Chapter IX: In the Good Old "gurnet."

Before Jack Mackenzie came to sea, he had received, as far as any boy could, a thoroughly theoretical education. His grandmother had seen to that. Much she would have liked to have the boy constantly with her, but she knew that this would not be to his advantage; for when the very best has been said about the system of what I may call fireside education under a tutor, it must be confessed that there is no emulation about it. So Jack had been sent to one of the best schools in Glasgow, and had private tutors as well, one of them being an old naval commander, who saw nothing derogatory in coaching a few young fellows who were to serve afloat. For six months every year Jack had been in Glasgow; the rest of the time he spent at Drumglen and his mother's pretty cottage.

While in Glasgow, as was only to be expected, he had spent many a pleasant day and evening at the villa of his uncle and cousins the Morgans. On Sunday he never failed to put in an appearance dressed and ready for church. But the Sabbath evenings he had used to spend as often as not with Mrs. Malony and Little Peter.

During his intercourse with his cousins, independent of his falling in love, as he termed it, with the tiny but old-fashioned Tottie, he had cemented a close and enduring friendship with the elder boy, Llewellyn.

Ah, reader! friendships like these are very sweet. Wherever in all the wide world we roam, we never, never forget them.

Llewellyn at sixteen was very tall and handsome, and in every way, one would say, cut out for a soldier. If his father was Welsh, his mother was a true Scot; he was therefore Celtic to the core. It is no wonder, then, that he should prefer a cadetship in a Highland regiment to that in any other. The 93rd is most assuredly one of the grandest and gallantest of our Scottish regiments, and has maintained its high renown on many a blood-stained field.

Just one thing I must say in favour of Jack's conservative old grandma. Although then she neither loved the Welsh nor liked business people, she did not now go the whole length of ostracizing her daughter and her family. I suppose old age has a softening effect upon the heart, for she even went so far as to invite her daughter and children now and then to Drumglen. The latter went frequently to see the old lady, but her daughter very seldom, for the simplest and best of reasons--namely, that her husband had not been included.

However, Llewellyn became a special favourite with this stern old dame, and so did Baby Morgan--that is, Jack's wee sweetheart, Tottie or Violet. What glorious days the two boys had spent together on the loch, by the riverside, in the forests--dark even in daylight--or wandering over the purple hills! Never, never would they forget these dear days while in camp or field, in the trenches, or far away on the lone blue sea.

There had been tears of genuine grief coursing down Jack's cheeks when he bade Llewellyn farewell at last; and though older, it must be confessed that the young cadet was glad in a measure when the parting was over, for there was a big lump in his throat that he had tried in vain to swallow.

Little Tottie, now nearly nine years of age, was not, truth compels me to say, so very much affected at bidding her lover good-bye as Jack, who had a large spice of romance in him, would have liked. She did not cry--not she. Her last words, as the train was starting and Jack was leaning over the window, might have been said to smack of selfishness and gore.

"Mind, Johnnie," she cried, "to bring me home somefing very nice, and don't fo'get to kill lots and lots of dead sailors."

* * * * *

There was no naval instructor on board the _Gurnet_, of course; but Jack determined to study, nevertheless, theoretically as well as practically. Well, he found himself among good friends, always willing to help him out of a hole. There were the doctor and second master down below, and there was Lieutenant Sturdy, his sea-dad, on deck, and the rough but kindly bos'n forward.

Mr. Fitzgerald, the senior midshipman, was a tall, lanky young fellow, the younger son of a lord, and though no doubt clever enough after a fashion, he did not see the fun, he said, of studying anything in particular. "Zeal for the service!" he told Sturdy once; "I haven't got any. There is no extra screw for that; and if my brother dies, I shall go on shore and keep my hunters."

Mr. Gribble, the assistant-paymaster, was the tease of the mess. He could sing a rattling good comic song, however, and spin good yarns--all true, he said, because he himself had made them up. So he was rather a favourite in the little mess.

On the whole, the members of the ward-room mess were fairly well met, and lived as jolly a life as the same number of young fellows could live anywhere.

From Gibraltar they went cruising away down the Mediterranean, for the _Gurnet_ carried important dispatches for Malta. They were not put in quarantine here. They just escaped that, having been detained at sea by contrary winds. Yes, they might have steamed; but Captain Gillespie's orders had been to save coals if possible, and never to light fires if there was wind enough to carry the ship along.

At Malta, then, much to his delight, Jack got on shore. The doctor, who was assistant-surgeon in charge, and could do very much as he liked, took Jack with him.

What long letters our little hero had to write about this strange town, with its streets of stairs, its quaintly-dressed inhabitants, its bumboat men and women, its churches, with bells that jangle-jangled on for ever and ever; its bazaars and fortifications and ships, and its hill, or rather brae, on which a wood was said to exist. Dr. Reikie went to this wood on a butterfly expedition, and in search of fossils. Well, the wood itself seemed a fossil, a most forlorn and dilapidated belt of trees indeed. But the doctor and Jack came back laden with specimens, white with dust, and with faces that seemed to have been rubbed with a wet brick.

The only thing worth seeing about Malta, said Lord Tomfoozle, as the doctor called Fitzgerald, the senior mid, was the opera. So he did not miss that for a single night of the ten days the _Gurnet_ lay in Malta. I fear that in one respect Fitzgerald rather gave himself away, as the Yankees express it; for he assured everybody before coming to Malta that he could speak Italian. Well, when he aired this language for the first time at a good hotel kept by a native of sunny Italia, the landlord shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"De Rooshian langwidge," he said, "I not can; but de Engleese mooch plenty, sare."

Dr. Reikie, who was there, guffawed. It was very rude. Fitzgerald turned red in the face, then he called the doctor a bear, and left the hotel.

But the doctor, or doctor's mate as some old tars on board would call him, was too good a fellow to take offence at being called a bear by young Tomfoozle; so at dinner that day he was extra civil to him, and asked him twice if he would have some more pudding. Dr. Reikie knew the mid's weakness, and what would soften his heart; so presently my lord smiled.

"I accept your apology, doctor," he said.

"Apology, Tomfoozle? I didn't make one."

"Oh yes, you did. You asked me twice to have pudding. Pudding and apology are--er--"

"Synonymous?"

"That's the word. I called you a bear to-day, doctor, but I meant a brick."

"Oh, he meant a brick, did he?" chimed in the A.P.*

* A.P. is the abbreviation for assistant-paymaster.

"Mr. Sturdy, please take note; Lord Tomfoozle meant a brick."

"Shut up, you A.P.," cried the mid, "or rather you APE. I'm talking to a gentleman.--Yes, doctor, I did mean a brick; so there!"

"I say, doctor, you look out," said the mischievous quill-driver. "Old Tomfoozle expects you to put him on the sick-list next--"

"Next what?" said the mid.

"Next gale of wind."

"Avast heaving now, you youngsters," put in Sturdy.--"That's the worst of having babies in the mess, doctor."

"I didn't heave anything," said Fitzgerald; "but if the biscuits had been handy, Mr. A.P., without the E, would have had to duck his somewhat empty head."

* * * * *

I cannot say that Jack Mackenzie was over-well pleased with the city of the Templars. It was foreign enough and romantic enough, and military enough also, but it lacked greenness and vegetation. True, the orange-trees bloomed bonnie in many of the gardens, and flowers too, rich and rare, but on the whole it was a parched and sunburnt town. The sea all around, however, was very blue and beautiful, and perhaps no one was sorry when the _Gurnet_ was once more off and away on the bosom of the broad Levant, and bound for Alexandria.

The ship was now all that a little ship of war should be. Sturdy took a pride in her. And he would have her clean alow and aloft, outside and in; and the men seeing this, did all they could to please their good lieutenant. The principal warrant or non-commissioned officers on board the _Gurnet_ were the bos'n, who was so good a friend to Jack, the quartermaster, and sergeant of marines. There were ten at least of these redcoats on board; and although they were very plainly dressed indeed on week-days--just sloped about anyhow, as the bos'n phrased it--still, drawn up on the ivory-white deck on a Sunday morning in line with the blue-jackets, all with rifles and white bayonets ready for inspection, the effect was very pretty.

On the Sabbath morning, as Dr. Reikie solemnly called this holy day, divisions of course formed quite an event. The officers were all in frock-coats and swords, except Jack, who was lashed to his dirk. The best and biggest flag floated gaily aloft, and if a breeze was blowing, the _Gurnet_, with every white sail bellying out before it, looked indeed a thing of life and beauty. Down below on deck there wasn't a rope's end out of place; the hammocks were neatly arranged above the bulwarks, and the brass-work shone like the inside of a good gold watch.

Solemnly along the line of sailors and marines marched the captain, followed by Sturdy, followed in his turn by Dr. Reikie, and there was nothing that escaped the eagle eyes of any of the three. The men's very faces and ears came in for inspection, and even the cut and length of their hair, the hang of their knives, the lay of their lanyards; and if a bluejacket's collar was badly and carelessly spread, or if it were too broad or too narrow, the quartermaster's attention was drawn thereto.

To appear with a dirty face on a Sunday morning was indeed a crime. The captain would call attention to it, perhaps as follows: "Is that man's face clean and wholesome, Dr. Reikie?"

"It's waur* than a brookie's, sir; and look, his lugs[dagger] are like midden creels."[double dagger]

* "Waur," worse.

[dagger] "Lugs," ears.

[double dagger] "Midden creels," baskets used in the Highlands of Scotland for carrying manure to the fields.

There were times, you see, when the English language would hardly meet the demands of the case, and then the honest doctor permitted himself to drift into his dearly-beloved native dialect.

"Bring that man before me to-morrow forenoon, quartermaster."

That man would next day be planked accordingly, and perhaps his grog stopped for a week, or, if the ship were in harbour, his leave stopped.

A milder punishment for milder offences was three-water grog. In this case the men to be punished were drawn up amidships, each with a basin in his hand; and into this was poured his grog, very much diluted indeed. Then came the command, "Caps off. Queen!"

"Queen!" each man would repeat, and thus toasting Her Gracious Majesty, toss off his three-water grog.

I have already said there was no naval instructor on board, neither was there a parson. Now, the duty of reading prayers in such cases devolves, I think, on the captain himself, but on board the saucy _Gurnet_ it was turned over to the first lieutenant. He had a deep, strong voice, which he could make singularly impressive when reading the lessons.

It was rather more than impressive on one particular occasion, shortly after the ship sailed from Malta. It was a very lovely day indeed, and church service was, as usual, held on the upper deck abaft the mainmast.

Sturdy stood by the capstan reading, and more than one officer had been noticing the antics of Fred Harris, a young blue-jacket, a first-class boy, who was doing all he could to make his comrades laugh. His conduct had evidently given Lieutenant Sturdy the fidgets; for, much to everybody's surprise, the service did not conclude that morning with the simple "Amen," but Amen with a pennant to it, as a sailor would say. It ran thus, all in one breath, mind you: "Amen!--Harris, confound you, sir, I've been watching you all the time. You'll have the cat for your shocking irreverence, as sure as my name's Sturdy.--Pipe down!"

Well, it was time to pipe down after this.

_N.B._--The above anecdote is perfectly true, but any reader who doesn't like the tone of it is welcome to skip it.

* * * * *

If the reader will take a glance at the map, he will notice that Sicily is a large island lying to the south and west of the extreme end of Italy, which good-naturedly curls round as if to meet it and bid it welcome. Sicily is principally celebrated, Mr. Sturdy told Jack one night in the middle watch, for good fruit, bad garlic, fried fish, brigands, and a burning mountain.

"That would be Mount Etna," said Jack.

"Yes, old Jack; that's her name. There is a navy yarn told about that mountain which I'm not sure I should tell you, although I was told it myself by a priest."

"Oh yes, tell me."

"Well, it's a warning to all contractors anyhow, who sometimes supply very bad biscuits to England's fighting navy. Once upon a time, then, when the gallant _Roarer_, a shoudy-boudy old seventy-four, and terribly badly found in the matter of hard tack--her biscuits being half dust, half weevils--was cruising around here, the officer of the watch, one dark night in the middle watch, called all hands to witness a terrible but somewhat ridiculous sight.

"The ship was sailing close past Sicily, and not far from Etna, which had been in eruption for some weeks; only they appeared to be burning up the slack and the cinders in the crater just then, because there was plenty of light but not much smoke.

"Well, all hands came tumbling up, thinking perhaps a Frenchman was bearing down upon them, and that they wouldn't have any more sleep till they sent her to Davy Jones's locker.

"But it wasn't that.

"The captain himself stood on the poop, with his battered old telescope to his eye, and turned towards the mountain top.

"The eyes of all the crew were now bent in the same direction. No wonder that they stared in astonishment, rubbed their eyes, and stared again. For there, on the very brink of the crater, stood two tall figures, wrestling, as it were, for the mastery. One was speedily made out to be Mr. Pipeclay, a baker of Portsmouth, who supplied biscuits to the royal navy--biscuits that had been once or twice on a voyage round the world in the merchant service.* The other figure was soon discovered by the captain to be none other than Auld Nickie Ben himself.

* I know for a fact that, not longer ago than the sixties, old ship-biscuits that had been several cruises in whalers and sealers to the Arctic regions, and condemned, were bought up and sold to the navy. Poor Jack!

"'Yes,' shouted the captain, 'it is Nick himself. I can distinctly make out the cloven hoof.--Bravo, Nick, that's got him!'

"Then he took the glass from his eye and shouted to the commander,--

"'Heave her to, Mr. Deadlight; we must see the end of this.'

"The ship was hove to very quickly indeed, and the crew lined the bulwarks and hung like bees to the rigging, and meanwhile the terrible struggle on the mountain top went on.

"Now, Britons are proverbially lovers of fair-play, and in this case they extended their patronage to the baker and Nick without favour.

"The baker was evidently trying to pull away from the crater, while the object of the other combatant was to get his antagonist down the awful pit.

"On board the ship there was wild shouting or cheering, as one or other seemed to gain an advantage, with loud cries of 'Pull, baker, pull,' or 'Pull, Nick, pull,' as the case might be.

"But at last, terrible to relate, the baker was floored and flung in; Auld Nickie Ben, with an eldritch scream, dived after him, the last portion of him seen being his hoof.

"A clap of thunder followed, and soon after that it came on to blow such a fearful gale that for four-and-twenty hours the good ship _Roarer_ was scudding under bare poles, and it is just a wonder that she survived to tell the tale."