The gun-room mess of H.M.S. Osprey was by no means an overcrowded one—three middies, an assistant-paymaster, a clerk, another sub-lieutenant, Mr. Wickens,[1] and Creggan himself.
[1] My prototype for this young officer was Sydney Dickens, the son of the great novelist, with whom I was shipmate, the dearest little fellow I ever knew.—G.S.
One middie did not really belong to the mess. He was a supernumerary, going out to join the flag-ship on the South American coast.
Midshipman Robertson was a funny little fellow. Not bad-looking, but choke-full of merriment and ideas for practical jokes, and when he talked to his messmates down below, he always screwed his face into puckers and dimples with the laughter he tried in vain to conceal. He was an Edinburgh boy, while young O'Callaghan, the supernumerary, came from Killarney, and was just as Irish as the steward.
Many a droll logomachy used to take place at dinner-time between little Scottie and this Killarney lad. All in fun, of course.
Young Bobbie, as he was called, delighted to tease Paddy O'Callaghan.
"Oh, don't give Paddy another morsel!" cried Bobbie one day at dinner, as the Irish boy passed his plate to sub-lieutenant Sidney Wickens for another slice of beef.
"And why not, you Dougal Crayture?"[2] cried O'Callaghan.
[2] The red-haired Highlander in Scott's tale of "Rob Roy".
"For your own sweet sake, Paddy. I really must look after you. Coming from a land of potatoes and buttermilk and—want and woe, over-indulgence in the roast beef of Old England might have serious consequences. Indeed, indeed it might."
"Want yourself! I hurl the insinuation back. Sure, it wasn't for want that I came here."
"No, Paddy, no,—because you had too much of that at home, you know."
And the laugh was all against poor Paddy this time.
When the plum-pudding came on that day, again Bobbie held up a warning finger.
"Mind what I told you, Paddy," he said solemnly, "or I'll have to write to your mother, and she'll take you back home to look after the pigs."
"Sure it's yourself that should go home," retorted O'Callaghan. "If all reports be true, you'd make more money in bonnie Scotland than here."
"But how, Paddy darlint?"
"How? Is it yourself that asks? Didn't the Duke of Argyle—God bless him—put up rubbing-stones in every field? Well, you'd make a dacint living if you just stood beside one and sold butter and brimstone. That's for you this time!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
After the first storm the weather became glorious. A splendid breeze, that filled every sail, blew over the sparkling sea—a breeze that made every sailor's heart beat with joy, a breeze that made every man-Jack lithe and active, ay, and happy, bringing merry laughter to the lips and song from the very heart.
Captain Leeward was very proud of his ship.
"She isn't much of a fighter perhaps, you know," he said, "and I dare say a shell or two from a big gun would speedily rip her up, but she is comfortable and dry and nice, and for all the world like a yacht, and so I love her."
"You wouldn't be a sailor if you didn't, sir," said Grant, whom he was addressing. "But I never saw a ship before so prettily finished, both on the upper and fighting decks. The Lords Commissioners have been good to you."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the captain. "It is little indeed you can get out of them. I did the decorations—extra paint and gilding, and all that—out of my own pocket, doctor."
"You have zeal for the Service, then?"
"Not a bit of it. The Admiralty hold out no encouragement for men to be zealous. But I have zeal for my own comfort, and you won't catch me in a box-heater (ironclad), or a torpedo-boat either, if I can help it."
In the captain's private cabin was a large sealed box of private despatches. This, on being opened, was found to contain letters for war-ships both at the Azores and Bermuda. So the vessel's course was changed to a more southerly direction, and on she sped, with stun'sails set.
Well might Leeward be proud of the appearance of his ship's decks. Brass-work shone like burnished gold; hard wood glittered like boatman beetles. Never a rope's-end was left uncoiled; the decks themselves, scrubbed early every morning, were as white as piano-keys, and so were even the capstan bars; while the sailors themselves, with their brown, hardy faces, were dressed in white trousers and jackets of blue.
It was not a temperance ship, yet, although the man who did the day's cooking for each mess of sixteen men had a plentiful allowance of rum, no one was ever reported by the master-at-arms as being even a trifle the worse of drink. On fine evenings Captain Leeward encouraged games. Ship's quoits was a favourite pastime, so was the running high-leap; hop-step-and-jump; and leap-frog, once begun, would be kept up all round the deck till the men were ready to drop. Of course, with the swaying of the ship, the men had many a tumble, but this only added to the general mirth and merriment.
Don't imagine, dear reader, that the gun-room officers took no part in these sports. They couldn't keep out of them, and Paddy and little Scottie might have been seen vaulting over each other, time about, as if their very lives depended on it.
Dr. Grant must have his little joke at times, and one day he announced to the officers of the gun-room mess that he was in a mood to offer a first, second, and third prize for the winners at standing high-leap.
Next forenoon the sports came off. Well, the ship that day was rolling rather, so that it was a difficult thing to stand at all.
However, everyone had the same chance, so the game came off. Creggan made a fairly good third, but Paddy and Bobbie tied for first.
"It's you and me, old stupidnumerary," cried Scottie. "You first. Ignis via—fire away!"
The rod was lowered several pegs, and the "stupid-numerary" cleared it easily.
So did Bobbie.
Up another peg, again the same, and so on till some inches over four feet.
Now, as Paddy was about to leap, the ship gave a bit of a bob, and the poor "stupidnumerary" kicked off the rod and fell on the softest part of his body.
"Hurrah!" cried Bobbie. "Scotland's going to clear it!"
He waited a few seconds till the Osprey was on an even keel, then sprang over it like a bird.
He had won, and the cheering was deafening, even Hurricane Bob the Newfoundland and Oscar joined in and made the welkin ring, while Bobbie pretended to clap his wings and crow.
Then all hands, including the victorious trio, drew aft to be present at the distribution of the prizes.
"Midshipman Robertson—First Prize."
Bobby sprang forward with alacrity and received—a mustard leaf.
"What is this for?" he said, with a droll look.
"Damp it," said the doctor, "and put it on your face to make you blush. I'm sure nothing else can."
"Midshipman O'Callaghan—Second Prize."
Up came the supernumerary and received—an ounce of Epsom salts.
"But, doctor, dear," cried Paddy, "what am I to do with them, at all, at all?"
"Swallow them, lad, to draw the blood from your head.
"Third Prize—a box of rhubarb pills."
Creggan laughed.
"Pills," said Dr. Grant, "and medicine of nearly every sort, are the best things in the world for the inside—of a rat's hole."
Creggan thanked him, and retired.
That evening the captain gave a dinner-party, invited to which were Creggan, Grant, and the second lieutenant.
It was a pretty little dinner. The captain's cook was really a chef, and the steward a smart young fellow from Austria, whom he had picked up at a London hotel, and who now acted also in the capacity of valet and took the greatest interest in all his master said and did. They say that no man is ever a hero to his valet, but it is the exception that proves the rule.
Antonio Brisha was that exception.
Both Hurricane Bob and Oscar were among the invited guests to the dinner-party.
Now there was only one drawback to Hurricane Bob's presence either outside or inside the captain's quarters. He was so black that the steward, who, when the ship was rolling a bit had to keep his eye on the dish he was carrying so as to balance it, could not see him in the gloaming, and more than once he had tumbled right over the honest dog, while the dish was smashed and the joint of meat continued the journey on its own account.
On such occasions Antonio used to say "Bother!" only he said it more so.
But on this particular evening everything passed off delightfully. When told they must behave, "Oh, certainly, sir", the dogs seemed to reply, and Hurricane Bob at once jumped up and on to the captain's beautiful sofa—the room was furnished like a lady's boudoir.
But Oscar, with his bonnie face and long sable coat, was not going to lie on the deck any more than his companion. So he not only leapt upon the sofa, but from thence on to the top of the piano, there lying down on the loose sheets of music with his chin upon his fore-paws, so that he commanded a bird's-eye view of the table and everything thereon—the snow-white cloth, the bright silver, the sparkling cruets and crystal, the flowers, and the fairy-lights.
"Oh, sir," cried Creggan half-rising, "shall I turn him out?"
"Not a bit of it. Let poor Oscar lie there, he has more good qualities than many a Christian."
Oscar moved not. But he shook his bushy tail by way of thanks.
During this delightful little dinner-party, the conversation was quite untrammelled by anything like conventionality—free and easy, as a sailor's dinner should be. No one attempted to restrain himself from laughing, if there was a good thing said; and, as is the case wherever sailors meet, the conversation changed from one tack to another, often going right about, like a ship in a sea-way, if any new subject suggested itself.
"Yes, Captain Leeward," said Grant, "I believe I will have another small slice of that most delicious beef. Ah, sir," he added, "I fear we won't live like this all the cruise. Fighting cocks aren't in it, sir."
The captain laughed as he helped his doctor.
"Ever been nearly starved, sir?"
"I can't really say I have. You?"
"Oh yes," replied the Doctor, "more than once. But on one occasion, while slaver-hunting on the East Coast of Africa in the little P——, our mess ran into debt. The commander was honest to a fault, and determined we should live on ship's provisions—salt junk, pork, peas, &c., with rancid butter and barrelled eggs—ugh!—till we cleared off our debt. But this wasn't the worst, for our ship's stores had run short, and it would be months before we could get another supply, so we were put six upon four."
Creggan looked inquiringly.
"I mean, Creggan," said Mr. Grant, "that six men—the number in our mess—had to live on the allowance of four, and share it as well as they could.
"We had plenty of biscuits, however, but so full of dust and weevils were they, and so black with the attentions the huge cockroaches had paid them, that before we could eat them they had to be fried in bacon fat.
"There was no growling or snarling, however, we were all very young, and formed as jolly a little mess as anyone could wish to be member of.
"I was caterer. It was a red-letter day, or two even, if, while on shore at say Mozambique, I could fall in with a sucking-pig."
"You requisitioned it?" said the captain.
"That's it. I used to say, Piggie, I arrest you in the Queen's name. Piggie spoke out, but I used to hand it to my marine, and he stopped the squealing.
"Huge yams roasted in the engine-room ashes, we thought a dish fit to set before a king. One yam, with pepper, salt, butter, and fried biscuit, would make a midnight supper for four of us. Then we could sleep.
"Sometimes on shore I stumbled across an Arab who had a few ostrich's eggs for sale, and again we were in clover."
"Are they very large, Grant?" said Creggan.
"Well, one broken and made into a kind of mash was all that six of us could eat for breakfast, flanked, of course, by a morsel of salt pork. After such a breakfast as this we would go singing on deck. We did manage to shoot some gulls now and then, and when skinned they didn't taste so very fishy.
"One day we caught a young shark; he made some trouble on deck, but gave up the ghost at last, and submitted to be cut up and shared with all the crew.
"Flying-fish wouldn't come near us, but a bonito was sometimes hooked, and when inshore we got bucketfuls of rock-oysters. So we didn't do so badly upon the whole, except when far out in the Indian Ocean making a long passage from one island to another.
"We took a Bishop of Central Africa[3] and a Doctor of Divinity down with us to the Cape—a three weeks' voyage from Zanzibar. It was then we suffered most, for even the skipper's "prog" ran short, and as we couldn't have the Church suffer, we used to give them some of our scanty allowance, in return for which Captain Mill never failed to send us a bottle of wine—we had no rum. We mulled that bottle of port at eventide, steeped weevily biscuits in it, then drank and yarned and sang.
[3] Bishop Tozer.
"While eating our miserable dinner our chief conversation turned upon the 'spreads' we had enjoyed at English hotels, and the 'feeds' we meant to have when we once more reached
'The home of the brave and the free'."
"Well," said Captain Leeward, "your yarn, doctor, reminds me, that when I was a mite of a middle, only thirteen years of age, and that is longer ago than I like to believe, I was serving in the old flagship Princess Royal, on the China station, the ward-room mess, which contained some sprigs of nobility, got terribly into debt.
"This was a serious matter for the chief engineer, a plain-going old fellow, who had a wife and healthy family at home in England, and for the staff-commander, or master also. But the latter undertook to cater for a time, so as to free the mess from debt. He was to cater on the most economical principles. I may tell you, however, that between the chief engineer and master there was almost a blood feud. But the former, although objecting to expenses, dearly loved a good luncheon, and this was the meanest meal of the day.
"The chief would come below, give one glance over the table, then sink into his chair as sulky as a badger. Then didn't the wags around the mess-table tease him anyhow."
At this point of the yarn there was a smart knock at the ward-room door, the midshipman, or rather the midshipmite, of the watch entered, and, saluting the captain, told him that there was a clear light far away on the weather bow, and so low in the water was it, that the first lieutenant thought it must be in a boat, and that as the light was being waved about as if to attract attention, the men must be in distress.
"Is there much wind?"
"No, sir; we're not doing more than two knots an hour."
"Well, bear up towards the mysterious light, anyhow, and let me know again when you get alongside."
"Ay ay, sir," said Bobbie, backing astern and shutting the door carefully after him.
"Now, sir," said Grant, "perhaps you'll finish your yarn."
"Oh, certainly.”