Mr. Midshipman Easy. Фредерик Марриет
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was very much at variance with equality, Captain Wilson was not a little puzzled. However, he first pointed out that the first-lieutenant was, at the time being, the captain, as he was the senior officer on board, as would Jack himself be if he were the senior officer on board; and that, as he before observed, the captain or senior officer represented the country. That in the articles of war, everybody who absented himself from the ship, committed an error, or breach of those articles; and if any error or breach of those articles was committed by any one belonging to the ship, if the senior officer did not take notice of it, he then himself committed a breach of those articles, and was liable himself to be punished, if he could not prove that he had noticed it; it was therefore to save himself that he was obliged to point out the error; and if he did it in strong language, it only proved his zeal for his country.
“Upon my honour, then,” replied Jack, “there can be no doubt of his zeal; for if the whole country had been at stake, he could not have put himself in a greater passion.”
“Then he did his duty; but depend upon it it was not a pleasant one to him: and I’ll answer for it, when you meet him on board, he will be as friendly with you as if nothing had happened.”
“He told me that he’d soon make me know what a first-lieutenant was: what did he mean by that?” inquired Jack.
“All zeal.”
“Yes, but he said, that as soon as he got on board, he’d show me the difference between a first-lieutenant and a midshipman.”
“All zeal.”
“He said my ignorance should be a little enlightened by-and-by.”
“All zeal.”
“And that he’d send a sergeant and marines to fetch me.”
“All zeal.”
“That he would put my philosophy to the proof.”
“All zeal, Mr. Easy. Zeal will break out in this way; but we should do nothing in the service without it. Recollect that I hope and trust one day to see you also a zealous officer.”
Here Jack cogitated considerably, and gave no answer.
“You will, I am sure,” continued Captain Wilson, “find Mr. Sawbridge one of your best friends.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Jack: “but I did not much admire our first acquaintance.”
“It will perhaps be your unpleasant duty to find as much fault yourself; we are all equally bound to do our duty to our country. But, Mr. Easy, I sent for you to say that we shall sail to-morrow: and, as I shall send my things off this afternoon by the launch, you had better send yours off also. At eight o’clock I shall go on board, and we can both go in the same boat.”
To this Jack made no sort of objection, and having paid his bill at the Fountain, he sent his chest down to the boat by some of the crew who came up for it, and attended the summons of the captain to embark. By nine o’clock that evening, Mr. Jack Easy was safe on board his Majesty’s sloop Harpy.
When Jack arrived on board, it was dark, and he did not know what to do with himself. The captain was received by the officers on deck, who took off their hats to salute him. The captain returned the salute, and so did Jack very politely, after which the captain entered into conversation with the first-lieutenant, and for a while Jack was left to himself. It was too dark to distinguish faces, and to one who had never been on board of a ship, too dark to move, so Jack stood where he was, which was not far from the main bitts; but he did not stay long; the boat had been hooked on to the quarter davits, and the boatswain had called out:
“Set taut, my lads!”
And then with the shrill whistle, and “Away with her!” forward came galloping and bounding along the men with the tackles; and in the dark Jack was upset, and half a dozen marines fell upon him; the men, who had no idea that an officer was floored among the others, were pleased at the joke, and continued to dance over those who were down, until they rolled themselves out of the way. Jack, who did not understand this, fared badly, and it was not till the calls piped belay, that he could recover his legs, after having been trampled upon by half the starboard watch, and the breath completely jammed out of his body. Jack reeled to a carronade slide, when the officers, who had been laughing at the lark as well as the men, perceived his situation—among others, Mr. Sawbridge, the first-lieutenant.
“Are you hurt, Mr. Easy?” said he kindly.
“A little,” replied Jack, catching his breath.
“You’ve had but a rough welcome,” replied the first-lieutenant, “but at certain times, on board ship, it is every man for himself, and God for us all. Harpur,” continued the first-lieutenant to the doctor, “take Mr. Easy down in the gun-room with you, and I will be down myself as soon as I can. Where is Mr. Jolliffe?”
“Here, sir,” replied Mr. Jolliffe, a master’s mate, coming aft from the booms.
“There is a youngster come on board with the captain. Order one of the quartermasters to get a hammock slung.”
In the meantime Jack went down into the gun-room, where a glass of wine somewhat recovered him. He did not stay there long, nor did he venture to talk much. As soon as his hammock was ready, Jack was glad to go to bed—and as he was much bruised he was not disturbed the next morning till past nine o’clock. He then dressed himself, went on deck, found that the sloop was just clear of the Needles, that he felt very queer, then very sick, and was conducted by a marine down below, put into his hammock, where he remained during a gale of wind of three days, bewildered, confused, puzzled, and every minute knocking his head against the beams with the pitching and tossing of the sloop.
“And this is going to sea,” thought Jack; “no wonder that no one interferes with another here, or talks about a trespass; for I’m sure any one is welcome to my share of the ocean; and if I once get on shore again, the devil may have my portion if he chooses.”
Captain Wilson and Mr. Sawbridge had both allowed Jack more leisure than most midshipmen, during his illness. By the time that the gale was over, the sloop was off Cape Finisterre. The next morning the sea was nearly down, and there was but a slight breeze on the waters. The comparative quiet of the night before had very much recovered our hero, and when the hammocks were piped up, he was accosted by Mr. Jolliffe, the master’s mate, who asked, “whether he intended to rouse and bit, or whether he intended to sail to Gibraltar between his blankets.”
Jack, who felt himself quite another person, turned out of his hammock and dressed himself. A marine had, by the captain’s orders, attended Jack during his illness, and this man came to his assistance, opened his chest, and brought him all that he required, or Jack would have been in a sad dilemma.
Jack then inquired where he was to go, for he had not yet been in the midshipmen’s berth, although five days on board. The marine pointed it out to him, and Jack, who felt excessively hungry, crawled over and between chests, until he found himself fairly in a hole infinitely inferior to the dog-kennels which received his father’s pointers.
“I’d not only give up the ocean,” thought Jack, “and my share of it, but also my share of the Harpy, unto any one who fancies it. Equality enough here! for every one appears equally miserably off.”
As he thus gave vent to his thoughts, he perceived that there was another person in the berth—Mr. Jolliffe, the master’s mate, who had fixed his eye upon Jack, and to whom Jack returned the compliment. The first thing that Jack observed was, that Mr. Jolliffe was very deeply pockmarked, and that he had but one eye, and that was a piercer; it appeared like a little ball of fire, and as if it reflected more light from the solitary candle than the candle gave.
“I don’t like your looks,” thought Jack—“we shall never be friends.”
But here Jack fell into the common error of judging by appearances, as will be proved hereafter.
“I’m glad to see you up again, youngster,”