Young Tom Bowling Part 26

"Pooh!" cried the commodore incredulously. "It is probably a tattoo mark, the same as all sailors like to deface their bodies with."

"Oh no, sir," persisted Doctor Mopson. "It's a real photograph printed by the flash of lightning. I've seen too many tattoo marks in my time while examining fellows in the sick-bay not to recognise them. This is plainly done by the electric fluid--you can see it for yourself, sir!"

"Thanks," said the commodore drily, walking to the other side of the deck and putting his silk handkerchief to his face, a very unpleasant whiff from the boat, which was still alongside, coming inboard. "I'll take your word for it, doctor, as you say it is so. I wonder if those fellows really belonged to that unfortunate ship?"

"Not unlikely, sir," said Mr Osborne, thinking the commodore, who had soliloquised aloud, according to his habit, had addressed the question to him. "The vessel did not seem to have a man on board her as far as I could see. Perhaps these dead beggars here plundered her and abandoned her after murdering their captain and officers!"

"Perhaps so," agreed our chief; "but, in any case, whether they have met with their just deserts or not--and for my part I am inclined to believe the former--we must give them Christian burial. I think, Mr Osborne, you had better let their boat be their coffin."

"By far the best plan, sir," put in the doctor, on the commodore looking towards him. "The lightning has so decomposed the corpses that it would be impossible to handle them, and it would be detrimental to the health of those touching them, too."

This decided the commodore, who thereupon gave orders that some pigs of ballast should be put within the boat, and that it should be afterwards boarded over with a few rough planks.

This, Mr Chips the carpenter, with the aid of his mates, quickly accomplished; and then the boat, with its ghastly contents now happily concealed from view, was drawn up half out of the water, suspended from one of the davits, and holes bored in the bottom.

When all was ready, the 'a.s.sembly' was sounded, and we all stood bareheaded along the deck, drawn up as at 'divisions,' while the chaplain read a brief funeral service; and, on the conclusion of this, the painter that held up the boat being severed, the coffin-craft sank slowly below the surface to the fathomless abysses of one of the deepest parts of the Atlantic--for I heard the navigating officer tell Mr Osborne that soundings had been got here showing a depth of over four miles.

The funeral finished, the hands were piped down; and then, our yards being squared again, we bore away once more for the Azores, reaching Saint Michael's a few days later, in company with the rest of the squadron.

This island, like the majority of the Azores, is of volcanic origin; and, looking at it from the sea, even when near in, it is not a very picturesque object, the conical hills and extinct craters giving it a monotonous, if mountainous, aspect.

We anch.o.r.ed off Ponta Delgado, about three-quarters of a mile off sh.o.r.e, in twenty-five fathom water, and, as we stopped there a couple of days, we were allowed short leave, each watch in turn, to land and see the sights.

These, beyond the flowers, which were beautiful from the effects of the volcanic soil, did not amount to much; and as the inhabitants are all Portuguese, whom we did not tackle to much, the ladies all wearing long cloaks with cowl-like hoods, the same as monks, which prevented us from seeing their faces, I can't say we enjoyed our visit to the town as greatly as we thought we would when we put off from the ship.

We obtained one acquisition here to our company however, which pleased all hands.

This was a little black wiry monkey that originally came from the Spanish Main, I believe, being landed at Ponta Delgado by some pa.s.sing ship; and which Doctor Mopson brought on board, from "motives of humanity," as he said, having seen its Portugee owner ill-treating it, and, besides, on account of his being "long desirous of dissecting this specimen of the simian family," as I heard him tell that brute Lieutenant Robinson, who I saw enjoyed the prospect of seeing the poor little thing cut up.

The doctor, though, had only spoken in joke, he being a most good- hearted chap who would not have hurt a fly, except inadvertently, should he happen to have to treat the animal professionally; so, instead of being dissected, 'Jocko,' as he was christened, was made free of the ship, and presently became a prime favourite with all on board.

He was certainly a clever little chap, performing all sorts of tricks, and being up to all sorts of mischief.

"Begorrah," as Mick said, "he can do ivv'rythin' save spake; an' thet the artful joker won't do, faith, bekase he thinks, sure, we'll make him wurrk!"

One day on our pa.s.sage home to England, 'Jocko' got into as great disgrace as I did that time when I was 'caught in the act,' smoking, on board the _Saint Vincent_.

Master monkey, if you please, managed to get into the chaplain's cabin through the scuttle, the door being locked on purpose to prevent his intrusion.

It was on a Sat.u.r.day when this occurred, a day the Reverend Mr Tibbits devoted to composing his usual Sunday sermon, which lay on his desk neatly written out on the usual official foolscap; the worthy gentleman having just completed his task of attending to our spiritual needs on the morrow, and being then engaged in recruiting his own inner man, after his arduous labours, with lunch in the wardroom mess.

Hence, the chaplain's temporal necessity was Jocko's opportunity.

Seeing the fine field open for the exercise of his ingenious imagination, Jocko set to work as speedily as possible, to see what havoc he could make in the short time the sagacious animal knew he had at his disposal; and he seized hold in some way or other of a big quart bottle of ink which the chaplain kept for a reserve stock on top of the bookcase at the side--at least so it was thought afterwards, no one, of course, having seen him do it.

This, with an artistic idea of effect, the monkey poured liberally, not only over the sermon and other papers that lay on the table, but on the reverend gentleman's sheets as well, Jocko probably thinking a black colour would be more suitable and in keeping with the clerical garments that hung from some clothes-pegs adjacent.

Next, Mr Jocko appropriated the chaplain's Bible, and 'diligently searched the Scriptures' for some time, with great care tearing out those leaves, and there were many, containing pa.s.sages which particularly struck his fancy.

A large prayer-book, whose type or binding offended him in some way or other, he took up with his paws and very carefully dropped through the scuttle, to refresh the souls of the fishes below.

What mischief he might have done further, no one knows; for at that moment the chaplain opened the door and interrupted Jocko at his devotional exercises.

From the yell he gave out, as the wardroom steward subsequently detailed, the Reverend Mr Tibbits must have believed His Satanic Majesty was in possession of his cabin; and, on his realising the character of his visitor properly, ere he could clutch hold of Jocko, who was then chattering away in high glee and making hideous faces, his invariable habit when he expected punishment after some evil deed as now, the agile monkey, gripping a portion of the ink-sodden sermon in one paw, and the chaplain's black velvet skull-cap in the other, vanished through the open scuttle by which he had obtained admittance, proceeding up the side as nimbly as one of the foretopmen to the crosstrees aloft, where he put on the skull-cap and very possibly pondered over all that he had done.

He had reason to; for a fiat of banishment from the wardroom and its approaches was the sequel to his escapade, in addition to a severe thrashing after he was caught, which it took the watch the whole afternoon to effect, Jocko playing a fine game of 'follow my leader' up the shrouds and down the stays, from one end of the ship to the other, until, tired out at last, he surrendered and took his flogging, like a monkey if not like a man.

Exiled from aft the main-hatchway, Mr Jocko took up his quarters with the boatswain, who offered to a.s.sume charge of him when Doctor Mopson gave him up as a bad job and the other officers repudiated him; and, being now able to a.s.sociate with us forward more freely, he quickly learnt all manner of new tricks, using a gla.s.s, for instance, as well as a signalman, and another sort of gla.s.s, especially if it contained grog, as expertly as Joblins did, when he had the chance.

On our voyage home from the Azores he afforded rare fun to all of us, the men dressing him up in regular sailor rig, and the carpenter's mate carving a rifle and sword-bayonet for him out of a bit of wood that was handy.

With this, Jocko used to take his place with the starboard watch when we beat to quarters, and the men would come hurrying up on deck hastily with their weapons each to his station.

You should only have seen him sight his rifle and pretend to aim at an imaginary enemy; while at the order to 'repel boarders' he would drop down in a half-sitting posture, looking as comical as possible, holding his sword-bayonet at the charge.

On these occasions he would always range himself by the side of Mick, whom he selected in preference to all the rest of the ship's company as his chosen a.s.sociate.

The boatswain noticed this; and one day in the early part of April, as we were coming up Channel on our return from our cruise and nearing Spithead, being just abreast of the projecting headland of Dunose on the south side of the Isle of Wight, Mr Blockley comes up to Mick as he and I and Jocko were standing on the forecastle.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

I BECOME AN "ORDINARY SEAMAN."

"Tell us, Donovan," said he--"now, what would you do with that monkey, supposing I make him over to you?"

"Faith," replied Mick, not knowing whether the boatswain was trying to take a rise out of him or not, "Oi wudn't ate him, sor."

"I suppose not," said Mr Blockley, grinning, as Mick did, in sympathy.

"But would you take care of him, my lad, if I give the monkey to you?"

"An' is it whither Oi'll take care ov him ye're afther axin' me?" said my chum, taking hold of Jocko as he spoke. "Begorrah, ye jist coom to me arrums, ye little baiste, and show Misther Blockley how fond yez are ov me, ye divvle!"

Jocko, who had been standing in front of: the pair at the time on the forecastle in the position of 'present arms,' holding his little wooden rifle as correctly as the smartest drilled marine, at once dropped this on the deck, and sprang, not into Mick's arms, but on to his left shoulder, where he chattered and grimaced away, no doubt telling his chosen friend in the choicest monkey language how much he loved him.

This was proof to Mr Blockley of the affection that existed between the two; so, without further demur, he made over all right and t.i.tle he might possess in Jocko to Mick.

"But, you're sure, my lad, you'll take good care of him," he said. "I wouldn't like any harm to come to the poor little beggar. The doctor gave him to me on the understanding that he would be well looked after, and on the same conditions I trust him now to you."

"Faith, sor, ye couldn't do botther," replied Mick, caressing Jocko with much satisfaction, evidently proud to be his real owner. "Sure, an' if Oi've got to go to say ag'in an' can't look afther the baiste mesilf, it's some 'un ilse Oi'll be afther givin' him to thet'll say to him aven betther nor mesilf!"

"And who's that?" inquired the boatswain, with a laugh, noticing a flush come over Mick's face. "You know I'm interested in the monkey and have a sort of right to ask."

Mick looked 'nine ways for Sunday,' to use his own favourite expression.

"Bedad, sor," he at length replied sheepishly, "it's Jenny, sor."