Traffics and Discoveries Part 6

be'ind the tramp), to fit the s.h.i.+p with a full set of patent supernumerary sails. Four trysails--yes, you might call 'em trysails--was our Admiralty allowance in the un'eard of event of a cruiser breakin' down, but we had our awnin's as well. They was all extricated from the various flats an'

'oles where they was stored, an' at the end o' two hours' hard work Number One 'e made out eleven sails o' different sorts and sizes. I don't know what exact nature of sail you'd call 'em--pyjama-stun'sles with a touch of Sarah's s.h.i.+mmy, per'aps--but the riggin' of 'em an' all the supernumerary details, as you might say, bein' carried on through an' over an' between the cutter an' the forge an' the pork an' cleanin' guns, an' the Maxim cla.s.s an' the Bosun's calaboose _and_ the paintwork, was sublime. There's no other word for it. Sub-lime!

"The old man keeps swimmin' up an' down through it all with the faithful Antonio at 'is side, fetchin' him numerous splits. 'E had eight that mornin', an' when Antonio was detached to get 'is spy-gla.s.s, or his gloves, or his lily-white 'andkerchief, the old man man would waste 'em down a ventilator. Antonio must ha' learned a lot about our Navy thirst."

"He did."

"Ah! Would you kindly mind turnin' to the precise page indicated an'

givin' me a _resume_ of 'is tattics?" said Mr. Pyecroft, drinking deeply.

"I'd like to know 'ow it looked from 'is side o' the deck."

"How will this do?" I said. "'_Once clear of the land, like Voltaire's Habakkuk_------"'

"One o' their new commerce-destroyers, I suppose," Mr. Pyecroft interjected.

"'--_each man seemed veritably capable of all--to do according to his will. The boats, dismantled and forlorn, are lowered upon the planking.

One cries "Aid me!" flouris.h.i.+ng at the same time the weapons of his business. A dozen launch themselves upon him in the o.r.g.a.s.m of zeal misdirected. He beats them off with the howlings of dogs. He has lost a hammer. This ferocious outcry signifies that only. Eight men seek the utensil, colliding on the way with some many others which, seated in the stern of the boat, tear up and scatter upon the planking the ironwork which impedes their brutal efforts. Elsewhere, one detaches from on high wood, canvas, iron bolts, coal-dust--what do I know_?'"

"That's where 'e's comin' the bloomin' _onjeuew_. 'E knows a lot, reely."

"'_They descend thundering upon the planking, and the spectacle cannot reproduce itself. In my capacity of valet to the captain, whom I have well and beautifully plied with drink since the rising of the sun (behold me also, Ganymede!) I pa.s.s throughout observing, it may be not a little. They ask orders. There is none to give them. One sits upon the edge of the vessel and chants interminably the lugubrious "Roule Britannia"--to endure how lomg_?'"

"That was me! On'y 'twas 'A Life on the Ocean Wave'--which I hate more than any stinkin' tune I know, havin' dragged too many nasty little guns to it. Yes, Number One told me off to that for ten minutes; an' I ain't musical, you might say."

"_'Then come marines, half-dressed, seeking vainly through this "tohu- bohu_"' (that's one of his names for the _Archimandrite_, Mr. Pyecroft), '_for a place whence they shall not be dislodged. The captain, heavy with drink, rolls himself from his hammock. He would have his people fire the Maxims. They demand which Maxim. That to him is equal. The breech-lock indispensable is not there. They demand it of one who opens a barrel of pork, for this Navy feeds at all hours. He refers them to the cook, yesterday my master_--'"

"Yes, an' Retallick nearly had a fit. What a truthful an' observin' little Antonio we 'ave!"

"'_It is discovered in the hands of a boy who says, and they do not rebuke him, that he has found it by hazard_.' I'm afraid I haven't translated quite correctly, Mr. Pyecroft, but I've done my best."

"Why, it's beautiful--you ought to be a Frenchman--you ought. You don't want anything o' _me_. You've got it all there."

"Yes, but I like your side of it. For instance. Here's a little thing I can't quite see the end of. Listen! '_Of the domain which Britannia rules by sufferance, my gross captain, knew nothing, and his Navigator, if possible, less. From the b.e.s.t.i.a.l recriminations and the indeterminate chaos of the grand deck, I ascended--always with a whisky-and-soda in my hands--to a scene truly grotesque. Behold my captain in plain sea, at issue with his Navigator! A crisis of nerves due to the enormous quant.i.ty of alcohol which he had swallowed up to then, has filled for him the ocean with dangers, imaginary and fantastic. Incapable of judgment, menaced by the phantasms of his brain inflamed, he envisages islands perhaps of the Hesperides beneath his keel--vigias innumerable.'_ I don't know what a vigia is, Mr. Pyecroft. _'He creates shoals sad and far-reaching of the mid-Atlantic!'_ What was that, now?"

"Oh, I see! That come after dinner, when our Navigator threw 'is cap down an' danced on it. Danby was quartermaster. They 'ad a tea-party on the bridge. It was the old man's contribution. Does he say anything about the leadsmen?"

"Is this it? _'Overborne by his superior's causeless suspicion, the Navigator took off the badges of his rank and cast them at the feet of my captain and sobbed. A disgusting and maudlin reconciliation followed. The argument renewed itself, each grasping the wheel, c.r.a.pulous'_ (that means drunk, I think, Mr. Pyecroft), _'shouting. It appeared that my captain would chenaler'_ (I don't know what that means, Mr. Pyecroft) _'to the Cape. At the end, he placed a sailor with the sound'_ (that's the lead, I think) _'in his hand, garnished with suet.'_ Was it garnished with suet?"

"He put two leadsmen in the chains, o' course! He didn't know that there mightn't be shoals there, 'e said. Morgan went an' armed his lead, to enter into the spirit o' the thing. They 'eaved it for twenty minutes, but there wasn't any suet--only tallow, o' course."

"'_Garnished with suet at two thousand metres of profundity. Decidedly the Britannic Navy is well guarded_.' Well, that's all right, Mr. Pyecroft.

Would you mind telling me anything else of interest that happened?"

"There was a good deal, one way an' another. I'd like to know what this Antonio thought of our sails."

"He merely says that '_the engines having broken down, an officer extemporised a mournful and useless parody of sails_.' Oh, yes! he says that some of them looked like '_bonnets in a needlecase_,' I think."

"Bonnets in a needlecase! They were stun'sles. That shows the beggar's no sailor. That trick was really the one thing we did. Pho! I thought he was a sailorman, an' 'e hasn't sense enough to see what extemporisin' eleven good an' drawin' sails out o' four trys'les an' a few awnin's means. 'E must have been drunk!"

"Never mind, Mr. Pyecroft. I want to hear about your target-practice, and the execution."

"Oh! We had a special target-practice that afternoon all for Antonio. As I told my crew--me bein' captain of the port-bow quick-firer, though I'm a torpedo man now--it just showed how you can work your gun under any discomforts. A sh.e.l.l--twenty six-inch sh.e.l.ls--burstin' inboard couldn't 'ave begun to make the varicose collection o' t.i.t-bits which we had spilled on our deck. It was a lather--a rich, creamy lather!

"We took it very easy--that gun-practice. We did it in a complimentary 'Jenny-'ave-another-cup-o' tea' style, an' the crew was strictly ordered not to rupture 'emselves with unnecessary exertion. This isn't our custom in the Navy when we're _in puris naturalibus_, as you might say. But we wasn't so then. We was impromptu. An' Antonio was busy fetchin' splits for the old man, and the old man was wastin' 'em down the ventilators. There must 'ave been four inches in the bilges, I should think--wardroom whisky- an'-soda.

"Then I thought I might as well bear a hand as look pretty. So I let my _bundoop_ go at fifteen 'undred--sightin' very particular. There was a sort of 'appy little belch like--no more, I give you my word--an' the sh.e.l.l trundled out maybe fifty feet an' dropped into the deep Atlantic.

"'Government powder, Sir!' sings out our Gunnery Jack to the bridge, laughin' horrid sarcastic; an' then, of course, we all laughs, which we are not encouraged to do _in puris naturalibus_. Then, of course, I saw what our Gunnery Jack 'ad been after with his subcutaneous details in the magazines all the mornin' watch. He had redooced the charges to a minimum, as you might say. But it made me feel a trifle faint an' sickish notwithstanding this spit-in-the-eye business. Every time such transpired, our Gunnery Lootenant would say somethin' sarcastic about Government stores, an' the old man fair howled. 'Op was on the bridge with 'im, an'

'e told me--'cause 'e's a free-knowledgeist an' reads character--that Antonio's face was sweatin' with pure joy. 'Op wanted to kick him. Does Antonio say anything about that?"

"Not about the kicking, but he is great on the gun-practice, Mr. Pyecroft.

He has put all the results into a sort of appendix--a table of shots. He says that the figures will speak more eloquently than words."

"What? Nothin' about the way the crews flinched an' hopped? Nothin' about the little sh.e.l.ls rumblin' out o' the guns so casual?"

"There are a few pages of notes, but they only bear out what you say. He says that these things always happen as soon as one of our s.h.i.+ps is out of sight of land. Oh, yes! I've forgotten. He says, _'From the conversation of my captain with his inferiors I gathered that no small proportion of the expense of these nominally efficient cartridges finds itself in his pockets. So much, indeed, was signified by an officer on the deck below, who cried in a high voice: "I hope, Sir, you are making something out of it. It is rather monotonous." This insult, so flagrant, albeit well- merited, was received with a smile of drunken bonhommy'_--that's cheerfulness, Mr. Pyecroft. Your gla.s.s is empty."

"Resumin' afresh," said Mr. Pyecroft, after a well-watered interval, "I may as well say that the target-practice occupied us two hours, and then we had to dig out after the tramp. Then we half an' three-quarters cleaned up the decks an' mucked about as requisite, haulin' down the patent awnin'

stun'sles which Number One 'ad made. The old man was a shade doubtful of his course, 'cause I 'eard him say to Number One, 'You were right. A week o' this would turn the s.h.i.+p into a Hayti bean-feast. But,' he says pathetic, 'haven't they backed the band n.o.ble?'

"'Oh! it's a picnic for them,' says Number One.

"'But when do we get rid o' this whisky-peddlin' blighter o' yours, Sir?'

"'That's a cheerful way to speak of a Viscount,' says the old man. "E's the bluest blood o' France when he's at home,'

"'Which is the precise landfall I wish 'im to make,' says Number One.'

It'll take all 'ands and the Captain of the Head to clean up after 'im.'

"'They won't grudge it,' says the old man. 'Just as soon as it's dusk we'll overhaul our tramp friend an' waft him over,'

"Then a sno--mids.h.i.+pman--Moorshed was is name--come up an' says somethin'

in a low voice. It fetches the old man.

"'You'll oblige me,' 'e says, 'by takin' the wardroom poultry for _that_.

I've ear-marked every fowl we've s.h.i.+pped at Madeira, so there can't be any possible mistake. M'rover,' 'e says, 'tell 'em if they spill one drop of blood on the deck,' he says, 'they'll not be extenuated, but hung.'

"Mr. Moorshed goes forward, lookin' unusual 'appy, even for him. The Marines was enjoyin' a committee-meetin' in their own flat.

"After that, it fell dark, with just a little streaky, oily light on the sea--an' any thin' more chronic than the _Archimandrite_ I'd trouble you to behold. She looked like a fancy bazaar and a auction-room--yes, she almost looked like a pa.s.senger-steamer. We'd picked up our tramp, an' was about four mile be'ind 'er. I noticed the wardroom as a cla.s.s, you might say, was manoeuvrin' _en ma.s.se_, an' then come the order to c.o.c.kbill the yards. We hadn't any yards except a couple o' signallin' sticks, but we c.o.c.k-billed 'em. I hadn't seen that sight, not since thirteen years in the West Indies, when a post-captain died o' yellow jack. It means a sign o'

mourning the yards bein' canted opposite ways, to look drunk an'

disorderly. They do.

"'An' what might our last giddy-go-round signify?' I asks of 'Op.

"'Good 'Evins!' 'e says, 'Are you in that habit o' permittin' leathernecks to a.s.sa.s.sinate lootenants every morning at drill without immejitly 'avin'

'em shot on the foc'sle in the horrid crawly-crawly twilight?'"

"'Yes,' I murmured over my dear book, '_the infinitely lugubrious crepuscule. A spectacle of barbarity unparalleled--hideous--cold-blooded, and yet touched with appalling grandeur_.'"