MIDSHIPMEN’S PRANKS.
During the long winters of our slothful discontent at Bermuda, caused
by the Peace of Amiens, the grand resource, both of the idle and the
busy, amongst all classes of the Leander’s officers, was shooting—that
never-ending, still-beginning amusement, which Englishmen carry to the
remotest corners of the habitable globe—popping away in all countries,
thinking only of the game, and often but too reckless of the prejudices
or fears of the natives. This propensity is indulged even in those
uninhabited regions of the earth which are visited only once in an age;
and if Captain Parry had reached the Pole, he would unquestionably have
had a shot at the axis of the earth!
In the mean time, the officers and the young gentlemen of the flag-ship
at Bermuda, in the beginning of 1803, I suppose, to keep their hands
in for the war which they saw brewing, and hourly prayed for, were
constantly blazing away amongst the cedar groves and orange plantations
of those fairy islands, which appeared more and more beautiful
after every such excursion. The midshipmen were generally obliged
to content themselves with knocking down the blue and the red birds
with the ship’s pistols, charged with His Majesty’s gunpowder, and,
for want of small shot, with slugs formed by cutting up His Majesty’s
musket-bullets. The officers aimed at higher game, and were, of course,
better provided with guns and ammunition. Several of these gentlemen
had brought from England some fine dogs—high-bred pointers; while the
middies, also, not to be outdone, must needs have a dog of their own:
they recked very little of what breed; but some sort of animal they
said they must have.
I forget how we procured the strange-looking beast whose services we
contrived to engage; but, having once obtained him, we were not slow
in giving him our best affections. It is true, he was as ugly as any
thing could possibly be. His colour was a dirty, reddish yellow; and
while a part of his hair twisted itself up in curls, a part hung down,
quite straight, almost to the ground. He was utterly useless for all
the purposes of real sport, but quite good enough to furnish the mids
with plenty of fun when they went on shore—in chasing pigs, barking
at old, white-headed negresses, and other amusements, suited to the
exalted taste and habits of the rising generation of officers.
People will differ as to the merits of dogs; but we had no doubts as
to the great superiority of ours over all the others on board, though
the name we gave him certainly implied no such confidence on our part.
After a full deliberation, it was decided to call him Shakings. Now, it
must be explained that shakings is the name given to small fragments of
rope yarns, odds and ends of cordage, bits of oakum, old lanyards,—in
short, to any kind of refuse arising out of the wear and tear of the
ropes. This odd name was perhaps bestowed on our beautiful favourite
in consequence of his colour not being very dissimilar to that of
well-tarred Russia hemp; while the resemblance was increased by many a
dab of pitch, which his rough coat imbibed from the seams between the
planks of the deck, in the hot weather.
If old Shakings was no great beauty, he was, at least, the most
companionable of dogs; and though he dearly loved the midshipmen, and
was dearly beloved by them in return, he had enough of the animal in
his composition to take a still higher pleasure in the society of his
own kind. So that, when the high-bred, showy pointers belonging to
the officers came on board, after a shooting excursion, Mr. Shakings
lost no time in applying to them for the news. The pointers, who liked
this sort of familiarity very well, gave poor Shakings all sorts of
encouragement. Not so their masters;—they could not bear to see such an
abominable cur, as they called our favourite, at once so cursedly dirty
and so utterly useless, mixing with their sleek and well-kept animals.
At first their dislike was confined to such insulting expressions as
these; then it came to an occasional kick, or a knock on the nose with
the butt-end of a fowling-piece; and lastly, to a sound cut with the
hunting-whip.
Shakings, who instinctively knew his place, took all this, like a
sensible fellow, in good part; while the mids, when out of hearing
of the higher powers, uttered curses both loud and deep against the
tyranny and oppression exercised against an animal which, in their
fond fancy, was declared to be worth all the dogs in the ward-room put
together. They were little prepared, however, for the stroke which soon
fell upon them, perhaps in consequence of these very murmurs. To their
great horror and indignation, one of the lieutenants, provoked at some
liberty which Master Shakings had taken with his newly-polished boot,
called out, one morning,—
“Man the jolly-boat, and land that infernal, dirty, ugly beast of a dog
belonging to the young gentlemen!”
“Where shall I take him to, sir?” asked the strokesman of the boat.
“Oh, any where; pull to the nearest part of the shore, and pitch him
out on the rocks. He’ll shift for himself, I have no doubt.” So off
went poor dear Shakings!
If a stranger had come into the midshipmen’s birth at that moment, he
might have thought His Majesty’s naval service was about to be broken
up. All allegiance, discipline, or subordination, seemed utterly
cancelled by this horrible act. Many were the execrations hurled
upwards at the offending ‘knobs,’ who, we thought, were combining to
make our lives miserable. Some of our party voted for writing a letter
of remonstrance to the admiral against this unheard-of outrage; and one
youth swore deeply that he would leave the service, unless justice were
obtained. But as he had been known to swear the same thing half-a-dozen
times every day since he joined the ship, no great notice was taken of
this pledge. Another declared, upon his word of honour, that such an
act was enough to make a man turn Turk, and fly his country! At last,
by general agreement, it was decided that we should not do a bit of
duty, or even stir from our seats, till we obtained redress for our
grievances. However, while we were in the very act of vowing mutiny and
disobedience, the hands were turned up to ‘furl sails!’ upon which the
whole party, totally forgetting their magnanimous resolution, scudded
up the ladders, and jumped into their stations with more than usual
alacrity, wisely thinking, that the moment for actual revolt had not
yet arrived.
A better scheme than throwing up the service, or writing to the
admiral, or turning Mussulmen, was afterwards concocted. The midshipman
who went on shore in the next boat easily got hold of poor Shakings,
who was howling on the steps of the watering place. In order to conceal
him, he was stuffed, neck and crop, into the captain’s cloak-bag,
brought safely on board, and restored once more to the bosom of his
friends.
In spite of all we could do, however, to keep Master Shakings below,
he presently found his way to the quarter-deck, to receive the
congratulations of the other dogs. There he was soon detected by the
higher powers, and very shortly afterwards trundled over the gangway,
and again tossed on the beach. Upon this occasion he was honoured by
the presence of one of his own masters, a middy, sent upon this express
duty, who was specially desired to land the brute, and not to bring him
on board again. Of course, this particular youngster did not bring the
dog off; but, before night, somehow or other, old Shakings was snoring
away, in grand chorus with his more fashionable friends the pointers,
and dreaming no evil, before the door of the very officer’s cabin
whose beautifully-polished boots he had brushed by so rudely in the
morning,—an offence that had led to his banishment.
This second return of our dog was too much. The whole posse of us were
sent for on the quarter-deck, and in very distinct terms positively
ordered not to bring Shakings on board again. These injunctions having
been given, this wretched victim, as we termed him, of oppression,
was once more landed amongst the cedar groves. This time he remained
a full week on shore; but how or when he found his way off again, no
one ever knew; at least no one chose to divulge. Never was there any
thing like the mutual joy felt by Shakings and his two dozen masters.
He careered about the ship, barked and yelled with delight, and, in
his raptures, actually leaped, with his dirty feet, on the milk-white
duck trousers of the disgusted officers, who heartily wished him at the
bottom of the anchorage! Thus the poor beast unwittingly contributed
to accelerate his hapless fate, by this ill-timed shew of confidence
in those who were then plotting his ruin. If he had kept his paws to
himself, and staid quietly in the dark recesses of the cock-pit, wings,
cable-tiers, and other wild regions, the secrets of which were known
only to the inhabitants of our submarine world, all might yet have been
well.
We had a grand jollification on the night of Shakings’ restoration; and
his health was in the very act of being drunk, with three times three,
when the officer of the watch, hearing an uproar below, the sounds of
which were conveyed distinctly up the wind-sail, sent down to put our
lights out; and we were forced to march off, growling, to our hammocks.
Next day, to our surprise and horror, old Shakings was not to be seen
or heard of. We searched every where, interrogated the coxswains of
all the boats, and cross-questioned the marines who had been sentries
during the night on the forecastle, gangways, and poop; but all in
vain!—no trace of Shakings could be found.
At length, the idea began to gain ground amongst us, that the poor
beast had been put an end to by some diabolical means; and our ire
mounted accordingly. This suspicion seemed the more natural, as the
officers said not a word about the matter, nor even asked us what we
had done with our dog. While we were in this state of excitement and
distraction for our loss, one of the midshipmen, who had some drollery
in his composition, gave a new turn to the expression of our thoughts.
This gentleman, who was more than twice as old as most of us, say
about thirty, had won the affections of the whole of our class, by
the gentleness of his manners, and the generous part he always took
on our side. He bore amongst us the pet name of Daddy; and certainly
he was like a father to those amongst us who, like myself, were quite
adrift in the ship, without any one to look after them. He was a man
of talents and classical education, but he had entered the navy far
too late in life ever to take to it cordially. His habits, indeed,
had become so rigid, that they could never be made to bend to the
mortifying kind of discipline which it appears essential every officer
should run through, but which only the young and light-hearted can
brook. Our worthy friend, accordingly, with all his abilities, taste,
and acquirements, never seemed at home on board ship; and unless a man
can reach this point of liking for the sea, he is better on shore. At
all events, old Daddy cared more about his books than about the blocks,
and delighted much more in giving us assistance in our literary
pursuits, and trying to teach us to be useful, than in rendering
himself a proficient in those professional mysteries, which he never
hoped to practise in earnest himself.
What this very interesting person’s early history was, we never could
find out; nor why he entered the navy; nor how it came, that a man of
his powers and accomplishments should have been kept back so long.
Indeed, the youngsters never inquired too closely into these matters,
being quite contented to have the advantage of his protection against
the oppression of some of the other oldsters, who occasionally bullied
them. Upon all occasions of difficulty, we were in the habit of
clustering round him, to tell our grievances, great and small, with the
certainty of always finding in him that great desideratum in calamity—a
patient and friendly listener.
It will easily be supposed, that our kind Daddy took more than usual
interest in this affair of Shakings, and that he was applied to by us
at every stage of the transaction. He was sadly perplexed, of course,
when the dog was finally missing; and, for some days, he could give us
no comfort, nor suggest any mode of revenge which was not too dangerous
for his young friends to put in practice. He prudently observed, that
as we had no certainty to go upon, it would be foolish to get ourselves
into a serious scrape for nothing at all.
“There can be no harm, however,” he continued, in his dry and
slightly-sarcastic way, which all who knew him will recollect as well
as if they saw him now, drawing his hand slowly across his mouth and
chin, “There can be no harm, my boys, in putting the other dogs in
mourning for their dear departed friend Shakings; for, whatever is come
of him, he is lost to them as well as to us, and his memory ought to be
duly respected.”
This hint was no sooner given than a cry was raised for crape, and
every chest and bag ransacked, to procure badges of mourning. The
pointers were speedily rigged up with a large bunch of crape, tied
in a handsome bow, upon the left leg of each, just above the knee.
The joke took immediately. The officers could not help laughing; for,
though we considered them little better than fiends at that moment
of excitement, they were, in fact, except in this instance, the
best-natured and most indulgent men I remember to have sailed with.
They, of course, ordered the crape to be instantly cut off from the
dogs’ legs; and one of the officers remarked to us, seriously, that
as we had now had our piece of fun out, there were to be no more such
tricks.
Off we scampered, to consult old Daddy what was to be done next, as we
had been positively ordered not to meddle any more with the dogs.
“Put the pigs in mourning,” he said.
All our crape was expended by this time; but this want was soon
supplied by men whose trade it is to discover resources in difficulty.
With a generous devotion to the cause of public spirit, one of
these juvenile mutineers pulled off his black handkerchief, and,
tearing it in pieces, gave a portion to each of the circle, and
away we all started to put into practice this new suggestion of our
director-general of mischief.
The row which ensued in the pig-sty was prodigious—for in those days,
hogs were allowed a place on board a man-of-war,—a custom most wisely
abolished of late years, since nothing can be more out of character
with any ship than such nuisances. As these matters of taste and
cleanliness were nothing to us, we did not intermit our noisy labour
till every one of the grunters had his armlet of such crape as we had
been able to muster. We then watched our opportunity, and opened the
door so as to let out the whole herd of swine on the main-deck, just at
a moment when a group of the officers were standing on the fore part of
the quarter-deck. Of course, the liberated pigs, delighted with their
freedom, passed in review under the very nose of our superiors, each
with his mourning knot displayed, grunting or squealing along, as if it
was their express object to attract attention to their domestic sorrow
for the loss of Shakings. The officers were excessively provoked, as
they could not help seeing that all this was affording entertainment,
at their expense, to the whole crew; for, although the men took no part
in this touch of insubordination, they were ready enough, in those idle
times of the weary, weary peace, to catch at any species of distraction
or devilry, no matter what, to compensate for the loss of their wonted
occupation of pommeling their enemies.
The matter, therefore, necessarily became rather serious; and the
whole gang of us being sent for on the quarter-deck, we were ranged in
a line, each with his toes at the edge of a plank, according to the
orthodox fashion of these gregarious scoldings, technically called
‘toe-the-line matches.’ We were then given to understand that our
proceedings were impertinent, and, after the orders we had received,
highly offensive. It was with much difficulty that either party could
keep their countenances during this official lecture, for, while it
was going on, the sailors were endeavouring, by the direction of the
officers, to remove the bits of silk from the legs of the pigs. If,
however, it be difficult—as most difficult we found it—to put a hog
into mourning, it is a job ten times more troublesome to take him out
again. Such at least is the fair inference from these two experiments;
the only ones perhaps on record,—for it cost half the morning to
undo what we had effected in less than an hour—to say nothing of the
unceasing and outrageous uproar which took place along the decks,
especially under the guns, and even under the coppers, forward in the
galley, where two or three of the youngest pigs had wedged themselves,
apparently resolved to die rather than submit to the degradation of
being deprived of their mourning.
All this was very creditable to the memory of poor Shakings; but, in
the course of the day, the real secret of this extraordinary difficulty
of taking a pig out of mourning was discovered. Two of the raids were
detected in the very fact of tying on a bit of black buntin to the leg
of a sow, from which the seamen declared they had already cut off
crape and silk enough to have made her a complete suit of black.
As soon as these fresh offences were reported, the whole party of us
were ordered to the mast-head as a punishment. Some were sent to sit
on the topmast cross-trees, some on the top-gallant yard-arms, and one
small gentleman being perched at the jib-boom end, was very properly
balanced abaft by another little culprit at the extremity of the gaff.
In this predicament we were hung out to dry for six or eight hours, as
old Daddy remarked to us with a grin, when we were called down as the
night fell.
Our persevering friend, being rather provoked at the punishment of his
young flock, now set to work to discover the real fate of Shakings.
It soon occurred to him, that if the dog had really been made away
with, as he shrewdly suspected, the butcher, in all probability, must
have had a hand in his murder; accordingly, he sent for the man in the
evening, when the following dialogue took place:—
“Well, butcher, will you have a glass of grog to-night?”
“Thank you, sir, thank you. Here’s your honour’s health!” said the
other, after smoothing down his hair, and pulling an immense quid of
tobacco out of his mouth.
Old Daddy observed the peculiar relish with which the butcher took his
glass; and mixing another, a good deal more potent, placed it before
the fellow, and continued the conversation in these words:
“I tell you what it is, Mr. Butcher—you are as humane a man as any in
the ship, I dare say; but, if required, you know well, that you must do
your duty, whether it is upon sheep or hogs?”
“Surely, sir.”
“Or upon dogs, either?” suddenly asked the inquisitor.
“I don’t know about that,” stammered the butcher, quite taken by
surprise, and thrown all aback.
“Well—well,” said Daddy, “here’s another glass for you—a stiff
north-wester. Come! tell us all about it now. How did you get rid of
the dog?—of Shakings, I mean?”
“Why, sir,” said the peaching rogue, “I put him in a bag—a bread bag,
sir.”
“Well!—what then?”
“I tied up the mouth, and put him overboard—out of the midship
lower-deck port, sir.”
“Yes—but he would not sink?” said Daddy.
“Oh, sir,” cried the butcher, now entering fully into the merciless
spirit of his trade, “I put a four-and-twenty-pound shot into the bag
along with Shakings.”
“Did you?—Then, Master Butcher, all I can say is, you are as precious a
rascal as ever went about unhanged. There—drink your grog, and be off
with you!”
Next morning when the officers were assembled at breakfast in the
ward-room, the door of the captain of marines’ cabin was suddenly
opened, and that officer, half shaved, and laughing through a collar of
soap-suds, stalked out, with a paper in his hand.
“Here,” he exclaimed, “is a copy of verses, which I found just now in
my basin. I can’t tell how they got there, nor what they are about;—but
you shall judge.”
So he read the two following stanzas of doggerel:—
“When the Northern Confed’racy threatened our shores,
And roused Albion’s Lion, reclining to sleep,
Preservation was taken of all the King’s Stores,
Nor so much as a _Rope Yarn_ was launched in the deep.
“But now it is Peace, other hopes are in view,
And all active service as light as a feather,
The Stores may be d—d, and humanity too,
For SHAKINGS and _Shot_ are thrown o’erboard together!”
I need hardly say in what quarter of the ship this biting morsel of
cock-pit satire was concocted, nor indeed who wrote it, for there
was no one but our good Daddy who was equal to such a flight. About
midnight, an urchin—who shall be nameless—was thrust out of one of the
after-ports of the lower deck, from which he clambered up to the marine
officer’s port, and the sash happening to have been lowered down on the
gun, the epigram, copied by another of the youngsters, was pitched into
the soldier’s basin.
The wisest thing would have been for the officers to have said nothing
about the matter, and let it blow by. But angry people are seldom
judicious—so they made a formal complaint to the captain, who, to do
him justice, was not a little puzzled how to settle the affair. The
reputed author, however, was called up, and the captain said to him—
“Pray, sir, are you the writer of these lines?”
“I am, sir,” he replied, after a little consideration.
“Then—all I can say is,” remarked the captain, “they are clever enough,
in their way—but take my advice, and write no more such verses.”
So the affair ended. The satirist took the captain’s hint in good part,
and confined his pen to topics below the surface of the water.
As in the course of a few months the war broke out, there was no longer
time for such nonsense, and our generous protector, old Daddy, some
time after this affair of Shakings took place, was sent off to Halifax,
in charge of a prize. His orders were, if possible, to rejoin his own
ship, the Leander, then lying at the entrance of New York harbour,
just within Sandy Hook light-house.
Our good old friend, accordingly, having completed his mission, and
delivered his prize to the authorities at Halifax, took his passage in
the British packet sailing from thence to the port in which we lay.
As this ship sailed past us, on her way to the city of New York, we
ascertained, to our great joy, that our excellent Daddy was actually on
board of her. Some hours afterwards, the pilot-boat was seen coming to
us, and, though it was in the middle of the night, all the younger mids
came hastily on deck to welcome their worthy messmate back again to his
ship.
It was late in October, and the wind blew fresh from the
north-westward, so that the ship, riding to the ebb, had her head
directed towards the Narrows, between Staten Land and Long Island:
consequently, the pilot-boat,—one of those beautiful vessels so well
known to every visitor of the American coast,—came flying down upon us,
with the wind nearly right aft. Our joyous party were all assembled on
the quarter-deck, looking anxiously at the boat as she swept past us.
She then luffed round, in order to sheer alongside, at which moment the
main-sail jibed, as was to be expected. It was obvious, however, that
something more had taken place than the pilot had looked for, since the
boat, instead of ranging up to us, was brought right round on her heel,
and went off again upon a wind on the other tack. The tide carried her
out of sight for a few minutes, but she was soon alongside, when we
learned, to our inexpressible grief and consternation, that, on the
main-boom of the pilot-boat swinging over, it had accidentally struck
our poor friend, and pitched him headlong overboard. Being encumbered
with his great-coat, the pockets of which, as we afterwards learned,
were loaded with his young companions’ letters, brought from England by
this packet, he in vain struggled to catch hold of the boat, and then
sunk to rise no more!