Pincher Martin, O.D.: A Story of the Inner Life of the Royal Navy

'But did the rebels retire?' asked the commander.

Wooten nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'They left the place like lambs, and the Imperialist colonel inside nearly fell on my neck and wept. The two shopkeepers gave me a box of a hundred cigars between them! Damned nasty cigars, too!'

His listeners laughed.

'And what happened to you?' asked Chase.

'Oh,' smiled Wooten, 'I sent the document to the admiral, with a covering letter, and jolly nearly got badly scrubbed for exceeding my duty and abducting the General. However, it was all right in the end, and I believe the old man was secretly rather pleased with what I'd done.'

'So he jolly well ought to have been,' remarked one of the watch-keepers.

'M'yes, but he was a man who didn't say much. However, a month later a British colonel and a couple of other officers came down from Pekin to confer with me about putting Kiang-fu in a state of defence in case the rebels came again, for by that time the powers that be had come to the conclusion that if they did capture it, it wouldn't do us any good. The colonel and I went ashore together, he with his two officers, and I with a sheet of paper and a pencil.

'"You'd better loophole that wall," he started off, pointing at a solid stone affair about three feet thick. "This house had better be demolished, and you'll have to dig a trench along here, with decent sand-bag head-cover. I should think a hundred and fifty rifles will be enough to man it, provided you have a couple of Maxims at each corner. Over there we'll have an emplacement for a field-gun, and there another trench."

'He went on like that the whole of one grilling forenoon, and by the time he'd finished I'd totted up my figures, and found he'd used the best part of a thousand men.

'"That's all right, sir," said I; "and when may I expect the regiment?"

'"Regiment!" he said, rather surprised. "What regiment d'you mean?"

'"The regiment for doing all this work and garrisoning the place, sir," said I innocently. "You've been talking about knocking down houses, erecting barricades, and digging trenches right and left. I've only got thirty men."

'"The deuce you have!" he said thoughtfully. "We'd better" —

'"Go and have lunch, sir," I chipped in.

'"Excellent idea," said he, mopping his face.

'So off we went, had a top-hole tiffin, and that was the last we ever heard of it. Kiang-fu never was put in a state of defence so far as I know. However, the rebels never came there again, so every one was quite happy. I tell you,' Wooten concluded with a grin, 'one occasionally has some pretty rummy times up the Yang-tse.'

One had, apparently, and Peter Wooten was an officer of great initiative and resource, who had served his country well, and had upheld the dignity of her flag on more than one occasion. Chinese generals, mandarins, and other Celestial potentates were nothing to him. He bullied or bluffed them all into doing what he wanted, and they used to walk in terror of 'the red-faced devil with the loud voice,' as they called him. No wonder, then, that Peter felt himself tied by the leg in a battleship, where, to use his own expression, he was a 'mere dog's body.'

The watch-keeping lieutenants were George English, Aubrey Plantagenet Fitz-Johnson (usually known in the wardroom as 'the Dook'), Henry Archer Boyle, and Tobias Tickle.

English was a mild, inoffensive little man, whose chief ambition in life was to retire from the navy while he was still young, marry a wife, live in a small whitewashed cottage miles away from any sea, rear pigs and chickens, and collect butterflies. For all his lack of ambition, however, he was a good and zealous officer. He never made a bad mistake; but never, on the other hand, did anything very brilliant. He was a conscientious plodder.

'The Dook' was a tall, dashing, immaculate person, with sleek and shiny hair. He had a wonderful taste in dress, and how many different suits of plain clothes he possessed nobody but himself and his servant knew. How much he owed his tailor and his haberdasher nobody was aware of but those long-suffering tradesmen themselves, for Fitz-Johnson cast all his bills into the fire immediately on their receipt. His garments were always fashionable and well cut; his ties, collars, shirts, and socks of the newest and most exclusive pattern. His uniform frock-coat fitted his svelte figure like a glove; his trousers were always perfectly creased; and on Sundays he always appeared at 'divisions' with a brand-new pair of kid gloves – he never wore the same pair twice. The men called him Algy. He looked it. He was essentially a lady-killer. His cabin was full of autographed photographs of feminine admirers and mementoes in the shape of faded dance-programmes and little knots and bows of ribbon. His bedspread, a wonderful creation in blue silk, embroidered with his crest and monogram, had been worked by one set of fair fingers; his door and scuttle curtains, of chintz, by some one else; and a little bag for his hairbrushes by a third lady. When the mail arrived his letter-rack in the wardroom was crammed with bills, and letters in feminine handwriting. He kept up a voluminous correspondence, but was wise enough never to have more than one ardent admirer in any one place. He was a regular 'devyl with the girls,' there was no doubt about that; and if the ship arrived at some new place, and the wardroom took it into its head it would like to give a tea-fight, 'the Dook' was immediately sent ashore to prospect. How he did it nobody quite knew; but at the end of twenty-four hours he would be on friendly terms not only with all the young and pretty girls in the place, but also with their mothers, aunts, and female cousins. He was always on the verge of being engaged to be married, but never quite pulled it off. His host of unpaid bills, and the fact that he had little or no money besides his pay, probably frightened him. But, at any rate, he was a valuable acquisition as a messmate, for he sang well, and could play almost any musical instrument under the sun.

His chief failing was that he was never less than a quarter of an hour late for his watch. 'I'm deuced sorry, old chap,' was his usual excuse to the officer he had to relieve. 'The fella didn't call me properly.'

'Oh, to hell with you and your rotten excuses!' would growl the irritated watch-keeper who had been kept up. 'You're about the frozen limit! The corporal of the watch was hammering on your cabin door for at least a quarter of an hour!'

'It really wasn't my fault, though,' Fitz-Johnson would protest mildly. 'Please don't get shirty, old chap.'

It was impossible to be really angry with him; but he continued to relieve late until the other watch-keepers hit upon a scheme of keeping him up for an extra half-hour at the end of his own watch. That cured him eventually.

Boyle, the next in seniority, was a young, enthusiastic, and very energetic officer, who wished one day to become a gunnery officer. He had charge of the after-turret, with its pair of twelve-inch guns, and spent much of his time in a suit of oily overalls scrambling about in the depths of the hydraulic machinery. He was of an inventive turn of mind too, and even at the comparatively early age of twenty-four had already designed a self-stabilising seaplane, a non-capsizable boat, a patent razor-stropper, and an adjustable chair. This last, which he used in his cabin, was really most ingenious. It had hidden springs all over it, and you pushed a button and it did the rest. You could use it for anything, from an operating-table to a trousers-press; and it was often brought into the wardroom after dinner on guest-nights for its various uses to be demonstrated. It worked beautifully, until one night the padre, who was reclining gracefully at full length, pressed the wrong button in a sudden fit of exuberance. The chair promptly bucked like a kicking mule. The front shot up and the back fell down, and the reverend occupant hurtled adroitly backwards straight into the arms of an astonished marine servant with a tray full of whiskies and sodas. He came to the ground with a crash, with the marine and the liquid on top of him, and everybody laughed.

The servant, drenched through, retired grumbling to change his garments; and the Rev. Stephen Holiman scrambled to his feet, surveyed the mess of broken glass and liquor on the deck, and then felt his pulped collar and examined his clothes.

'Boyle, you silly ass!' he expostulated, justifiably annoyed, and trying to mop himself dry with a handkerchief, 'why the d-dickens couldn't you tell me the thing was going to pitch me over backwards like that?'

'I'm awfully sorry, padre,' spluttered the inventor, weak with laughing. 'You must have pressed the wrong button; but even then I've never known it do that before. Perhaps it wants oiling.'

'Take the rotten thing away and drown it!' retorted the padre, as angry as he ever got. 'It oughtn't to be allowed on board. It's ruined my clothes!' But the padre was a sportsman with a sense of humour, and after a little more grumbling, during which he got no sympathy from his messmates, cheered up and went off to change. Ever afterwards, when the chair appeared, he endeavoured to make it play the same trick on some unsuspecting guest. But it never would.

Tobias Tickle, commonly known as 'Toby,' was the officer of Martin's division, whom we have already met. He had married very young, and had a rich and pretty wife, who was as popular as himself; but this did not prevent Toby from being a very riotous member of society on occasions. He was loved by his men; for, while very strict, he took a great interest in them and their affairs. He knew the surname and Christian name of every bluejacket in his division; knew whether they were married, engaged to be married, courting, or single; and always gave them good advice when they asked for it. They often did. On more than one occasion he or his wife had helped them in other ways.

Once, when Mrs Buttings, the wife of an able seaman, had been ailing, and had had to undergo a rather serious operation, Mrs Toby heard of it through her husband. She promptly visited the patient, found her living in a miserable little dwelling in a back street in Landport, with four children between the ages of six months and five years, and nobody to look after her except the neighbours. This would not do for Mrs Tickle. She promptly engaged a trained nurse, sent the children off to a farmhouse in the country, visited the invalid daily, saw that she had a proper diet, and provided her with many sovereigns' worth of coal and luxuries.

Buttings himself, when he went ashore and saw the transformation in his usually rather slovenly home, was furious. Like most bluejackets, he hated the idea of charity in any form, and went straight off to see Tickle.

'Look 'ere, sir,' he said; 'with orl my doo respects to you, it ain't playin' the game!'

'Not playing the game!' answered the lieutenant, quite at a loss to understand what the man was driving at. 'What d'you mean?'

'Well, sir, it's like this 'ere. I goes 'ome an' finds my 'ouse rigged up like a bloomin' 'orspitle, an' the missus lyin' in bed with flowers, an' beef-tea, an' port wine, an' sich like. I finds another 'ooman there a-lookin' 'arter 'er – dressed up like a 'orspitle nurse, she wus – an' w'en I arsks 'er wot she done with the kids, she sez as 'ow they'd bin sent to the country. W'en I wants to know 'oo's done it, she sezs Mrs Tickle. It ain't fair on a man, sir, doin' a thing like that, an' habductin' of 'is kids. S'welp me, it ain't!' Buttings paused for breath.

'I'm sorry you think that, Buttings,' said Tickle gently. 'Your wife has been very ill, and what she wants is good food and proper treatment. She's getting that now. The children, too, are out in the country having an excellent time. After all, my wife didn't do it without asking Mrs Buttings.'

'Yessir. That's all werry well; but I pays the rent o' the bally 'ouse.'

'Of course I understand that. But surely you don't grudge your wife a little comfort after she's been so ill?'

'No, sir, o' course not,' said the seaman, scratching his head. 'But 'oo's goin' to pay for orl this 'ere? Port wine an' chicken jelly ain't got for nothin'.'

Tickle felt half-inclined to tell him outright that he, or, rather, his wife, was prepared to pay for everything; but if he had, the able seaman would at once have been in open rebellion. The nurse alone came to two guineas a week, and the food and little luxuries for the invalid to as much again. 'Well, Buttings,' he said, pretending to consider, 'suppose it costs about seven-and-six a week. That's about it, I should imagine.'

Buttings seemed rather relieved. 'Seven an' a tanner,' he said, more happily. 'I kin manage that, sir. I ain't got much money to splosh abart, o' course,' he hastened to explain; 'but I don't like ter think as 'ow I ain't payin' for what my old 'ooman's gettin'.'

And so, for the time being, the matter ended, and both parties were satisfied.

Mrs Buttings recovered in due course, and became her old buxom self, and then it was that she enlightened her husband as to what the Tickles had really done. Buttings was speechless with rage.

But Christmas came soon afterwards, and on the morning itself, as Tickle was having his bath, there came a knock at his cabin door. 'Hallo, what is it?' he asked, springing up and wrapping a towel round himself.

'It's Buttings, sir,' said the seaman, pulling aside the curtain. 'I've got this 'ere for you, sir, from my missus an' meself; an' this, sir, is for your lady. We both wishes you an' your lady a 'Appy Christmas, sir.' There was a suspicious huskiness in his voice; and, after pushing two small parcels into the astonished officer's hands, he fled before Tickle could say so much as 'Thank you.'

One package contained a highly ornamental silver cigarette-case, and the other a small gold brooch of impossible design. Accompanying each gift was a flamboyant card with a chaste design of clasped hands, wreaths and sprigs of forget-me-nots, and true-lovers' knots. Below were the words: 'In friendship we are united.' Inside, in very laborious handwriting, came the inscription: 'With great gratitude from Able Seaman and Mrs Reuben Buttings.'

'Well, I'm damned!' muttered the lieutenant, gazing at the presents, deeply touched. The little gifts, which had cost Buttings and his wife many of their hard-earned shillings, were their way of showing that they had not forgotten.

Mrs Toby was so overcome when she received her brooch that she nearly wept with emotion. 'Dear, dear people!' she murmured gently; 'I love them!'

And still some folk have the effrontery to say that there is no bond of sympathy between the officers and men of the Royal Navy.

CHAPTER VI

'THE 'ORRIBLE DEN.'

I

From the quarterdeck one climbed down a steep ladder, walked aft along the maindeck past the wardroom, descended another ladder, and finally emerged into a large flat lit by electricity. To starboard was a bulkhead with rifles in racks, their blued barrels gleaming dully in the glare of the electric bulbs. Behind the rifle-racks came some of the officers' cabins, through the open doorways of which one was vouchsafed an occasional fleeting glimpse of sea and sky framed in the circular opening of a scuttle in the ship's side.

The small habitations seemed to reflect the personalities and tastes of their several occupants. Some were gay with pictures, photographs, brightly coloured bedspreads and curtains, and had easy-chairs, well-filled bookcases, and a glittering array of silver-backed brushes, photograph-frames, and ornaments on the chests of drawers serving as toilet-tables. In others there was little or no attempt at decoration, and they were furnished with almost Spartan simplicity, with nothing but what the Admiralty allowed. This consisted of a bunk with drawers underneath, a solid mahogany chest of drawers, a book-shelf, a folding washstand, a minute writing-table, a straight-backed cane-bottomed chair, a small strip of carpet, ugly maroon-coloured scuttle and door curtains, and, by way of decoration, the inevitable shallow circular tin bath suspended from the roof.

Amidships in the flat, in ordered rows, came the midshipmen's sea-chests. They were painted white, with black lids, and bore their owners' names on small brass plates. Each was exactly three feet six inches long, one foot eight and a half inches broad, and three feet seven and three-quarter inches high, neither more nor less. Admiralty regulations are explicit and precise, even on the subject of midshipmen's sea-chests. In these receptacles the 'snotties'14 kept, or were supposed to keep, all their worldly belongings, and woe betide them if the first lieutenant discovered their clothes or boots lying about when he went his rounds twice a day! The garments were promptly impounded and placed in the scran-bag, which was opened only once a week. Moreover, one inch of soap – which went toward cleaning the ship – had to be paid for each article claimed.

On the opposite side of the flat were more rifle-racks and two curtained doorways. One of these gave access to a pantry, the other to what the commander called 'the 'Orrible Den,' otherwise the gunroom. It was the habitat of the junior officers, and provided accommodation for two sub-lieutenants, an assistant-paymaster, ten midshipmen, and Mr Hubert Green, the assistant-clerk.

Imagine an apartment about thirty feet long by twenty feet wide, with plenty of head-room. It ran fore and aft, and on the ship's side opposite to the door were four circular scuttles. They were about six feet above the water-line, and could be left open in harbour or in the calmest weather at sea. If it was blowing at all hard, however, they had to be kept tight shut to prevent the entry of the water. On these occasions the atmosphere, well impregnated with the smell of food from the pantry, could be cut with a knife. The sub-lieutenant, complaining bitterly of the 'fug' or 'frowst,' sometimes ordered a junior midshipman to carry out what was known as 'scuttle drill.' This meant that the unfortunate youth had to open the port gingerly to let in the air, but that he must bang it to again whenever a sea came rushing past. If he allowed water or spray to enter he was chastised. He generally was, but not really hard. Underneath the scuttles, and along the after bulkhead, were narrow cushioned settees serving as seats. Then came two long tables, with, outside them again, padded forms. Altogether there was seating accommodation for about twenty-four people at meals.

On the inner bulkhead near the door was a stove, and beyond this again a small piano. This instrument had been quite a good one once upon a time, but, owing to an accumulation of foreign matter in its interior, caused no doubt by a youthful officers' steward, who found it a convenient receptacle for dirty cotton-waste, polishing-paste, bathbrick, and emery-paper, was long past its palmy days. However, it still made a noise, and was useful for sing-songs.

On the foremost bulkhead was a small hatch with a sliding door communicating with the pantry, and underneath it a mahogany sideboard. The appointments were completed by three wicker arm-chairs, provided by the occupants themselves, a sofa, a rack for the midshipmen's dirks, a mahogany letter-rack and notice-board, and rows of small lockers, just under the ceiling, round two sides over the settees. In these the 'snotties' kept their small personal belongings, books, and pots of jam or potted meat. But we have forgotten the beer-barrel. It occupied a conspicuous position near the sideboard.

Pictures and prints hung on the white enamelled walls, rugs were scattered about the floor, and the two long tables were covered with crimson cloths of the usual Admiralty pattern, and were adorned with palms in pots and vases of flowers. So, taking it all round, 'the 'Orrible Den' was not quite so bad as it was painted. In fact, it was quite a cheerful apartment.

Sub-Lieutenant Archibald Bertrain Cook – commonly known as Alphabetical Cook – was the senior member of the mess and ex officio president. He was a lusty, riotous, red-faced fellow of twenty-two, and ruled the midshipmen with a rod of iron. The other sub was Roger More, six months junior to him. Wilfrid Shilling, the A.P.,15 was a tall, anæmic-looking officer, with an incipient beard and rather long hair. He wore glasses, and was deeply in love with a young lady at Weymouth. He went by the name of Blinkers.

Next came the senior midshipmen, Antony Charles Trevelyan, Roderick MacDonald, William Augustus Trevor, and Henry Taut. They varied in age between eighteen and a half and nineteen and a half; and the first, on account of his rather blue chin and heavy growth of hair, went by the elegant name of Whiskers. MacDonald, who was short and had rather a barrel-like appearance, was nicknamed Shorty or Tubby; while Trevor, a small youth, sometimes answered to Winkle. Taut, the midshipman of Martin's division, was the Long Slab. He was tall and very thin, rather like a lighthouse.

Then came the six junior 'snotties,' whose names do not really matter. They were all under eighteen, and had only just joined the ship from the training-cruiser. They were, in consequence, very small beer indeed – mere excrescences on the face of the earth. Collectively they were referred to as the Warts, Crabs, or Dogs' Bodies, and had to do what everybody else chose to tell them.

The Wart of all the Warts was Mr Hubert Green, the assistant-clerk. He was a small, freckle-faced youth, with a squeaky voice and ginger hair, and had only just come to sea. He was only seventeen and a half, the baby of the gunroom, and on account of his youth and general ignorance of the navy and naval affairs, spent his life having his leg pulled by the midshipmen.

Both the subs and the A.P. had cabins of their own. The midshipmen 'lived in chests,' as the saying is; slept in hammocks in the gunroom flat; and performed their ablutions in a small tiled bathroom farther forward. Publicity was a thing they had no qualms about whatsoever, and between seven o'clock and seven-forty-five in the morning, when they were dressing or parading about with or without towels, waiting for their turns to wash, the flat was no fit place for the general public.

Except on Sundays, when they lay in till seven o'clock, the 'snotties' turned out at six-fifteen, and from six-forty till seven were on deck at physical drill. At seven, therefore, came the rush for baths, the usual exaggerated tin saucers, of which there were only six. The bandsmen servants procured their respective masters' hot water beforehand; but it was always a case of first come first served, and nobody hesitated to use anybody else's belongings if he were big and strong enough to do so with impunity. Such things as hot water, sponges, soap, and nail-brushes were regarded as common property unless their owners chose to retain them by force. Towels and toothbrushes alone were sacred to the individual.

The subs and the senior midshipmen bathed first, and woe betide any Crab who was discovered in the bathroom when they arrived! He was promptly hurled out. Then came the junior 'snotties,' and lastly the assistant-clerk, who, poor wight, usually had to be content with cold water. But they were all quite happy, and made a great deal of noise.

Pay of one shilling and ninepence per diem, plus a compulsory allowance of fifty pounds a year from one's people, which was what the midshipmen received, is not great affluence, even in the navy, where living is comparatively cheap. It amounts in all to six pounds fifteen shillings and tenpence per month of thirty days.

Mr Tubbs, the long-suffering gunroom-messman, and a bit of a villain, undertook to provide breakfast, luncheon, and dinner for the sum of thirty shillings a month a head from each member; but in addition to this he also took the ten-pence per diem allowed to each officer by the Government in lieu of rations. Afternoon tea, cake, bread-and-butter, tins of biscuits, potted meat, jam, fruit, and other extraneous edibles were charged for as extras, in which category also came such things as soap, bootlaces, drawing-paper, pens, ink, pencils, &c. The sum of ten shillings per mensem was supposed, by Admiralty regulation, to suffice for the midshipmen's needs in the way of extras; but the most of them, with the connivance of the messman, ran what they called 'extra-extra bills.' It was on the profit made on these that Mr Tubbs was able to make two ends meet at all, for one and tenpence a day is not much wherewith to satisfy the food capacity of a young and lusty lad with a healthy appetite.