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I join
Queen Victoria's Navy. Life on the "Boscawan." "All hands witness punishment!"
Teaching the Big Guns. A midshipman on the "Excellent." The duel.
In my leisure hours I was
absorbed in the “Boys of England” and “Young Men of Great Britain,”
periodicals of that day replete with historical romances of Walter Raleigh,
Frances Drake, the Spanish Armanda and freebooters of the bounding main. My
longing for life on the ocean grew, until one spring morning in 1869 I appeared
at the naval office with my Uncle Ephraim and was accepted as a prospective
admiral on Her Majesty’s seventy-four gun ship, the “Boscawen.” My age was
a trifle over thirteen, but I was a well-developed lad for that age and I
underwent all the tests without question.
The arrival of a package at the home of my parents containing my civilian
clothes, accompanied by a short note of farewell, was the first intimation my
family had of my departure, but the loss of one out of a flock of ten was
regarded more in the light of a lucky break than a misfortune. The die was cast
anyway, and there was nothing to do but make the best of it. For myself, I
entered upon my new life with enthusiasm, a determination to learn the ropes and
perhaps ere long to become a post-captain; for although I had come aboard
through the hawse pipe, I proposed that when I left it would be through the
cabin window.
Along with fifty other boys, we were taken aboard a government steamer to
Portland, where lay the “Boscawen,” an old line of battleship, veteran of
the Napoleonic wars and now a training ship for boys entering Her Majesty’s
service. The arrival of the new recruits on the “Boscawen” created no
excitement as we filed into line on the quarterdeck. The ship had a compliment
of over six hundred boys in addition to the officers and men, and our class of
fifty merely replaced the group that had been transferred to the “Excellent”
for their gunnery course.
We were served our allotment of “slops” consisting of the naval
uniform, brush, comb, knife, towel, and a sewing kit. No shoes or hose were worn
aboard ship, in order more easily to climb the ratlines aloft. We were then
treated to a dissertation on the “articles of war,” rules and regulations of
the ship, and marched down to the bathroom. Six bathtubs large enough to hold a
dozen boys each contained twelve inches of fresh water, and two other tubs were
nearly full of seawater. The boys were ordered into the fresh water to lather
off the dirt, and the rinsing took place in the other tubs. By the time the lads
were through the first installment, the residue was about the consistency of
bean puree. As we came out of shivering from the icy cold concoction we were
lined up so the master at arms with a short cane could poke under our arms,
around our necks and ears, and if any lines of demarcation were found, back went
the culprit for another dowsing, with an added slip of the cane to accelerate
the circulation.
Rigged in the “slops” we were now full-fledged sailors, with the name
“H.M.S. Boscawen” in gold letters on our caps. We were at liberty to go
below to our mess, and our supper consisted of hard tack and tea. The pipe of
the boatswain’s mate “Stand at Hammocks” was made to chime in with eight
bells. That night I fell out of the hammock twice and was let down once again by
the neighbors, who slipped the rope of my bed without any warning. The other
newcomers fared no better, for the yells and curses lasted throughout the night.
At four bells we were roused out to lash up and stow our hammocks, scrub
and holystone the decks, using a squeegee to dry them just as the squeegee is
used nowadays to clean windows. By the time the brass-work was cleaned, prayers
read by the chaplain, and the bugle sounded for breakfast, our appetites were
keen for the regulation bowl of cocoa and hard tack. During the day there were
more inspections, with more poking about the ears, legs, and feet for dirt. The
unlucky Wight that was not absolutely pure was taken to the tubs and there
rubbed with sand and canvas until he was the color of a ripe raspberry.
The boys were also taught to tie knots, splice ropes and sew the sails.
They made all plain sail at least once a day, ran the rigging, climbed over the
futtock shrouds, and reeved the ropes.
There were swimming lessons, and some of the boys learned to swim, but I
never could by the method used. A canvas band with a cord through it was put
around my chest, and I was told to jump off the gangway. I did so, but as soon
as I struck the water I would claw at the side of the ship and the instructor
would raise me out of the water with the cord and then let go. The more he
ducked me the more frightened I became, and finally he would tow me to the
ladder.
In the evening the boys would run up the rigging on one side and down the
other, and it was during this pastime that I encountered my first punishment.
Climbing up to the fore royal truck, I unscrewed the lightning conductor, which
slipped from my hands and narrowly missed a boy on deck. The royal truck was a
thick disk of wood six inches in diameter, and formed the top of the mast. On
this I sprawled and went through the motions of swimming. The officer of the
deck, who had been watching my antics, suddenly cried out; “Down from
aloft!” When I reached the fo’castle a boatswain’s mate escorted me to the
quarterdeck and I was entered on the report. Next morning I was summoned before
the Commander, who read the docket and without asking my version of the affair
sentenced me to two-dozen strokes with the cane.
It was not the punishment that threw me into a blue funk for the next few
hours, but the fact that I was to be made a spectacle of before the whole
ship’s company. Promptly at four bells in the afternoon the boatswain’s pipe
“All hands witness punishment” brought a solid mass of boys to the
quarterdeck, with the officers ranged about the capstan. I was in the limelight
facing the Commander, who without more ado read the record and wound up with
“Seize him up!” The master at arms, who was a big, pompous brute, jerked me
over the arm of the bitts and pulled my shirt up from my pants, while a
quartermaster with a rope stopper around my legs, reeved it through an eyebolt
and held on to the end, thus between them clamping me into a vise in which
movement was out of the question, and leaving only the rear part of my anatomy
visible. On this section another quartermaster rained twenty-four blows with a
long cane, the end of which had been wound with waxed whipcord. The fact that I
was boiling with rage at the indignity of the ordeal and the manifest injustice
of such punishment for my trivial act helped to mitigate the pain, and it was
soon over. I felt myself being released; the burly master-at-arms raised himself
from my neck and shoulders, and I was free to drag my sore limbs to the lower
deck and nurse my wounds.
There was not much rest for the boys of the “Boscawen.” When we were
not holystoning the decks and polishing the brass work, we drilled the guns,
washed our clothes and scrubbed our hammocks, everything being done consistent
with the strict discipline of the ship. Even the hammocks were inspected after
being scrubbed, and on one washday my hammock still showed the tar stain from
the lash rope after I had washed it, so the officer of the watch, whose
breakfast had probably disagreed with him that morning, ordered me to scrub it
again and carry it on a pole until it was dry. Thursday afternoon was “Rope
yarn Sunday,” which time was given up to mending clothes and putting kits in
order. Most of the boys learned to sew and do fancy stunts with the needle, and
even my black silk handkerchief was hemmed with a strand from a young lady’s
locks.
After nine months of this life, I passed my examination and was drafted
as midshipman to “H.M.S. Excellent” in Portsmouth Harbor. The
“Excellent” was a gunnery ship of the British Navy, and on this floating
fortress I was taught, in addition to the feature of manipulation of the big
guns, the manufacture of ammunition, shells, shot and fuses, the construction of
torpedoes, and finished with a course in diving.
During our tuition, officers and men formed the classes together, and I
found in my class the Duke of Clarence and the Duke of Edinburgh. When my turn
came to tell what I knew of the instruments of war, I was quite bossy to the two
dukes as to the men before the mast. The Duke of Clarence was then the heir
apparent to the throne. He was a studious boy and he advanced quickly, but his
health was frail and it was evident that he was guarded with great care.
Edinburgh was a wild, intractable youth who was as full of tricks as a dog is of
fleas. He would break his leave with impunity, perpetrate jokes, and was most of
the time undergoing some mild form of punishment. One dark night, after being
refused permission to go ashore, he broke out of the ship by stripping off his
clothes and crawling out of one of the gun ports. As he held on to the ship’s
cable I lowered his bundle to him, and the last I saw of him he was striking out
for shore with one hand while with the other he held his clothes out of the
water. The late King George was the younger brother of the Duke of Clarence and
Queen Mary was then the Princess May and engaged to the latter. On the death of
the Duke of Clarence, Prince George became heir to the throne and also to the
affections of the lovely Princess.
While on the gunnery ship “Excellent” in Portsmouth Harbor, a tragic
incident occurred. My chum Jim Furbridge and I were then in the small arms
class, which included cutlass and bayonet drill, and it was Jimmie’s call to
take part in “loose play.” This meant that Jim, armed with a cutlass, and
Bill Heming, his antagonist, with a rifle and bayonet, were to cut loose and
decide the merits of the two weapons. The cutlass was the regulation side weapon
and the bayonet was a flat blade with a spring cushion, so there was little
danger of the contestants hurting themselves under ordinary condition. On the
point of the bayonet was a metallic button as a further protection. Both the
young men wore pads and helmets, similar to those of the umpires at baseball
games nowadays. However, there was a bitter enmity between the two, for they
were rivals for a certain “Black-eyed Susan” who lived near the docks.
The class formed a ring around the contestants, and the instructor gave
the word, “Ready!” Jim brought his cutlass to the guard and awaited the
onslaught of Heming, who dropped his snider rifle to the hip with the tip of the
bayonet well inside Jim’s guard. “Advance!” roared the instructor, and
both took a creeping step forward. Bill made a lunge at Jim’s breast, but this
was safe from attack. His only vulnerable part was the place where the helmet
and padded jacket met at the neck. Jim caught the bayonet with his second guard,
and in doing so the stabber went well over his shoulder. They were than at close
quarters, and Jim was beating his opponent over the head with his cutlass, the
edge of which made a nasty dent just below Bill’s shoulder. The bayonet was
useless against Jim’s cutlass until Heming jumped back, threw his rifle to the
“point,” parried and thrust at the padded figure before him. It was rapidly
becoming a fight in earnest, and the silence of the class was intense. I was
near Jim’s elbow and was watching Bill for signs of foul play, for I knew well
that there was no love lost between them. Once Heming thrust his bayonet between
Jim’s legs, but he recovered and countered with a smashing blow on Bill’s
head that staggered him.
Suddenly I caught a flash of Bill’s eyes, and saw “murder” written
there. The button from the tip pf the bayonet was gone, and Bill was shortening
his hold on the rifle and advancing on Jim, who was wielding his cutlass like a
flail. It was then that I called out, “Look out! He will stick you in the
neck!” But the warning came too late. Jim Furbridge made a slight turn, there
was a sharp thrust, and the blade of the sword passed clear through the side of
his neck. Jim gave a sharp scream, Heming jerked the bayonet back, and my chum
dropped into my arms mortally hurt.
There is little more to tell. The funeral was attended by the whole
ship’s company, about eleven hundred men, who followed the coffin to the grave
in Portland cemetery. Bill Heming was put under arrest at once and confined in
the ship’s “brig” to await a general court martial. His trial and
conviction followed in due course, and the verdict read that “owing to
extenuating circumstances” he was sentenced to only five years in the convict
settlement at Portland Bill. |
