Mr. Midshipman Easy by Frederick Marryat (reading tree .TXT) 📖

In which our hero becomes excessively unwell, and agrees to go through a course of medicine.

THE HAMMOCKS were not piped down that night: some were taken indiscriminately for the wounded, but the rest remained in the nettings, for all hands were busy preparing jury masts and jury rigging, and Mr Pottyfar was so well employed that for twelve hours his hands were not in his pockets. It was indeed a dreadful night: the waves were mountains high, and chased the frigate in their fury, cresting, breaking, and roaring at her taffrail. But she flew before them with the wings of the wind; four men at the helm, assisted by others at the relieving tackles below. Jack, having been thanked on and washed off the quarter-deck, thought that he had done quite enough: he was as deep as he could swim before he had satisfied all the scruples of the Chaplin and, stowing himself away on one of the lockers of the midshipmen’s berth, was soon fast asleep, notwithstanding that the frigate rolled gunwale under. Gascoigne had done much better; he had taken down a hammock, as he said, for a poor wounded man, hung it up and turned in himself. The consequence was, that the next morning the surgeon, who saw him lying in the hammock, had put him down in the report, but as Gascoigne had got up as well as ever, he laughed and scratched his name out of the list of wounded.

Before morning the ship had been pumped out dry, and all below made as secure and safe as circumstances would permit; but the gale still continued its violence, and there was anything but comfort onboard,

“I say, Martin, you ought to be thrown overboard!” said Gascoigne; “all this comes from your croaking-you’re a Mother Cary’s chicken.”

“I wish I had been anyone’s chicken,” replied Martin; “but the devil a thing to nestle under have I had since I can well remember.”

“What a bore to have no galley-fire lighted,” said one of the Youngsters; “no tea, and not allowed any grog.”

“The gale will last three days,” replied Martin, “and by that time we shall not be far from the Admiral; it won’t blow home there.”

“Well, then, we shall be ordered in directly, and I shall go on shore tomorrow,” replied Easy.

“Yes, if you’re ill,” replied Gascoigne.

“Never fear, I shall be sick enough. We shall be there at least six weeks, and then we’ll forget all this.”

“Yes,” replied Martin, “we may forget it, but will the poor fellows whose limbs are shrivelled forget it? and will poor Miles, the boatswain, who is blind forever?”

“Very true, Martin; we are thinking about ourselves, not thankful for our escape, and not feeling for others,” replied Gascoigne.

“Give us your hand, Ned,” said Jack Easy. “And, Martin, we ought to thank you for telling us the truth-we are a selfish set of fellows.”

“Still we took our share with the others,” replied one of the midshipman.

“That’s more reason for us to be grateful and to-pity them,” replied Jack; “suppose you had lost your arm or your eyesight-we Would have pitied you; so now pity others.”

“Well, so I do, now I think of it.”

“Think oftener, youngster,” observed Martin, going on deck.

What a change from the morning of the day before; but twenty-four hours had passed away, and the sea had been smooth; the frigate dashed through the blue water, proud in all her canvas, graceful as a swan. Since that there had been fire, tempest, lightning, disaster, danger, and death; her masts were tossed about on the snowy waves, hundreds of miles away from her, and she-a wreck-was rolling heavily, groaning and complaining in every timber, as she urged her impetuous race with the furious running sea.

How wrong are those on shore who assert that sailors are not religious!-how is it possible, supposing them to be possessed of feeling, to be otherwise? On shore, where you have nothing but the change of seasons, each in its own peculiar beauty-nothing but the blessings of the earth, its fruits, its flowers-nothing but the bounty, the comforts, the luxuries which have been invented, where you can rise in the morning in peace, and lay down your head at night in security-God may be neglected and forgotten for a long time; but at sea, when each gale is a warning, each disaster acts as a check, each escape as a homily upon the forbearance of Providence, that man must be indeed brutalised who does not feel that God is there. On shore we seldom view Him but in all His beauty and kindness; but at sea we are as often reminded how terrible He is in His wrath. Can it be supposed that the occurrences of the last twenty-four hours were lost upon the minds of any one man in that ship? No, no. In their courage and activity they might appear reckless, but in their hearts they acknowledged and bowed unto their God.

Before the day was over, a jury-foremast had been got up, and sail having been put upon it, the ship was steered with greater ease and safety-the main brace had been spliced to cheer up the exhausted crew, and the hammocks were piped down.

As Gascoigne had observed, some of the men were not very much pleased to find that they were minus their blankets, but Captain Wilson ordered their losses to be supplied by the purser and expended by the master; this quite altered the case, as they obtained new blankets in most cases for old ones, but still it was impossible to light the galley fire, and the men sat on their chests and nibbled biscuit. By twelve o’clock that night the gale broke, and more sail was necessarily put on the scudding vessels for the sea still ran fast and mountains high. At daylight the sun burst out and shone brightly on them, the sea went gradually down, the fire was lighted, and Mr Pottyfar, whose hands were again in his pockets, at twelve o’clock gave the welcome order to pipe to dinner. As soon as the men had eaten their dinner, the frigate was once more brought to the wind, her jury-mast forward improved upon, and more sail made upon it. The next morning there was nothing of the gale left except the dire effects which it had produced, the black and riven stump of the foremast still holding up a terrific warning of the power and fury of the elements.

Three days more, and the Aurora joined the Toulon fleet. When she was first seen it was imagined by those on board of the other ships that she had been in action, but they soon learnt that the conflict had been against more direful weapons than any yet invented by mortal hands. Captain Wilson waited upon the Admiral, and of course received immediate orders to repair to port and refit. In a few hours the Aurora had shaped her course for Malta, and by sunset the Toulon fleet were no longer in sight.

“By de holy poker, Massa Easy, but that terrible sort of gale the other day anyhow-I tink one time, we all go to Davy Joney’s lacker.”

“Very true, Mesty; I hope never to meet with such another.”

“Den, Massa Easy, why you go to sea? when man ab no money, noting to eat, den he go to sea, but everybody say you ab plenty money why you come to sea?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Jack, thoughtfully; ‘I came to sea on account of equality and the rights of man.”

“Eh, Massa Easy, you come to wrong place anyhow. now I tink a good deal lately, and by all de power, I tink equality all stuff.”

“All stuff, Mesty, why? You used to think otherwise.”

“Yes, Massa Easy, but den I boil de kettle for all young gentleman. Now dat I ship’s corporal and hab cane, I tink so no longer.”

Jack made no reply, but he thought the more. The reader must have perceived that Jack’s notions of equality were rapidly disappearing; he defended them more from habit, and perhaps a wilfulness which would not allow him to acknowledge himself wrong;-to which may be added his love of argument. Already he had accustomed himself to obedience of his superiors, and, notwithstanding his arguments, he would admit of no resistance from those below him; not that it was hardly ever attempted, for Jack was anything but a tyrant and was much beloved by all in the ship. Every day brought its lesson, and Captain Wilson was now satisfied that Jack had been almost cured of the effects of his father’s ridiculous philosophy.

After a few minutes, Mesty tapped his cane on the funnel and recommenced.

“Then why you stay at sea, Massa Easy?”

“I don’t know, Mesty, I don’t dislike it.”

“But, Massa Easy, why you stay in midshipman berth. eat hard biscuit, salt pig, salt horse, when you can go shore and live like gentleman? Dat very foolish! Why not be your own master? By all power! suppose I had money, catch me board ship. Little sea very good, Massa Easy, open one’s eyes; but tink of the lightning t’other night. Poor massa boatswain he shut urn eyes for ebber!”

“Very true, Mesty.”

“Me hope you fink of this, sar, and when you go on shore you take Mesty wid you. He sarve you well, Massa Easy, long as he live, by de holy St Patrick. And den, Massa Easy, you marry wife-hab pickaninny-lib like gentleman. You tink of this, Massa Easy.”

The mention of the word marriage turned the thoughts of our hero to his Agnes. and he made no reply. Mesty walked away leaving our hero in deep thought.

This conversation had more effect upon Jack than would have been imagined, and he very often found he was putting to himself the question of Mesty-“Why do you stay at sea?” He had not. entered the service with any particular view, except to find equality, and he could not but acknowledge to himself that, as Mesty observed, he had come to the wrong place. He had never even thought of staying to serve his time,