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

'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.

'Snotties' over eighteen were allowed to expend fifteen shillings a month on wine, and those under this age five shillings less; but nobody under twenty was permitted to touch spirits. The mess fund – for newspapers, breakages, washing, and other small incidental expenses – came to a nominal five shillings a month, but generally exceeded it; servant's wages were ten shillings; personal washing, say, ten shillings; and tobacco – if the officer was over eighteen, and allowed to smoke – about seven shillings and sixpence or half-a-sovereign. The monthly balance-sheet, omitting all extravagances, therefore, worked out somewhat as follows:

This, omitting the 'extra-extra,' left a nominal credit balance of two pounds eight shillings and fourpence wherewith to last out the month. Only one or two of the 'snotties' received anything extra in the way of allowances from their people, though their outfitters' bills for all necessaries in the way of clothing were usually met by their parents. But even this did not improve matters to any great extent, and not one of the young officers was ever known to have much in the way of money unless parents or relations behaved handsomely on birthdays or at Christmas. Even then the gift dwindled rapidly, for if one of them did receive a windfall of an odd pound or two, he took care that his messmates shared his good fortune. The clothes they had, too, were in a perpetual state of being lost; and if one of them was asked out to dine in another ship, everybody contributed something towards his attire. One provided a shirt, and others handkerchief, collar, tie, and evening shoes; but in spite of it all they somehow always managed to look smart and well-dressed.

This state of chronic hardupness is hereditary in midshipmen. History relates that a youth once came home from China, and landed at Portsmouth with no soles to his boots, a hole in the crown of his straw hat – it had been eaten by cockroaches – the seat of his trousers darned by himself with sail-makers' twine, and no tails to any of his shirts. With the ready resource of the sailor, he had removed these for use as pocket-handkerchiefs.

The Royal Navy is essentially a poor man's service, and comparatively few of its officers have anything considerable in the way of means over and beyond their pay. It is sometimes difficult to keep out of debt, for they are expected to go everywhere and do everything, while uniform is expensive, and the cost of living is always increasing. It seems to be part of a midshipman's job to be poor, and one would as soon expect to find a dustman with a gold-mounted shaving-set as a 'snotty' with more than half-a-crown in his pocket on the 28th of the month.

The 'snotties' of the Belligerent were no exception to the general rule. They were quite irrepressible, and were as happy and cheerful as they could be, though sometimes they did complain bitterly that they were half-starved. On occasions, to the accompaniment of spoons beaten on the table, they chanted a mournful dirge anent the iniquities of the messman. It was long and rather ribald, but the last two lines of the chorus ran:

 
We're starving! we're starving!
And the messman's name is Mr Tubbs!
 

They weren't really so famished as they pretended to be, but Tubbs certainly was an old rogue. One celebrated morning, when the senior sub-lieutenant was absent, he peered through the pantry hatch at breakfast-time.

'Now, gennelmen,' he said, 'wot we 'ave for breakfast is 'ot sardines an' 'am. Sardines is a bit orf, the 'am is tainted, an' fruit is extra. Wot'll you 'ave?'

The ship was half-way across the Bay of Biscay at the time, and had been at sea for several days, so perhaps there was some slight excuse for the inadequacies of the morning meal. But Tubbs had tried this game before; and, headed by Roger More, the junior sub-lieutenant, the members of the mess rose en bloc and hastily armed themselves with dirks.

The messman, scenting trouble, promptly fled from the pantry with his satellites after him, while the hungry officers rushed in, broke open various cupboards, and helped themselves liberally to Tubbs's private store of tinned kippers and haddock. He complained bitterly, but got no redress.

Another time the members of the mess were sitting round the table waiting impatiently for lunch. Noon was the proper time for the meal; but at twelve-ten nothing had appeared on the table except the vegetables. The hungry officers commenced to bang on the table with eating implements, and started the inevitable dirge, and in the middle of it Tubbs's face appeared framed in the pantry hatch.

'I'm sorry, gennelmen,' he said when he could make himself heard in the uproar. 'The boy's fallen down the 'atch with the joint, an' it ain't fit be to seen. I've some werry nice corned beef' —

A chorus of groans drowned his utterance. 'Let's see the joint,' some one demanded.

'It's bin thrown overboard, sir,' the messman explained glibly, disappearing from view.

Several of the junior midshipmen and the assistant-clerk were despatched to visit the scene of the alleged accident, and to report on what traces they found. There were none. There never had been any joint.

'Tubbs!' they yelled in unison when the spies came back.

The messman's head appeared, and the minute it bobbed up into sight it was greeted with a volley of vegetables. On the whole the shooting was good, and Tubbs made an excellent Aunt Sally. Potatoes baked in their jackets spattered and burst all round the pantry hatch like a rafale of shrapnel-shell, while some, passing through, exploded on impact with the messman's head. The pièce de résistance was a cauliflower. It struck the ledge and detonated like a high-explosive projectile, and the messman received its disintegrated stickiness full in the face. He slammed the hatch up with a bang, and rushed into the mess with his face, beard, and hair dripping with vegetable products; while the culprits, wildly excited, shrieked with laughter. The bombardment would have continued, but the available ammunition was expended.

Tubbs was furious. 'I'll 'ave the law on yer!' he shouted wildly, waving his fists. 'I'll report yer to the commander, and 'ave yer court-martialled, see if I don't! It's disgraceful, that's wot it is, an' wot the navy's comin' to I don't know! Calls yerselves gennelmen, do yer?'

He went on for quite a long time; but nothing further ever came of it. He knew well enough that he had brought it on himself, and thereafter he became rather more particular over the matter of providing meals.

It must not be imagined that the inhabitants of the Belligerent's gunroom always behaved like this. On the contrary, they were an unusually well-conducted mess, and they broke out only when they were really exasperated, and their feelings got the better of them.

The sub, assisted by the senior 'snotties,' had drilled the Crabs into a high state of discipline and efficiency. He believed in using the terror of the stick as a deterrent rather than in employing the weapon itself, and as a consequence the junior midshipmen were never beaten really hard unless they misbehaved themselves. But as Cook himself once remarked, 'You can bet your bottom dollar that for every sin they've been bowled out committing, there are fully fifty more that we haven't discovered;' and there was some truth in the remark.

One of the methods of smartening up the Crabs was an evolution known as 'fork in the beam.' This was a time-honoured custom which must have started in the days of wooden sailing-ships, since it is hardly possible to stick an ordinary table-fork into the steel beams of a modern vessel. It generally took place during dinner, when the younger members of the mess had been making too much noise.

The sub, standing up at his place at the end of the table, would insinuate a fork into the electric wires overhead, and at this signal all the junior midshipmen and the assistant-clerk had to leave the mess, scamper twice round the boat-deck, and return in the shortest possible time. In the old-time evolution itself the 'snotties' used to run up the rigging and over the masthead, but Cook substituted the race round the boat-deck as being less dangerous. The last officer back had to repeat the performance; and, as the loser generally found that somebody had drunk his beer during his absence, there was always great competition to be away first. It usually started by a seething mass of seven Crabs being stuck in the doorway. After much struggling and pushing, they would eventually fall through into the flat amidst shrill yelps from the young gentlemen who happened to be underneath, and remarks of 'Get off my face!' 'Ow! let go my leg, you beast!' Then, sorting themselves out one by one, they would dart off, to return a few minutes later flushed and breathless after their exercise.

They were also organised as what were known as the 'dogs of war,' with the idea, as the sub explained, of instilling them with martial ardour and making them fierce. On the order, 'Dogs of war out – so and so!' they were expected to growl viciously, hurl themselves upon the person named, and cast him forth from the mess. Sometimes the assistant-clerk was the victim, sometimes one of the 'snotties' themselves; but, to make things really exciting, the 'dogs' were occasionally divided into two sides, Red and Blue, and each party endeavoured to expel the other. It always meant a frantic struggle, for the victim or victims resisted violently. They were none too gentle either, for clothes were torn, shirts and collars were destroyed, and bruises were by no means infrequent. Sometimes people's noses bled, and the fight waxed really furious; but cases of lost temper were comparatively rare, and the 'dogs' usually enjoyed the fun as much as any one else. Their parents, had they been present during the strife, might not have been quite so amused. They paid for the clothes.

The star turn, however, was the Crabs' corps de ballet, and it occasionally disported itself on guest nights for the amusement and edification of any strangers who happened to be present. Trevelyan, the senior midshipman, was the stage manager, and what the ballet lost through lack of histrionic power on the part of the performers it more than made up for by its originality. Their attire was sketchy, to say the least of it. It consisted mainly of bath-towels, sea-boots, and straw hats; and the songs and dances, to the strains of the elderly, asthmatic piano, and bagpipes played by a Scots midshipman, MacDonald, usually brought down the house. If by any chance the performance fell at all flat through a lack of energy on the part of the performers, they were promptly converted into 'dogs of war,' with the inevitable result. So, taking it all round, the occupants of 'the 'Orrible Den' managed to amuse themselves.

But because they sometimes became riotous and irresponsible in the gunroom, it must not be imagined that the younger officers were not learning their trade. Far from it; they worked really very hard, on deck, in the engine-room, and in pursuit of the wily and elusive x. Their day started at six-fifteen, and between six-forty and seven o'clock they were either away boat-pulling or at physical drill or rifle exercise. After this came baths, and from seven-forty-five till eight instruction in signals. Breakfast was at eight; and from nine till eleven-forty-five, and again in the afternoon from one-fifteen to three-fifteen, they were at instruction in seamanship, gunnery, torpedo, navigation, or engineering. Voluntary instruction in theoretical subjects took place for one and a half hours on three evenings of the week, and those more backward youths who did not volunteer were compelled to attend. Two nights a week, from eight-thirty till nine, there were signal exercises with the Morse lamp, and these had to be attended by all the midshipmen until they attained a certain standard of proficiency.

In addition to this, they had their regular watches to keep – day and night at sea, and from eight-thirty A.M. till eight P.M. in harbour; while no boat ever left the ship under steam or sail without a 'snotty' in charge. Their days, therefore, were pretty busy.

They generally managed to get ashore between three-thirty and seven P.M. about two days out of every four, and on Saturdays and Sundays from one-thirty; but no late leave was granted save in very exceptional circumstances. They amused themselves with hockey and football in the winter, and golf, tennis, and cricket in the summer; and at places where games could not be played, solaced their feelings by borrowing one of the ship's boats on Sunday afternoons, stocking her with great hampers containing provender of all kinds, and then sailing off for a picnic. There is an irresistible fascination in cooking sausages and boiling a kettle over a home-made fire on some unfrequented island or beach which appeals to the most sober-minded of us.

Your modern midshipmen are no longer the rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little cherubs of fiction. Many of them are over six feet, some of them shave, and nobody but their aunts and female cousins refer to them as 'middies.' To call them by that diminutive term to their faces would make them squirm. They refer to themselves as 'snotties,' and 'snotties' they will remain till the end of the chapter. The name, rather inelegant perhaps, owes its origin to the three buttons on the cuffs of their full-dress short jackets, which ribald people used to say were first placed there to prevent their sleeves being put to the use generally delegated to pocket-handkerchiefs. Any schoolboy will tell you what a 'snot rag' is; but I have never yet heard of a modern midshipman being without this rather important article of dress.

'Snotties' are a strange mixture. They possess all the love of fun and excitement of schoolboys, but once on duty are very much officers. They have to undertake responsibility very young, and at an age when their shore-going brothers are still at public schools their careers in the service have started.

Seamanship is not an exact science; it is an art. It comprises, amongst other things, experience, sound judgment, good nerve, a vast deal of common-sense, and a happy knack of knowing when risks are justifiable and when they are not. It is a subject which cannot be taught by rule of thumb after the first groundwork of elementary knowledge has been assimilated, and circumstances alter cases so greatly that no preceptor on this earth could lay down hard-and-fast rules for each of the thousand-and-fifty contingencies which may arise at sea, and which may one day have to be guarded against or overcome. The sea, moreover, is a fickle mistress. The navy is always on active service, in peace or in war, for its men and its ships are for ever pitting their skill and strength against the might of the most merciless of enemies – the elements. From the very moment that midshipmen join their first ship they are expected to take part in the great game, and sometimes it is a game of life and death. They start off by being placed in charge of boats in all weathers. They may be steamboats, or boats under sail; but whichever they are, the 'snotties' are learning their trade. If they do something foolish they may cause great damage to valuable property, may even be the means of men losing their lives; but they generally succeed in getting out of scrapes and difficulties with some credit to themselves.

The strenuous training and habit of early responsibility may convert them into men before their time; but they still manage to retain their boyish instincts, and when they are off duty these generally appear uppermost. At times they are noisy, riotous, and altogether irrepressible; but when it comes to work they are very much all there.