The King's Own Part 35

But I have digressed sadly from the concatenation of ideas. The ant made me think of my grandmother,--my grandmother of my uncle,--my uncle of my cousin,--and her death of my dream, for "We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little lives are rounded with a sleep." But I had not finished all I had to say relative to the inferior animals.

When on board of a man-of-war, not only is their instinct expanded, but they almost change their nature from their immediate contact with human beings, and become tame in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time. Man had dominion given unto him over the beasts of the field; the fiercest of the feline race will not attack, but avoid him, unless goaded on by the most imperious demands of hunger; and it is a well-known fact, that there is a power in the eye of man, to which all other animals quail.

What, then, must it be to an animal who is brought on board, and is in immediate collision with hundreds, whose fearless eyes meet his in every direction in which he turns, and whose behaviour towards him corresponds with their undaunted looks? The animal is subdued at once. I remember a leopard which was permitted to run loose after he had been three days on board, although it was thought necessary to bring him in an iron cage. He had not been in the s.h.i.+p more than a fortnight, when I observed the captain of the after-guard rubbing the nose of the animal against the deck, for some offence which he had committed.

"Why, you have pretty well brought that gentleman to his bearings,"

observed I: "he's as tame as a puppy."

"Tame! why, sir, he knows better than to be otherwise. I wish the _Hemp'rer of Maroccy_ would send us on board a _c.o.c.k rhinoceros_--we'd tame him in a week."

And I believe the man was correct in his a.s.sertion.

The most remarkable change of habit that I ever witnessed was in a wether sheep, on board of a frigate, during the war. He was one of a stock which the captain had taken on board for a long cruise, and being the only survivor, during the time that the s.h.i.+p was refitting he had been allowed to run about the decks, and had become such a favourite with the s.h.i.+p's company, that the idea of his being killed, even when short of fresh provisions, never even entered into the head of the captain. Jack, for such was his cognomen, lived entirely with the men, being fed with biscuit from the different messes. He knew the meaning of the different pipes of the boatswain's mates, and always went below when they piped to breakfast, dinner, or supper. But amongst other peculiarities, he would chew tobacco, and drink grog. Is it to be wondered, therefore, that he was a favourite with the sailors? That he at first did this from obedience is possible; but, eventually, he was as fond of grog as any of the men; and when the pipe gave notice of serving it out, he would run aft to the tub, and wait his turn--for an extra half-pint of water was, by general consent, thrown into the tub when the grog was mixed, that Jack might have his regular allowance. From habit, the animal knew exactly when his turn came. There were eighteen messes in the s.h.i.+p; and as they were called, by the purser's steward, or sergeant of marines, in rotation--first mess, second mess, etcetera.-- after the last mess was called, Jack presented himself at the tub, and received his allowance.

Now, it sometimes occurred that a mess, when called, would miss its turn, by the man deputed to receive the liquor not being present: upon which occasion the other messes were served in rotation, and the one who had not appeared to the call was obliged to wait till after all the rest; but a circ.u.mstance of this kind always created a great deal of mirth; for the sheep, who knew that it was his turn after the eighteenth, or last mess, would b.u.t.t away any one who attempted to interfere; and if the party persevered in being served before Jack, he would become quite outrageous, flying at the offender, and b.u.t.ting him forward into the galley, and sometimes down the hatchway, before his anger could be appeased--from which it would appear that the animal was pa.s.sionately fond of spirits. This I consider as great a change in the nature of a ruminating animal as can well be imagined.

I could mention many instances of this kind, but I shall reserve them till I have grown older; then I will be as garrulous as Montaigne. As it is, I think I hear the reader say--"All this may be very true, but what has it to do with the novel?" Nothing, I grant; but it has a great deal to do with _making a book_--for I have completed a whole chapter out of nothing.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

And with a flowing sail Went a bounding for the island of the free, Towards which the impatient wind blew half a gale; High dash'd the spray, the bows dipp'd in the sea.

BYRON.

After a run of six weeks, the _Aspasia_ entered the Channel. The weather, which had been clear during the pa.s.sage home, now altered its appearance; and a dark sky, thick fog, and mizzling, cold rain, intimated their approach to the English sh.o.r.e. But, relaxed as they had been by three years' endurance of a tropical sun, it was nevertheless a source of congratulation, rather than complaint; for it was "regular November Channel weather," and was a.s.sociated with their propinquity to those homes and firesides, which would be enhanced in value from the ordeal to be pa.s.sed before they could be enjoyed.

"Hah!" exclaimed an old quarter-master, who had served the earlier part of his life in a coaster, as he b.u.t.toned his pea-jacket up to the throat; "this is what I calls something like; none of your d.a.m.ned blue skies here."

Such is the power of affection, whether of person or of things, that even faults become a source of endearment.

As the short day closed, the _Aspasia_, who was running before the wind and slanting rain, which seemed to a.s.sist her speed with its gravity, hove to, and tried for soundings.

"Well, Stewart, what's the news?" said one of the mids.h.i.+pmen, as he entered the berth; the drops of rain, which hung upon the rough exterior of his great coat, glittering like small diamonds, from the reflection of the solitary candle, which made darkness but just visible.

"News," replied Stewart, taking off his hat with a jerk, so as to besprinkle the face of Prose with the water that had acc.u.mulated on the top of it, and laughing at his sudden start from the unexpected shower; "why, as the fellows roar out with the second edition of an evening paper, 'Great news, glorious news!'--and all comprised in a short sentence:--Soundings in seventy four fathoms; grey sand and sh.e.l.ls."

"Huzza!" answered the old master's mate.

"Now for three cheers--and then for the song."

The three cheers having been given with due emphasis, if not discretion, they all stood up round the table. "Now, my boys, keep time. Mr Prose, if you attempt to chime in with your confounded nasal tw.a.n.g, I'll give you a squeeze."

For England, when, with favouring gale, Our gallant s.h.i.+p up channel steer'd, And, scudding under easy sail, The high blue western land appear'd, To heave the lead the seaman sprung, And to the watchful pilot sung, By the deep _nine_.

The song, roared out in grand chorus by the mids.h.i.+pmen, was caught up, after the first verse, by the marines in their berth, close to them; and from them pa.s.sed along the lower deck as it continued, so that the last stanzas were sung by nearly two hundred voices, sending forth a volume of sound, that penetrated into every recess of the vessel, and entered into the responsive bosoms of all on board, not excepting the captain himself, who smiled, as he bent over the break of the gangway, at what he would have considered a breach of subordination in the s.h.i.+p's company, had not he felt that it arose from that warm attachment to their country which had created our naval pre-eminence.

The song ended with tumultuous cheering fore and aft, and not until then did the captain send down to request that the noise might be discontinued. As soon as it was over, the grog was loudly called for in the mids.h.i.+pmen's berth, and made its appearance.

"Here's to the white cliffs of England," cried one, drinking off his tumbler, and turning it upside down on the table.

"Here's to the Land of Beauty."

"Here's to the Emerald Isle."

"And here's to the Land of Cakes," cried Stewart, drinking off his tumbler, and throwing it over his shoulder.

"Six for one for skylarking," cried Prose.

"A hundred for one, you d.a.m.ned c.o.c.kney, for all I care."

"No--no--no," cried all the berth; "not _one_ for _one_."

"You shall have a song for it, my boys," cried Stewart, who immediately commenced, with great taste and execution, the beautiful air--

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?

"Well, I've not had my toast yet," said Jerry, when the applause at the end of the song had discontinued:--"Here's to the shady side of Pall-mall."

"And I suppose," said Stewart, giving Prose a slap on the back, which took his breath away, "that you are thinking of Wapping, blow you."

"I think I have had enough of whopping since I've been in this s.h.i.+p,"

answered Prose.

"Why, Prose, you're quite brilliant, I do declare," observed Jerry.

"Like a flint, you only require a blow from Stewart's iron fist to emit sparks. Try him again, Stewart. He's like one of the dancing dervishes, in the Arabian Nights: you must thrash him to get a few farthings of wit out of him."

"I do wish that you would keep your advice to yourself, Jerry."

"My dear Prose, it's all for the honour of Middles.e.x that I wish you to s.h.i.+ne. I'm convinced that there's a great deal of wit in that head of yours; but it's confined, like the kernel in a nut: there's no obtaining it without breaking the sh.e.l.l. Try him again, Stewart."

"Come, Prose, I'll take your part, and try his own receipt upon himself.

I'll thrash him till he says something witty."

"I do like that, amazingly," replied Jerry. "Why, if I do say a good thing, you'll never find out. I shall be thrashed to all eternity.

Besides, I'm at too great a distance from you."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, I'm like some cows; I don't give down my milk without the calf is alongside of me. Now, if you were on this side of the table--"

"Which I am," replied Stewart, as he sprang over it, and seizing Jerry by the neck--"Now, Mr Jerry, say a good thing directly."

"Well, promise me to understand it. We are just in the reverse situation of England and Scotland, after the battle of Culloden."

"What do you mean by that, you wretch?" cried Stewart, whose wrath was kindled by the reference.

"Why, I'm in your clutches, just like Scotland was--a conquered country."

"You lie, you little blackguard," cried Stewart, pinching Jerry's neck till he forced his mouth open: "Scotland was never conquered."