy's birching. That indeed would have been _infra dig_. So, on
this occasion the surgeon simply gave Flint a haughty stare, then
continued his conversation.
[1] Flogging is now done away with in our Navy.
"Why, this is insubordination, sir! I've a good mind to put you
under arrest."
Then, as the bo's'n's mate expressed it, "the doctor's dander riz".
But he kept his temper.
"Captain Flint," he said, "you can put me under arrest if you please,
but I shall not lower the dignity of a profession which is as
honourable as yours by attending a boy's rope's-ending."
The commander stamped and paused.
"I'll--I'll--" he began.
"Now, now, now," cried the surgeon, "you'll have a fit! I warn you,
sir. You're short-necked, sir, and excitable, and if--"
He got no further.
"Confound you, sir, I'll pay you out for this!"
Then he rushed below.
But there was nothing done about it. Flint simply nursed his wrath
to keep it warm.
One day, some time after this, the ship grounded on a sand-bank.
Luckily it was at low tide, so when the tide began to rise, all
hands, even the officers, had orders from the commander to arm
themselves each with a 56-lb. shot, and rush fore and aft, and aft
and fore, in a body to help to swing the ship off.
But Grant stood quietly by the binnacle.
"Did you hear the order, sir?" roared the commander. "Get your shot
and join the crew."
"Na, na, na," answered Grant, in his native Doric. "Man, I've gotten
a laddie's back to see till, and a poultice to mak. Jist tak' a shot
yoursel', man."
On this occasion the captain had to smile.
But the war culminated about a month after this, and on that
occasion, it must be confessed, the doctor did lose his temper, and
had the captain been able to get witnesses he could have tried the
surgeon by court-martial, for Grant's conduct amounted almost to
mutiny, albeit the provocation he received was very great.
You cannot insult a Scot more than by attempting to throw mud at his
country.
Well, while anchored near a village the officers generally went on
shore in mufti, and Grant was in the habit of wearing a Scotch
Glengarry bonnet (called a cap by the English).
Now it occurred to the commander that he might give the surgeon a
knock-down over this. So he called the assistant paymaster, and
ordered him to write what is called "a memo.", which is really a
tyrannical edict, which all the officers, however, must sign.
Flint dictated the memo., and when presented to him for inspection,
it read as follows:--
_MEMO._
_It is my directions that the officers of this ship shall go on shore
dressed as gentlemen._
This would have been insult enough to poor Grant, but the skipper
added to it greatly, for between the words _as_ and _gentlemen_ he
wrote the word _English_, making the memo, read as _English
gentlemen_.
The doctor was writing in his cabin, between which and the
commander's saloon there was only a single bulkhead. He was the last
officer to be asked to sign the memo.
When he read it, then indeed his "dander riz".
His fury was fearful to behold, and the commander could hear all that
was said.
Grant sprang to his feet.
"This from Flint!" he roared; "and he dares ask me to sign it! Is
not a Scotch gentleman as good as an English gentleman any day? See
here, Maxwell, I tear it in pieces, and fling them on the deck. Take
it back to him thus if you choose, but he shall not insult my native
land!"
At this moment the commander was heard shouting:
"Quartermaster!"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Send Dr. Grant to my cabin at once."
Grant required no two biddings. He rushed up the ward-room companion
and thundered down the captain's stair, while officers,
quartermaster, and all rushed forward, determined not to be witnesses
to anything that might happen.
Perhaps never on board a man-o'-war before did such a scene take
place in a commander's cabin.
Grant had picked up a handful of the torn-up memo., and quickly now
drawing back Flint's curtain he stood like an angry bull in the
doorway.
The skipper started to his feet. He had been sitting in his
easy-chair.
"Sir--" he began.
But he got no further.
"You sent this memo. to me? There! I fling it at your feet. I
ought to fling it into your white and frightened face. How dare you
insult my country, sir? You little tippling whipper-snapper!"
"This is rank mutiny!" cried the skipper. "I'll call the first
lieutenant and quartermaster."
"You may call till you are hoarse, and they will not come to witness
against me. Even your boy has fled, and now I'll speak my mind."
Here the commander attempted to run the blockade and force his way
out.
"Stand back, sir," cried Grant, "or worse will happen!"
"Now, sir, listen to me. I have stood your tyranny long enough and
as calmly as I could, and now it is my turn, and I tell you plainly
that whenever and wherever I find you on shore in plain clothes, I'll
give you such a thrashing that you won't forget it the longest day
you live. Good-morning."
This ended the scene.
Some captains would have shot Grant where he stood. But Flint was
terror-stricken and silent.
He was on deck again half an hour afterwards, looking as if nothing
had happened.
Next evening the steward came in to say, with Captain Flint's
compliments, that he wished Dr. Grant to come and share a bottle of
wine with him.
"Tell the captain, with my compliments, that I refuse."
That was the answer.
The steward returned in three minutes' time.
"The captain wants to see you, sir."
"Oh, certainly; that is an order."
And off he marched to obey it.
When he entered Flint stood up, smiling.
"I'm afraid, doctor," he said, "I've been too hard. Are you willing
to let bygones be bygones?"
Who could have resisted an appeal like this? It was as nearly an
apology as any captain could make to a junior officer. And he held
out his hand as he spoke.
"Willing," cried Grant with Scotch enthusiasm, "ay, and delighted!
You know, sir, I'm only a wild Highlander, so I lost my balance
when--but there, never mind. 'Tis past and gone for ever and for
aye."
Then there was a hearty handshake and both sat down.
"There is the wine," said the commander, "and there is the whisky."
"I'll have the whisky," said Grant, "though not much. But it is the
wine of my country, sir."
The commander smiled, and Grant drew the cruet towards him, quoting
as he did so and while he tapped the bottle, the words of Burns:
"When neebors anger at a plea,
And just as wud[2] as wud can be,
How easy can the barley-bree
Cement the quarrel!
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee
To taste the barrel."
[2] Wud=angry.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Some time after this the commander fell ill, and so kind was Grant to
him, and so constant in his attentions, that all animosity fled for
ever, and Flint really got fond of Grant, whom he delighted when
visiting on shore to call "my surgeon".
Well, whatever ill-feeling officers or men may exhibit toward each
other if penned up in a small mess, when war comes it is all
forgotten, and the British sailors and marines, when sent on shore to
fight, stand shoulder to shoulder, and woe be to the foe who faces
them.
One day, while lying off Loanda, startling intelligence came to the
commander of the _Rattler_ from a steam launch that had been
despatched in all haste to hurry her up to the mouth of the Benin
river. A party of European traders, many British as well as foreign,
had been surrounded and massacred to a man. The steam launch
belonged to H.M.S. _Centiped_, a cruiser far larger than the
_Rattler_. The officer in charge could hardly stop to eat or drink,
but food was handed over the side, and in ten minutes' time she was
once more under weigh and steering rapidly north.
A glance at a map of Africa will show you that Loanda lies well to
the south of the Bight of Benin, and show you, too, where the great
river Niger or Quorra empties itself into the Gulf of Guinea.
All was now bustle and stir on board the _Rattler_. Steam was
ordered to be got up at once. There used to be disputes between the
engineer and captain, but these were all forgotten now.
Would you believe it, reader, that all hands, from the commander to
the dark-skinned Kroomen from Sierra Leone, were as merry and happy
as if they were going to a fancy ball instead of to battle and to
carnage. Such is your British sailor.
Dinner was ordered half an hour sooner, so that the men should have
plenty of time to get their arms and accoutrements into perfect
fighting trim before the sun went down at four bells in the first
dog-watch.
The captain felt in fine form; for whatever faults he had, he
certainly was no coward.
He liked his middies well, too, when he had not those nasty little
fits of bad temper on. To-day he walked up and down the quarter-deck
holding our hero Creggan by the arm, and not only talking to him but
encouraging the boy himself to talk.
Creggan was nothing loath. But from some words he let fall,
Commander Flint found he had a romantic early history.
"You must come and dine with me to-night," he said, "and tell me all
your story. You and Dr. Grant."
"Oh, thank you, sir.
"And now," added Creggan, "may I take the liberty of asking you just
one question?"
"Certainly, Mr. M'Vayne, certainly."
"Well, sir, do you think we shall have a real battle with the
savages?"
"Sure to, and perhaps half a dozen. The case seems very grave, you
know."
"Well, I'll be glad to see some fighting."
"Bravo! And now you can go and tell the steward I want him."
Off went Creggan, and next minute up popped the steward.
"Sir?" he said.
"Splice the main brace," said the commander.
(This means, reader, an extra glass of rum to all hands.)
By this time the _Rattler_ was ploughing her way through the bright
blue sea, and heading for the north.
Exciting adventures were before them.