PUNISHMENTS IN THE NAVY
The new Captain was a horrid speculation to us juniors. When it was
announced that he was Sir Lewis Tobias Jones, dread ran through us.
He was what we called a “taut hand”: an officer with a stern sense
of duty, which was all he lived for on board ship. That was his
reputation. We were agreeably surprised after a very short time. For
myself, I had great admiration for his character, and none could
question his great abilities. I was soon made his A.D.C., and got on
swimmingly. I recollect his running foul of me only on one occasion;
and no doubt I deserved it. It was a bitterly cold day, and (as is the
custom when a ship is under canvas) the wretched middy of the watch had
to walk the lee side of the deck. Unfortunately, the main trysail was
set--the most draughty sail in the world, sending all its winds bang
down your neck from one end of the quarter-deck to the other. I felt
perished with cold, and in a moment of inadvertence put my poor little
fingers into my pocket, to keep them warm. Now, the weather side is
the sheltered side (it sounds illogical, but so it is); and no doubt
Captain Jones did not realise my benumbed state, he being on the more
sheltered side of the deck. Seeing my hands in my pockets on the sacred
precincts of Her Majesty’s quarter-deck was beyond what he could bear.
He called me up, therefore, and said, in rather a stentorian voice,
“Pray, sir, who allowed you to keep your hands in your pockets on the
quarter-deck? Go down immediately to the tailor on the half-deck [a
worthy who was always seen squatting with his mate between two guns at
the after end of the main deck, sewing clothes], and tell him from me
to sew your pockets up instantly; and report to me, sir, when he has
done so.” I fled, feeling disgraced, and knowing that the only chance
of retrieving my character was to urge the tailor to “bear a hand”; as
the sooner I appeared on deck sewn up, the better. It was but the work
of an instant. The tailor twigged the situation, dropped all his work,
and sewed me up in no time. When I reached the deck, trembling almost,
with my report ready, the stentorian voice had disappeared, and I was
accosted in the most fatherly manner. “Now, my boy, this is a lesson to
you. Do not do it again. Go below to the tailor, and tell him to unsew
your pockets.”
Now, I am going to moralise. I appreciated that form of reprimand
much better than I should have relished a senseless punishment such
as, unfortunately, often falls to the middy’s lot. I allude to the
stopping of leave. Of course, that could have effect only when in
harbour. Possibly, therefore, your ship might be weeks at sea after
the punishment was awarded; and you had it hanging over your head. A
boy was debarred from seeing some new place of interest, an experience
which would have been more beneficial to his mind than the punishment
was to his morals. Mast-heading was another form. “Go up to the
mast-head, and wait until I call you down.” This, on a rough day was
very disagreeable: the jerking of spars (to say nothing of the climb
up into the skies) did not abate the feeling of sea-sickness; and
woe betide you if by any chance you made an unfortunate exhibition
of yourself! Among other punishments was what was termed “sticking
you on the bitts.” You stood on the wooden framing round the mast, to
which the ropes were belayed, for a specified number of hours; and
you not only looked, but also felt, an abject fool. Sometimes you
had watch-and-watch--four hours on duty to four hours off. During
these punishments there was generally one friend who had compassion
on you. That was the boatswain’s mate of the watch. When he got the
opportunity, he would invariably go behind the mast and near where you
might be undergoing your punishment, spin you a yarn of what he had
seen in his time, and offer you some consolation, telling you to endure
your disgrace like a man.
These boatswain’s mates were fine fellows, as a rule; but generally
they had to bear the brunt if something went wrong with the sails or
ropes. “Boatswain’s mate, why the Devil--” this or that--was constantly
yelled out by the officer of the watch. Noise and repetition of orders
emanating from that worthy were a sure sign that the officer of the
watch was not up to his work.
Standing between two guns on the quarter-deck for so many half hours
was another form of punishment. This was killing. It often happened
that the poor middy found himself in close proximity to some dirty
cook’s mate placed between two guns for neglecting to keep clean
something under his charge.
These punishments were very senseless: irritating to some natures, and
disgusting many a boy with the Service. I have known several serious
cases of insubordination consequent on such punishments, which stung
some characters to the quick. A case happened to myself that I shall
never forget. As mid of the watch, I had to call a certain Commander
at 5.30 A.M. Calling a strict Commander whom you very much funked was
in itself a nervous transaction. But this officer seemed particularly
to love cross-questioning the wretched small boy. The question usually
first put to you was, “How is the weather?” followed by various
others--some difficult to answer, perhaps. On the occasion to which
I refer, it happened to be a washing-of-clothes morning; and this
very bearish Commander asked me whether the clothes were up, meaning,
Were all the clothes hung up on the lines and in their places? On my
answering in the affirmative, he asked, “How many blue frocks are there
hanging on the lower lines?” For the life of me, I could not tell; nor
could one possibly discover by any depth of reasoning what object there
was in knowing how many blue serge frocks were hanging up to dry out of
a complement of 850 souls. I answered, “I don’t know exactly, sir; but
I will go and see.” “You don’t know, sir!” exclaimed this infuriated
gouty person. “I will see about that. Meantime, consider your leave
stopped for a month.” And this in Malta Harbour--where we had our
cricket, rackets, billiards, friends, and every sort of fun, besides
a half-crown stall at the opera when we could afford it. The only
consolation is that (I suppose) it did not do me much harm, but that,
on the contrary, it taught me a lesson for after life, when my turn
for authority came. Such punishments, like flogging, were the remnants
of barbarism; and it was a good day for the Navy when they ceased.
I am sorry to say I have often seen three men flogged, one after
another. This hateful ceremony invariably (in my time) was gone through
at 7.30 A.M. All the officers had to appear on deck in frock-coats,
and with swords, while the punishments were being inflicted. I do
not believe that flogging ever cured a character. I think that it
hardened nine men out of ten. It may have deterred others, and so
had its effect; but the crimes committed were often, to my idea, too
trifling for such retribution. Of course, in those days prisons--or,
at any rate, the means of sending men to prison--were scarce; and it
happened that we were a good deal on war service, when prisons were
not accessible. But, _coûte que coûte_, bad characters--men who could
not be reclaimed after several attempts--were best kicked out of the
Service. They are a plague to their shipmates, and give trouble all
round; though it was a curious fact that they were generally the best
seamen. When I commanded ships I occasionally found characters that
were past all hope. I spoke to them, explained matters, argued cases
out. Nothing had the slightest effect. Crime appeared to be a second
nature: they could not refrain from the temptation to disobey orders.
They were not ill-treated by their shipmates, or soured by constant
fault-finding. Their sole object in life seemed to be to go in a
direction exactly opposite to that which was right. I believe this to
be a mode of insanity.