The King's Own Part 15

We must here break off the conversation to introduce this personage to the reader. He was a black, who ran away, when quite a lad, from his master at Barbadoes, and entered on board of a man-of-war. Macallan, the surgeon, had taken a fancy to him, and he had been his servant for some years, following him into different s.h.i.+ps. He was a very intelligent and singular character. Macallan had taught him to read and write, and he was not a little proud of his acquirements. He was excessively good-humoured, and a general favourite of the officers and s.h.i.+p's company, who used to amuse themselves with his peculiarities, and allow him a greater freedom than usual. But Billy's grand _forte_, in his own opinion, was a lexicographer. He had a small Entick's dictionary, which he always carried in his jacket-pocket, and nothing gave him so much pleasure as any one referring to him for the meaning of a hard word, which, although he could not always explain correctly, he certainly did most readily. Moreover, he was, as may be supposed, very fond of interlarding his conversation with high-sounding phraseology, without much regard as to the context.

Although Billy Pitt was the doctor's servant, Courtenay, who had taken a great fancy to him, used to employ him as his own, to which, as the doctor was not a man who required much attendance himself, and was very good-natured, no objection had been raised.

We must repeat the question--

"I say, Billy Pitt, did you stow away the two jars of pickled cabbage in my cabin?"

"No, sar, I no hab'em to stow. Woman say, that Mr Kartney not pay for the pickled onun--say quite incongrous send any more."

"Not pay for the onions! No, to be sure I didn't; but I gave her a fresh order, which is the same thing." (Price laid down the potato which he was in the act of peeling, and stared at Courtenay with astonishment.) "Well, to a London tradesman, it is, I can a.s.sure you."

"It may be, but I cannot conceive how. If you owe me ten s.h.i.+llings, I can't consider borrowing ten more the same thing as paying the first."

"Pooh! you do not understand these things."

"I do not, most certainly," replied the master, resuming his potato.

"And so you haven't got them?" resumed Courtenay to the servant.

"No, sar. She say Ma.s.sa Kartney owe nine s.h.i.+llings for onuns, and say I owe farteen for 'baccy, and not trust us any more. I tell just as she say, sir. Gentleman never pay for anything. She call me d.a.m.ned n.i.g.g.e.r, and say, like ma.s.sa like man. I tell her not give any more _rhoromantade_, and walk out of shop."

"Well, how cursed annoying! Now, I never set my mind upon anything but I'm disappointed. One might as well be Sancho in the Isle of Barataria.

I think I'll go up to the captain, and ask him to heave-to, while I send for them. Do you think he would, master, eh?" said Courtenay, in affected simplicity of interrogation.

"You had better try him," replied Pearce, laughing.

"Well, it would be very considerate of him, and pickled cabbage is the only thing that cures my sea-sickness."--(Perceiving Price about to speak)--"Stop now--it's no use--there's not a word about pickled cabbage in Shakespeare."

"I did not say that there was," retorted Price; "but there's 'beef without mustard,' and that will be your case now."

"And there's 'Write me down an a.s.s,'" replied Courtenay, who was not a little vexed at the loss of his favourite condiment.

"Did you hear what Courtenay said of you, O'Keefe?" continued Price, turning to the purser.

"Yes--yes--I know--hand him over a gla.s.s; but this is not a clane one.

Steward, will you bring a clane wine-gla.s.s?"

The rest laughed, while Courtenay proceeded.

"Why, O'Keefe, you hear better than ever. I say, doctor, you must put me in the sick list--I'm not fit to take charge of a watch."

"If you'll prove that to me," replied Macallan, "I certainly will report you."

"Well, I'll prove it to you in five seconds. I'm just in that state, that if everything in the s.h.i.+p was to go overboard to the devil, I shouldn't care. Now, with such a feeling of indifference, a person is not fit to be trusted with the charge of a watch."

"That you're not fit to be trusted with the charge of a watch, as you state it yourself, I shall not deny," replied Macallan; "but I consider that to be a complaint for which you ought rather to be put _off_ the list that on it."

"Ha! ha! ha! I say, Courtenay, you know what Shakespeare says, ''Tis the curse of service,' that--that--"

"All hands, 'bout s.h.i.+p!" now resounded through the s.h.i.+p as it was repeated in the variety of ba.s.ses of the boatswain and his mates, at either hatchway--one of the youngsters of the watch running down at the same time to acquaint the officers, in his shrill falsetto, with that which had been roared out loud enough to startle even the deaf purser.

The first-lieutenant, followed by the master, brushed by him, and was up the ladder before his supererogatory communication could be delivered.

"How cursed annoying!" cried Courtenay. "I was just feeling a little better, and now I shall be worse than ever."

"You recollect in the 'Tempest,'" said Price, "where Shakespeare says--"

"Forecastle, there!" roared out Captain M---, from the quarter-deck, in a voice that was distinctly heard below.

"By Jove, you'd better skip for it, or you'll have what Captain M--- says. He's hailing your station," said Courtenay, laughing--a piece of advice immediately acted upon by Price, who was up the ladder and on the forecastle in a few seconds.--"And I must go up too. How cursed annoying to be stationed in the waist! Nothing to do, except to stop my ears against the infernal stamp-and-go of the marines and after-guards, over my head; sweet music to a first-lieutenant, but to me discord most horrible. I could _stamp_ with vexation."

"Had you not better _go_ first and _stamp_ afterwards?" observed the surgeon, drily.

"I think I had, indeed," replied Courtenay, as he bolted out of the gun-room door.--"Cursed annoying! but the captain's such a bilious subject."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

This chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cus.h.i.+on my crown.

HENRY IV. PART I.

We must now descend to the steerage, where our hero is seated in the berth, in company with a dozen more (as they designated themselves, from the extreme heat of their domicile) _perspiring_ young heroes, who were amusing themselves with crunching hard biscuits, and at the same time a due proportion of those little animals of the scaribee tribe, denominated weevils, who had located themselves in the _unleavened bread_, and which the mids.h.i.+pmen declared to be the only fresh meat which they had tasted for some time.

Captain M---'s character stood so high at the Admiralty, that the major part of the young _aspirants_ who had been committed to his charge were of good family and connections. At that time few of the aristocracy or gentry ventured to send their sons into the navy; whereas, at present, none but those cla.s.ses can obtain admission.

A better school for training young officers could not have been selected; and the mids.h.i.+pmen's berth of the _Aspasia_ was as superior to those in other s.h.i.+ps, as Captain M--- was himself to the generality of his contemporary captains in the service. But I cannot pay these young men the compliment to introduce them one by one, as I did the gun-room officers. It would be an anomaly unheard of. I shall, therefore, with every respect for them, describe them just as I want them. It was one bell after eight o'clock--a bottle of s.h.i.+p's rum, a black jack of putrid water, and a tin bread-basket, are on the table, which is lighted with a tallow candle of about thirteen to the pound.

"I say, Mr Jerry Sneak, what are you after there--what are you foraging for in that locker?" said one of the oldsters of the berth to a half-starved, weak-looking object of a youngster, whose friends had sent him to sea with the hopes of improving his stamina.

"What for?--why, for my supper if you must know. D'ye think I _look too fat_? I stowed it away before I went on deck, that it might not fall into your ravenous maw."

"Mind your stops, my Jack of the Bonehouse, or I shall shy a biscuit at your head."

"Do, and prove your bravery; it will be so very courageous. I suppose you will expect to be gazetted for it."

The youngster who had been dignified with the above sobriquet, and who made these replies, was certainly a most miserable-looking object, and looked as if a top-gallant breeze would have blown him to atoms. But if his body was weak, his tongue was most powerful. He resorted to no other weapon, and used that skilfully. He was a species of Thersites, and no dread of punishment could control his railing. He offered no resistance, but bent down like the reed, and resumed his former position as soon as the storm was over. His keen and sarcastic remarks, although they occasionally subjected him to chastis.e.m.e.nt, to a certain degree served him as a defence, for he could always raise a laugh at the expense of the individual whom he attacked, with the formidable weapon which he had inherited direct from his mother.

The oldster before mentioned put his hand into the breadbasket, and seized a handful of the biscuit. "Now I'll bet you a gla.s.s of grog that you don't throw a biscuit at my head," cried Jerry, with a sneer.

"Done," replied the oldster, throwing the contents of his hand at Jerry with all his force.

"I'll just trouble you for that gla.s.s of grog, for you've lost," said the youngster, taking it up from the table where it stood, before the oldster; "you've only thrown some pieces, and not a biscuit;" and following up his words with deeds, he swallowed down the whole contents of the tumbler, which he replaced very coolly before his opponent.

"Fair bet, and fairly lost," cried the rest of the berth, laughing.

"You scarecrow! you're not worth thras.h.i.+ng," said the oldster, angrily.

"Why, that's exactly what I have been trying to impress upon your memory ever since I have joined the s.h.i.+p. There's no credit to be gained by licking a half-starved wretch like I am; but there's Bruce, now,"