CHAPTER XI.
THE COCKSWAIN OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
The Harrisburg stood in between the capes, and, in the course of the forenoon, dropped her anchor off Fortress Monroe. Jack, from his lofty perch in the mizzen-top, obtained a fine view of that celebrated fortification, of which he had heard and read so much. As he gazed upon the “sacred soil” of Virginia, now consecrated by the ashes of heroic martyrs who had fallen in defence of the glorious old flag, his thoughts reverted to his soldier-brother; for there had occurred the stirring events in which Tom Somers had been an actor.
Jack was proud of his brother, and thankful that he had done his duty bravely and faithfully in the army. He hoped he should soon have an opportunity to do something for the old flag; and, as he glanced at the ensign floating at the peak of the Harrisburg, he felt more than ever devoted to the good cause, and ready to die in defence of the cherished emblem.
There was Virginia; and Tom could not be a great way off. He longed to see him; and he could not help thinking how smart he should feel in presenting himself before his soldier-brother in the uniform of the navy. But everything was very uncertain in time of war; and a bullet might kill Tom, a splinter or a round-shot place the gloomy “D. D.”[B] against his own name on the ships books. What would his poor mother do if either of them should be killed? His eye grew dim at the thought. His father, too, if living, was probably somewhere in Virginia; and these reflections had a very strong tendency to give him a fit of the blues. He felt like crying a little,--just as though a few tears would do him good.
“What’s the matter, Jack?” demanded Bob Rushington. “You are foggy about the top-lights.”
“I was thinking of my father and my brother,” replied Jack.
“Well, aren’t it pleasant to think of, my lad?”
“I haven’t seen my father for nearly a year. I suppose he is in the hands of the rebels, if he is alive.”
“Don’t cry about it, Jack! The old gentleman will turn up all right one of these days,” added Bob in sympathizing tones.
Just then, the boatswain’s whistle piped away the crew of the captain’s gig; and Jack, who was one of them, ran down the mizzen-rigging, and was one of the first to report on the quarter-deck. In anticipation of this duty, the oarsmen of the gig had been ordered to dress in clean clothes. They were young, fine-looking, athletic men, who had been selected, on account of their personal appearance, to pull the commander of the Harrisburg wherever his duty or his inclination should lead him.
While the men were waiting for orders, Jack saw Lieutenant Bankhead point to him; and the captain seemed to be very anxious to have him carefully designated, so that he could identify him. Now, our hero, like all brave and noble-hearted young men, was as modest and bashful as a school-girl. His cheek glowed with blushes when he became conscious that he was the subject of the officer’s remarks. He wished himself at that moment on the mizzen-top-gallant yard-arm, or surrounded by the favoring darkness of the fore-hold.
The idea of being looked at and particularly noticed by so magnificent a person as Captain Mainwright, commander of the United States steamer Harrisburg, was rather too much for Jack’s susceptible nature; but I am happy to inform my sympathizing readers that he did not faint, or commit any other foolish act. It wasn’t his fault that he was a handsome young man; that he was well-formed, and had an exceedingly pleasant countenance, with bright blue eyes, through which his soul, as the novelists would say, proclaimed its own nobility. I am not quite sure it was his fault that he blushed; but, considering his youth and inexperience, he may well be pardoned for this display of feminine weakness. Jack was opposed to blushing on principle, and he felt exceedingly awkward while his cheek tingled with the warm blood that did not belong there; and, in his efforts to appear indifferent, he was on the point of committing a breach of discipline, and of sinning against the immaculate stainlessness of the quarter-deck, by whistling,--an expedient to which people on shore as well as on board ship resort to make their looks belie their actions.
If it was a sin to blush, the captain and the first-lieutenant of the Harrisburg had determined not to see it, or not to punish it on the present occasion; for they continued their remarks, without the least regard to the agony they were causing our sailor-boy. They were even cruel enough to utter some very flattering commendations upon the conduct of Jack that morning, in a tone so loud, that the whole gig’s crew couldn’t help hearing them.
“Bully for you, Jack Somers!” said the stroke-oarsman in a whisper.
“Poh!” replied Jack contemptuously; but, at the same time, his cheeks glowed with a ruddier tint, and his heart beat a more lively tattoo against his ribs.
The first and second cutter and the captain’s gig were already moored to the swinging-boom, to which the boats of a man-of-war are fastened when she lies in port. Jack wished the order would be given to pipe over the side into the gig; for he felt just as though he should sink through the deck-planks, if this scene continued much longer. But there stood the captain and Mr. Bankhead, talking about him, just as though he had been some great man. The executive officer was evidently giving his superior a history of Jack’s cruise on the life-buoy; and our hero thought he was spinning out the yarn to a very unnecessary length.
At last the story came to an end. The two great men of the ship wheeled round upon their heels, and walked aft. They paused a few moments at the taffrail, and continued the conversation in a more earnest manner. Suddenly the captain wheeled round again,--just as naval officers do who have spent years of their valuable lives in pacing the weather-side of the quarter-deck,--and walked briskly towards the boat’s crew, who were--all but Jack Somers--patiently waiting for a further expression of his mighty will and pleasure.
“Cockswain!” said Captain Mainwright sharply; for he was an officer who always spoke quick and to the point.
“He’s on the sick-list, your honor,” replied the stroke-oarsman, touching his cap.
“Sick!” exclaimed the captain with well-feigned astonishment; for everyone of the gig’s crew was perfectly well aware that the captain knew where his cockswain was at that particular moment, and also what had occasioned his sudden illness.
“He’s very bad, your honor,” added the stroke-oarsman, touching his hat again with a smile which indicated that he was presumptuous enough to understand and appreciate the joke that the majesty of the quarter-deck was engaged in perpetrating.
“What business has my cockswain to be sick?” added he, turning to the executive officer; for the captain of a man-of-war never jests with the denizens of the berth-deck.
“Mutiny!” replied Mr. Bankhead, with a smile.
“What’s his name?” asked the captain, who could not be expected to know the cognomen of so humble an individual as the cockswain of his own gig, especially as the ship had been in commission less than a fortnight.
“Becket,” replied the first-lieutenant, who might possibly have consulted the station-bill within half an hour. At any rate, his information was sufficiently accurate to enable him to answer the question without any embarrassing hesitation.
“That’s the man that fell overboard, and was saved by Somers!” added Captain Mainwright with apparent astonishment; but it is more than probable that he was not half so much astonished as he appeared to be.
“The same, sir.”
“He had no business to fall overboard, and I shall disrate him for doing so.”
Mr. Bankhead bowed with becoming reverence to the fiat of his superior.
“I want a new cockswain,” continued the captain.
“Bully for you, Jack Somers!” said the stroke-oarsman in an awful whisper.
“Somers!” said the captain in a tone which seemed to be fearfully majestic to our blushing, trembling sailor-boy.
Jack stepped forward, and touched his cap, as much awed as though he had stood in the sublime presence of the Autocrat of all the Russias.
“Somers, I am told you did a foolish thing this morning.”
Jack touched his cap again, as deferentially as before; and the captain’s view of the act, at least as he expressed it in his remark, was really a relief to him; for he was one of that sort, who, if it were not for the name of the thing, had rather be blamed than praised.
“Never jump overboard after a man again, if he is the best friend you have in the world,” added the captain, in a tone so decided, that the gig’s crew began to pity poor Jack, and to think that the captain was using him very harshly after he had behaved so handsomely.
It is true, Tom Longstone and Ben Blinks had told him the same thing; and their advice must certainly have been good, since it was enforced by such high authority as the captain. Jack touched his cap before the admonition of his commander, and really began to think that he had done a mean thing, instead of a noble and magnanimous deed.
“Never do it again, Somers,” continued the captain. “We can’t afford to lose a man like you, especially for such a fellow as Beckett. Henceforth you will be rated as cockswain of my gig. Pipe away your crew, Somers!”
Jack would not have been more astonished if the Minnesota, which lay at anchor near the Harrisburg, had poured a broadside into the ship, than he was to find himself so suddenly and unexpectedly promoted to the elegant and dignified office of cockswain of the captain’s gig. He was amazed, confounded, bewildered, at the magnificent position to which he had been elevated.
“Thank your honor!” stammered Jack, pulling off his cap, and bowing as low as though he had been in the presence of the Sultan of Turkey.
Captain Mainwright turned, and walked aft; leaving Jack standing like a statue, as immovable as the mainmast of the ship.
“Away with you, Jack,” said Mr. Bankhead in a low tone, as he walked by him towards the waist.
“Gig-men, away!” added Jack, giving his first order in virtue of his new position.
He was perfectly familiar with the duties of a cockswain, though he had never performed them, or even, in his wildest dreams of future distinction, aspired to such a splendid position. In a moment more, he was over the side with his crew, and the gig was brought up to the gangway, ready to receive its distinguished passenger. While he was waiting, the new hand appointed to fill his place entered the boat.
“Bully for you, Jack!” said the stroke-oarsman, while the new cockswain was adjusting the cushions in the stern-sheets of the gig.
“Good on your head, Jack!” added another. “You deserved it; and there is not a man in the ship that won’t be glad of it.”
“That’s so.”
“Except Becket.”
“Becket’s only fit for shark’s meat,” added the first speaker.
Jack was very glad to find that there was no ill feeling towards him among his shipmates on account of what had been done, which added very much to his satisfaction. He was as happy as a boy of seventeen could be; and he longed for the time when he could sit down on the mess-bench, and hear Tom Longstone’s comments on the matter. And what a topic for a letter to his mother! Wouldn’t she feel good when she heard all about it! He intended to write that letter as soon as he returned from the shore; but in it he intended to promise his mother never to jump overboard after a shipmate again, in accordance with the injunction of the captain and the advice of his best friends. He should have a word to say about the increased pay he would receive in his new capacity.
While he was thinking over the bright prospects which had suddenly dawned upon him, Mr. Dickey, midshipman,--the elegant and accomplished bantam of the quarter-deck,--came over the gangway, and installed himself in the stern-sheets as the officer of the boat. Jack paid him the homage due to so important a personage, and the distinguished Mr. Dickey subsided upon the cushions in languid consciousness of his own magnificence. On ordinary occasions, our hero could not look upon this notable young gentleman without a strong tendency to exercise his risibles: but at this time he actually felt a profound respect for him; probably because his own position, being a peg higher, placed himself so much nearer to the ineffable grandeur of that held by Mr. Midshipman Dickey.
The captain came over the side next, and was received with due honor by all in the boat.
“Toss!” said Jack. “Let fall! Give way!” and the gig was dashing over the waves towards the sallyport of the fortress.
Our innocent readers must not suppose, from the elevated position to which our hero had been exalted, that he was admitted to the counsels of the captain. Not even the magnificent Mr. Dickey could aspire to this honor; and both of them had to wait in the boat till Captain Mainwright had finished his business on shore.