The day we sailed, such was the severity of the gale and snowstorm, that we had to put back and anchor at St. Helens in the Isle of Wight. The next night we were at sea. It happened to be my middle watch. I had to turn out of my hammock at twelve to walk the deck till four in the morning.
Walk! I could not stand. Blinded with snow, drenched by the seas, frozen with cold, home sick and sea sick beyond description, my opinion of the Royal Navy - as a profession - was, in the course of these four hours, seriously subverted.
Long before the watch ended. I was reeling about more asleep than awake; every now and then brought to my senses by breaking my shins against the carronade slides; or, if I sat down upon one of them to rest, by a playful whack with a rope's end from one of the crusty old mates aforesaid, who perhaps anticipated in my poor little personality the arrogance of a possible commanding officer. Oh! those cruel night watches! But the hard training must have been a useful tonic too. One got accustomed to it by degrees; and hence, indifferent to exposure, to bad food, to kicks and cuffs, to calls of duty, to subordination, and to all that constitutes discipline.
Luckily for me, the midshipman of my watch, Jack Johnson, was a trump, and a smart officer to boot. He was six years older than I, and, though thoroughly good-natured, was formidable enough from his strength and determination to have his will respected. He became my patron and protector. Rightly, or wrongly I am afraid, he always took my part, made excuses for me to the officer of our watch if I were caught napping under the half-deck, or otherwise neglecting my duty. Sometimes he would even take the blame for this upon himself, and give me a 'wigging' in private, which was my severest punishment. He taught me the ropes, and explained the elements of seamanship. If it was very cold at night he would make me wear his own comforter, and, in short, took care of me in every possible way. Poor Jack! I never had a better friend; and I loved him then, God knows. He was one of those whose advancement depended on himself. I doubt whether he would ever have been promoted but for an accident which I shall speak of presently.
When we got into warm latitudes we were taught not only to knot and splice, but to take in and set the mizzen royal.
There were four of us boys, and in all weathers at last we were practised aloft until we were as active and as smart as any of the ship's lads, even in dirty weather or in sudden squalls.
We had a capital naval instructor for lessons in navigation, and the quartermaster of the watch taught us how to handle the wheel and con.
These quartermasters - there was one to each of the three watches - were picked men who had been captains of tops or boatswains' mates. They were much older than any of the crew. Our three in the 'Blonde' had all seen service in the French and Spanish wars. One, a tall, handsome old fellow, had been a smuggler; and many a fight with, or narrow escape from, the coast-guard he had to tell of. The other two had been badly wounded. Old Jimmy Bartlett of my watch had a hole in his chest half an inch deep from a boarding pike. He had also lost a finger, and a bullet had passed through his cheek. One of his fights was in the 'Amethyst' frigate when, under Sir Michael Seymour, she captured the 'Niemen' in 1809.
Often in the calm tropical nights, when the helm could take care of itself almost, he would spin me a yarn about hot actions, cutting-outs, press-gangings, and perils which he had gone through, or - what was all one to me - had invented.
From England to China round the Cape was a long voyage before there was a steamer in the Navy. It is impossible to describe the charm of one's first acquaintance with tropical vegetation after the tedious monotony unbroken by any event but an occasional flogging or a man overboard. The islands seemed afloat in an atmosphere of blue; their jungles rooting in the water's edge. The strange birds in the daytime, the flocks of parrots, the din of every kind of life, the flying foxes at night, the fragrant and spicy odours, captivate the senses. How delicious, too, the fresh fruits brought off by the Malays in their scooped-out logs, one's first taste of bananas, juicy shaddocks, mangoes, and custard apples - after months of salt junk, disgusting salt pork, and biscuit all dust and weevils. The water is so crystal-clear it seems as though one could lay one's hands on strange coloured fish and coral beds at any depth. This, indeed, was 'kissing the lips of unexpected change.' It was a first kiss moreover. The tropics now have ceased to remind me even of this spell of novelty and wonder.
