Chapter VIII A Breezy Ship, a Breezy Captain, and a Breezy Crew
A sailor is quite within his rights in boasting about his ship. So is an author. Well I modestly advance that I have some little claim to be called sailor and author both. You must forgive me, then, if I do brag a little about my ship—the Breezy, and presently I will tell you how she came to be known by that name. Even a landsman would naturally conclude that a craft with such a name must be an airy and brisk little bit of steel. A naval officer might possibly think twice before coming to any such conclusion, for I myself have known tubs of things with pretty high-sounding “tallies,” built let us say for coast defence, that went snorting and snoring round our shores, with the water gurgling up their “nostrils,” as a boy once called the hawse-holes, and out of which no commander ever yet succeeded in knocking eight knots an hour.
But on the other hand our British Navy ships are generally well-named. The small craft have wicked wee names, and many are called after insects and birds. In my own earlier days in the service there was a Wasp, and she was a wasp too, and made it hot many and many a time for gentlemen Arab slave dhows.
Well, there is a Hornet to-day, a 240-ton torpedo destroyer. And a twin-screw gunboat yclept the Kite. A bigger one is the Landrail, and of course there is a Locust and a Lively and a Lizard. You get to something higher when you find the Orion, higher and heavier is the Hawke. But such names as the Implacable 15,000 tons, the Irresistible, the Majestic, or Bulwark thrill you to the marrow if it be a soul you have at all and not a gizzard.
I love that name Bulwark. It is grand. It is ringing, and brings to your memory the most splendid sea poem that has ever been written,
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep.
Her march is o’er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
Well, Britannia has one Bulwark, and woe betide the first enemy’s ship she talks to in anger.
But about the Breezy. You won’t find her in the present Navy List because you are supposed to be reading a story of 1907. Yet, for all that, I have to use the past sense.
Well, Jack the ordinary seaman, or Able seaman, I mean—doesn’t like a long name. So when this war-vessel was nearly all ready to slip off into the water a name had to be sought for her, and somebody suggested Briareus.
“Sounds well,” said the Admiral, father of the little tottie who was going to baptize her, touch a button and let her go free.
“Sounds well,” he said, “but what was Briareus?”
“Oh,” was the answer, “he was a terrible Greek giant of bygone times, who wandered over the mountains and by the sad sea shore and was possessed of one hundred arms, and fifty heads.”
“My word,” said the Admiral, “he must have been a bruiser!”
“Well, Admiral, if he had fifty heads the probability is that he had nearly a hundred eyes, though a few of them had no doubt got knocked out, but for all that he must have been able to see well. And this ship is built for special surveying service, do you understand, sir.
“Capital! Briareus? A hundred eyes. First rate!”
There was only one hitch, and, not for the life of her could little Marie remember the word, though she lay awake half the night saying it over and over to herself.
She thought she had it at last, yet when the time came and just at the last moment, as one of the smartest sailors was holding her up in his arms to enable her to push the button, she forgot it again.
“Oh, what is it dear sailor,” she whispered.
And Jack whispered too. “Call her the Breezy, my love, and be blowed to her.”
And to the astonishment of everyone near by, Marie lisped out these very words: “The Breezy and be blowed to her.”
Now when the Breezy left Plymouth Sound she was starting on her very first cruise—newly commissioned.
She had new guns, six of them; none very large but all fearful spitfires. She was steel—steel all over, but this same steel whether in masts, or tops, or decks, or plates, was a new invention, and to all intents and purposes impenetrable. There was no wood about her that was inflammable, and the officers’ cabins were lined with a species of newly invented papier-maché, which by itself could resist rifle bullets. But above all, the marines or bluejackets who might be wanted to fight in exposed positions had light shields and breast-plates of this same marvellous material.
The Breezy was going surveying, but she had moreover special diving machines, of which more anon.
I have always looked upon a ship as a living, sensitive thing, and it seems right to call her “she,” especially if she is sprightly and beautiful and obeys her helm well (I was very nearly saying “obeys her husband”).
I am sure of one thing; that when on that bright and sunny morning the Breezy went clipping through the water and heading for the waves, she knew she was the cynosure of all eyes and every opera glass on the Hoe. She was as proud as a girl with a pink silk petticoat, as a sailor observed.
They were all young in the Breezy’s wardroom, and the Commander himself, who, as befitted his rank lived in solitary grandeur in his quarters farther aft, was considerably under thirty.
To a great extent the grey-beards, as they were somewhat irreverently called, were cleared out of the Service as far as smaller ships on foreign stations were concerned. That is they had been placed on the retired list.
It was found that old men, though possessed of more experience, more grey matter on the brain, were hardly active enough in their lower extremities. They had the courage right enough, but they were somewhat deficient in dash and go.
In the wardroom there lived and moved and ate their beef, two lieutenants, a marine officer usually called our “soldier,” the engineer lieutenant, the assistant pay-master in charge, and last, but certainly not least, for he stood six feet one inch in his home made hose—the Surgeon.
When I tell you that the Captain—a Commander he really was in rank—was one of the jolliest round-faced and boyish-looking officers in the service, you will understand how pleasant it was to sail with him.
But his name was, or rather had been, Brazier before he took over the Breezy.
“Don’t much like that name,” said Jack Jewell, a sturdy built A.B. “Do you, Tom?”
Tom Davis said, “No, I don’t either.”
“Let’s boil him down, Tom.”
“Boil away, Jack.”
So Captain Brazier was allowed to simmer a while in the brains of Jack Jewell, and lo! he came to the top of the pot as Captain Breezy. The name worked gradually aft. The boatswain got hold of it, the gunners also, then the officers and skipper himself.
The Captain didn’t mind it a bit.
Captain Breezy of H.M.S. Breezy sounded smart. From bowsprit, then, to binnacle the Breezy really was a smart ship.
Surgeon McTavish, M.D., of the great Northern University of Aberdeen, had been the very last officer to join the ship. He came soon after Kep had left on the day of his visit.
Everyone had been wondering what manner of man the surgeon would turn out to be, and small innocent bets were made on the subject.
Mr. Sneyd, the assistant-paymaster, who was small himself, and wore a little nut-cracker of a face that would have done for a door-knocker, betted he was a short chap and red-haired, and couldn’t speak intelligible English.
The marine officer said he was blue-faced and bulbous-nosed.
The engineer lieutenant thought that he could not know much, coming from so heathenish a country as Scotland.
“I don’t bet,” said Bertram Wynn, the first lieutenant, “but let me tell you, gentlemen, that proportionately more clever and scientific men come from the Scottish Universities than from any three English ones put together.”
Well, at all events it was evident that his would-be messmates did not expect a very great deal out of the doctor. He would be disappointing.
His traps came on board hours before he himself did.
Little Mr. Sneyd came down below with very big eyes in his head.
“By gum!” he cried. “I’ve seen the doctor’s traps and I’ve lost my little bet. Run in to his cabin, Sodjer, and see them.”
The marine officer, who was still very young and therefore obedient, disappeared.
“Well, Sodjer?”
“I’m puzzled. Guess I’ll lose my bet. Here are some of his things that I saw his servant putting away.
“Item:—Two Highland broadswords.
“Item:—A full kilt Highland dress, including dirks and sporrans, brogues and a bonnet and crest, and skean dhu mounted in cairngorm. (The kilt is presumedly a clan McTavish tartan one.)
“Item:—A set of great Highland bagpipes.”
“Oh, Lord!” cried Guilford the second lieutenant, putting his fingers mechanically to his ears, “go on, Sodjer.”
“Item:—A pair of dumb-bells, the fellows you’ve got to put up you know—80 lbs. each. And,” added Sodjer, “my bet’s lost, for no man with a bulbous nose could put up things like that.”
“Heave round, Sodjer. Anything more?”
“Item:—About fifty volumes of scientific books including the British Encyclopædia.”
“My bet’s lost!” This from the engineer while the first lieutenant smiled.
“Item:—A ram’s head snuff box. Twisted horns, tips mounted with silver and cairngorm.
“Item:—A big Bible. It is very likely—
“‘The big ha’ Bible ance his father’s pride.’”
Well, when the surgeon himself did appear, he certainly commanded respect. He was handsome as well as well-built. Indeed among the others he appeared a perfect Hercules as he undoubtedly was an athlete.
Englishmen cannot help admiring an athlete no matter what his nation may be. Then his uniform fitted him well. He appeared to have been melted and poured into it, while little Sneyd’s seemed to have been put on with the aid of a hay fork.
The surgeon’s smile was a winning one, and there was a quintessence of kindliness lying half asleep in his dark-blue eyes that was very pleasant to behold.
He saluted the first lieutenant most respectfully, and the two men shook hands.
“Glad you’ve come at last, Surgeon McTavish We shall be friends. You are, I hear, a man of scientific attainments, and I dabble in science myself a little.”
In the mess that evening Sneyd had said—
“Look here McTavish, I owe you an apology. I thought no good thing could come out of Nazareth—I mean Aberdeen, but now I cave in.”
“Well spoken! Bravo, Sneyd,” cried the others. Indeed there was a murmur of approbation all round the table. Sneyd was manly and truly English despite his queer little face.
But McTavish stood up. There was moisture in his eyes. But he stretched out across the table an arm half a fathom long and shook little Sneyd by the hand.
Sneyd suppressed a cry of pain, and there came moisture into his eyes next, though its origin was not quite the same.
The Breezy was to be something more than a mere surveying ship and that is the reason why her officers were one and all chosen from the best young fellows in the Service.
For Britain even now was—well apparently drifting gradually into war, and though the Admiralty believed it would be averted, a good deal of what might be called naval police work would devolve upon the Breezy. She had to be watchful and her duty would not consist entirely in sounding and chart-making.
The surgeon’s cabin was not very large, but his books were, and of scientific instruments he possessed not a few. However there was the dispensary at his disposal and Lieut. Wynn also offered him space for books in his own cabin. So McTavish was soon very happy and quite settled down.
It was a merry mess, although very little wine was consumed except when guests came off, as they did at Madeira, St. Helena, Ascension and the Cape.
The middies’ mess was just as jolly, and had five right hearty young lads in it, ready at any time to do anything for anybody or for their country.
In this year of 1907 pass exams for the Service were stricter than ever. There was a splendid staff of men at headquarters, and they would only have the crême de la crême.
Well, although nobody except the captain and first lieutenant were supposed to know what the Breezy’s special instructions were, her duties were soon an open secret.
German ships of war were careering about and along both the west and east coasts of Africa. They wanted looking after. Then marvellous to say the Sultan of Zanzibar had somehow become very wealthy—diamond mines—and had built himself a really smart navy. But his ships were sentinels to the British Government for all that. It was deemed good and wise for Britain to have a scout fleet like this within jumping distance of India and the Red Sea.
The Admiralty had learned experience since 1904 and were making use of it.
They were, as every great nation should be, on the outlook for future eventualities. So, long before they reached the Cape everyone on board the Breezy had quite settled down into his place, and all the officers felt at home. Moreover they all knew each other thoroughly by this time, and knew each other’s points of character also, whether hard or soft.
It is a good thing on board a ship during a long commission for officers to be like brothers. They are together in sunshine and in storm, in peace and in danger. Moreover, they ought to respect even each other’s foibles.
With so kind a captain and one so interested in the welfare of those under his command the Breezy promised from the very first to be a little community afloat, all willing to please and be pleased, and to adhere strictly in discipline and etiquette to the rules and regulations of the King’s Navy.
As they were all young they naturally wanted to, and were determined to, see everything there was to be seen at every port.
They were treated well wherever they went, and if they stayed but a week at a place there was some social function or another every day, and sometimes twice. Dances and dinners, picnics, cricket-matches, or football-matches, fishing parties, shooting parties, or anything the Breezies, as they came to be called, were always in it.
Sometimes, too, they gave a dinner and a dance on board, and this was a real merry evening for all concerned.
Sailors, let me tell you reader, are far more hearty and as a rule better liked at ball or party than soldiers.
Sailors come and sailors go, but soldiers keep on for ever. The poor you have always with you. It is hardly fair of me to speak so perhaps, and I hope to be forgiven.
Well, the Breezy steamed up the East Coast of Africa and began work in earnest. They visited the Sultan and the Sultan’s fleet and were very much struck with all they saw, and had a deal of as good fun as they could ever hope to enjoy.
About Madagascar and the Mauritius they did much surveying work, and after several months they were ordered to Australia.
By this time the Surgeon and Lieutenant Wynn had become almost indispensable to each other. Both were scientists. Indeed the lieutenant was studying hard for his D.Sc. (Doctor of Science), and there is no doubt that he would attain it.
In this year of 1907 and 8 the Admiralty at home had found the utility of always putting a round peg into a round hole, and not into a square one. The days of promotion by seniority alone were gone by and every officer knew that his own merits would score more than influence with big wigs at home. Good officers can only be had through a process of evolution. You cannot make them to order.
And it was just the same with the men forward. A smart boy who honoured discipline was certain of soon having stripes upon his sleeve that brought him respect, even when he went on a spell of leave back to the humble country village where his mother and father lived, and that necessity of life to a handsome young sailor—his little girl.
Talk of the Navy changing. The ships may change and do change, and will keep on changing about every ten years, but Jack himself—Oh never.
He is still the handy man, and still the British heart of oak. “No laggard in love, no dastard in war,” is your bold Jack Tar.