On Foreign Service; Or, The Santa Cruz Revolution — A Reader’s Guide

the fat marine subaltern who relieved me, and got a couple of hours’ sleep before the coal lighters bumped alongside.

It was a case of being as nippy as fleas after that, because we _had_ to beat the _Hercules_. You should have seen the Angel and Cousin Bob in blue overalls, with white cap covers pulled down over their heads, digging out for daylight down in my coal lighter among the foretopmen, all of them as black as niggers, shovelling coal into baskets, passing them up the side, dodging the lumps of coal which fell out of them and the empty baskets thrown back from the ship. There wasn’t much of the Angel left about either of them then.

At the end of the first hour we’d got in 215 tons, and as the little numeral pendants 2-0-7 ran up to the _Hercules_ foreyard-arm to show how many tons she had taken in, our chaps cheered. We’d beaten her by eight tons.

’I bet she cheated even then,’ I heard Bob tell his chum.

We were still a ton or two to the good after the second hour, and then the ’still’ was sounded in both ships, and every one went to breakfast.

You should have been there to have seen us in our coaling rigs—simply a mass of coal dust and looking like a lot of Christy Minstrels—squatting on the deck outside the gun-room, and stuffing down sardines with our dirty hands, every one talking and shouting and as merry as pigs in a sty. Even young Marchant, the new clerk, had got into a coaling rig of sorts and worked like a horse—he was so keen to beat the hated _Hercules_.

I gave them all a quarter of an hour to stuff themselves, and then down we clambered into the lighters again and began filling baskets—nobody, not even the Angel, shirking a job like this, when there was the chance of getting even with the _Hercules_.

The men came struggling down after us, long before the breakfast half-hour was finished, and we could see the _Hercules’_ people swarming down into her lighters as well.

In all the lighters we must have had sixty tons or more in baskets before the bugler sounded the commence, the ship’s band upon the booms banged out ’I’m afraid to go home in the dark,’ the drum doing most of it; the men began cheering and singing the chorus, and the baskets began streaming on board again.

By the end of the fourth hour we were as hard at it as ever, but then Commander Robinson—we didn’t care for him much, as he was such a bully—began bellowing at us, because the _Hercules_ was fifteen tons ahead. We could hear her chaps cheering. The band banged out again ’Yip-i-addy,’ and the Skipper, with his eyeglass tucked in his eye and his long hair straggling over his neck, walked round the upper deck singing down to the lighters, ’Go it, lads, we must beat ’em.’

Down in my lighter the men were working like demons. They looked like demons too, got up in all sorts of queer rigs, and only stopping to take a drink from the mess tins of oatmeal water which the ’Scorp’[#] lighterman ladled out for them.

[#] Natives of Gibraltar are often called ’Scorps’ (Rock Scorpions).

’Look out how you’re trimming your lighter, Wilson,’ the Commander had bellowed.

’Aye, aye, sir,’ I shouted back, but never thought what he really meant—thought he meant we weren’t working hard enough.

’We can’t do no more ’ardly,’ Pat O’Leary, the captain of the foretop, panted. ’The foretop men be pulling their pound—anyway, sir,’ and he seized basket after basket and hove them on the platform rigged half-way up the ship’s side, doing the work of three men.

’Keep it up, foretop,’ I shouted, shovelling for all I was worth, Bob and the Angel keeping me busy with empty baskets. Then there was a warning shout from up above, a lot of chaps cried, ’Look out, sir!’ and, before I knew what had happened, I was in the water, all my chaps were in the water, the lighter had turned turtle, and twenty or more tons of good coal was sinking to the bottom of the harbour.

The first thing I thought was, ’We can’t beat them now,’ knew it was my fault, and felt a fool. The Commander was bellowing for me to come aboard, and Bob and the Angel, with their faces rather cleaner and bursting with laughter, were bobbing alongside me. Then O’Leary spluttered out that the ’Scorp’ lighterman was missing, and we both up with our feet and dived down to find him.

The water was so thick with coal dust that we couldn’t see a foot away from us, but O’Leary touched him as he was coming up for breath and brought him to the surface, pretty well full of water and frightened out of his wits, though otherwise none the worse.

I did feel a fool if you like. What had happened was that we had dug away all the coal on one side, and I had never noticed—I was so excited—that the lighter was gradually heeling over, till over she went—upside down. The band had stopped, the whole of the coaling had stopped, the men looking over the side to see if any of us had been drowned, till the Commander, hoarse with shouting, shrieked for them to carry on again, whilst we clambered up the ship’s side like drowned rats, O’Leary helping the lighterman. Well, there wasn’t the faintest chance of our beating the _Hercules_ now. Every one knew it, everyone slacked off, and there was no more cheering and shouting of choruses.

It was my stupidity that had spoilt everything.

The only thing that I could give as an excuse was that I’d never been in charge of a coal lighter before, but I jolly well knew that the Commander would say, ’And I’ll take care you never have charge again,’ so I kept quiet whilst he stormed at me, shouting that he’d make me pay for the twenty tons. When he was out of breath, he took me, dripping with coal water, to the Captain, who was very angry and very disappointed about the _Hercules_ part of it, but he hated the Commander bellowing at people, so wasn’t as severe as he might have been. He sent me away to right the lighter, and it took us—me and the foretop men—a couple of hours to do it, fixing ropes round her under water. We shouldn’t have done it even then hadn’t Stevens—one of the Engineer Lieutenants and a chum of mine—switched on the current to the electric fore capstan, and we hauled her round with this.

Another loaded lighter had been brought off from the shore to make up for the coal I’d tipped into the harbour, and then we were sent to empty her, whilst the rest of the ship’s company sat with their feet dangling over the side, jeering at us.

By the time we had finished we were all in a pretty bad temper, all except O’Leary, who kept up his ’pecker’ till the last basket had been filled and hauled up the side. ’I ought to have told you—anyway, sir; I’ve coaled from lighters time enough to have known better,’ he said, trying to buck me up.

I reported myself to the Commander, had another burst of angry bellowing from him, and then every one had to clean ship.

Bob and the Angel were shivering close to me, so I sent them down below to get out of their wet things, but they were up again in a couple of seconds, and could hardly speak for excitement.

’We’re off to Santa Cruz. They’ve collared a steamer as well as those Englishmen, and we’re off to give ’em beans. Isn’t that ripping?’

It jolly well was, but the youngsters had had just about enough of working in their wet clothes, and were shaking with cold, so I sent them down again and went on with my job—it didn’t make any difference whether hoses were turned on me or not, I was so wet. Presently, old Bill Perkins, our First Lieutenant, came limping along, his jolly old red face beaming all over. ’Never mind, Wilson, we’ll beat ’em another time; lucky none of you were hurt or drowned.’ He saw that I too was about blue with cold, and took my job whilst I changed into dry things.

Old Ginger came over after dinner from the _Hercules_. ’They’re having a sing-song in the gun-room, but I thought I’d give you a look up,’ he told me—’awfully sorry about the lighter business.’ Of course he’d come across to cheer me, and he did too, both of us talking twenty to the dozen about Santa Cruz and the chances of our having a ’scrap.’

My chaps presently started a bit of a jamberee, old Ginger singing a couple of songs and joining in the choruses. We were just beginning to forget all about the coaling, when a signalman came down and handed Barton, the senior mid., a signal. ’Senior Midshipman, _Hercules_, to Ditto, _Hector_.—Hope none of you are any the worse for your nice little swim.’

The mids. were too angry to speak for a minute, and then the storm burst, and they called the _Hercules_ gun-room all the names they could lay hold of, old Ginger looking very uncomfortable, and very angry too.

’Never mind, Billums,’ he said. ’We’ve done our best to make ’em friends, and they won’t be,’ and then sang out, ’Gentlemen, I apologise for that signal—don’t answer it—its beastly rude, and I’ll cane the senior midshipman to-morrow morning.’

There was no more sing-song after that, old Ginger went back to his ship as angry as we were, and I turned in, knowing jolly well that my chaps would hate Ginger’s all the more, and that Ginger beating the senior mid. would only make things worse.

’Let’s hope we get mixed up in a ’scrap’ or two out in Santa Cruz,’ Ginger had said as he went away, and I knew that that was about the only thing that would do the trick and make them friends.

That was a bad day’s work for me. I’d shown myself a fool, the Commander wouldn’t forget my carelessness for months, and the Skipper would feel he couldn’t trust me. That made me want to kick myself.

*A Revolution Imminent*

_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._

Early next morning, just as the sun was lighting up the signal station at the top of the Rock, we and the _Hercules_ slipped from our buoys and shoved off into the Atlantic, the _Hercules_ two cables astern of us.

We rounded Tarifa Lighthouse; the jolly old Rock, sticking up like an old tooth, was hidden by the Spanish mountains; we saw the white walls of Tangier under the snow-capped Atlas mountains, on the African side, and then we began to tumble about merrily in the open Atlantic. The _Hector_ wasn’t still for a minute at a time, and my mids. had something else to think about than the latest _Hercules_ gun-room insult. Most of them felt pretty ’chippy,’ _though of course_ it had nothing to do with us rolling and pitching. Rather not! None of them were seasick, perfectly absurd! They were only a little out of sorts; didn’t want any breakfast, or got rid of what they did eat pretty rapidly; much preferred lying down in a corner inside the battery screen, out of the wind, and took a deal of ’rousting’ out of it before they’d do their job. For all that, they’d have been awfully angry if any one had suggested that they were seasick. The gun-room messman had given us the strongest of kippers for breakfast that morning—this was his idea of a joke—and as we couldn’t keep a single scuttle open, and there was practically no ventilation in the gun-room, you can imagine that you could almost cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Pearson, the A.P., the engineer sub, Raynor, and I were alone in our glory when we began tackling the messman’s kippers; but soon the mids. came along, and it was worth a fortune to watch them put their heads inside the gun-room, take a ’sniff,’ and go away again. Presently Bob and the Angel came dashing down, and we three chuckled as they rushed in, got a breath of it, stopped dead in their tracks, pretended they didn’t mind, and sat down as near the door as they could get. We watched them ’peck’ a bit, Bob’s freckles showed up more than ever, the Angel looked perfectly green, and they were both as silent as mummies.

The ship gave a big roll to starboard, a green sea slapped over the glass scuttles and darkened the whole gun-room; there was a crash of crockery smashing in the pantry; Bob and the Angel grabbed their plates, back the old _Hector_ tumbled to port; Bob’s coffee-cup slid gracefully into his lap—he could stick to it no longer—and rushed away.

The Angel lasted another lurch, but that finished him.

’Afraid I—caught—cold—in the water—yesterday—afraid Bob did too—I’m not—very hungry—I’ll see what’s the matter with Bob,’ he gulped, swallowing every word; and, clapping his hand over his mouth, he disappeared after his chum.

More than half the mids. never ventured further than the gun-room flat, where they caught the first whiff of kipper, and those who did, didn’t stay long.

’We’d get a fine mess surplus if they’d only keep like it,’ the A.P. grinned; ’but, confound them, they won’t.’

’They’d enjoy an hour down in the engine-room now. Wouldn’t they?’ Raynor chuckled.

Of course they were as right as a trivet in a couple of days, and you may bet that they made up for those lost meals.

Every one on board expected that there might be a bit of a scrap when we got across to Santa Cruz, and you can guess how we got hold of Brassey’s _Naval Annual_ and Jane’s _Fighting Ships_ to see if Santa Cruz had any ships good enough to give us a show.

They hadn’t; that was the worst of it. Three or four miserable out-of-date cruisers, half-a-dozen gunboats, and a couple of torpedo boats built in the year one. There certainly was a cruiser building for them at Newcastle, a ship named _La Buena Presidente_, a big monster like our latest cruisers, and even bigger and more powerful than the _Hector_ herself; but Raynor had seen her in the Tyne since she was launched, knew all about her, and was certain that she couldn’t be ready inside six months.

’What a pity they didn’t wait till they’d got her!’ Bob said, with his mouth open. And that was about what we all thought.

Still, though there wasn’t likely to be any sport with their wretched Navy, we might have to bombard a fort or two, which would be good enough business; and, more exciting even than that, we might have to send a landing-party ashore.

We didn’t waste much time all these eight days we were at sea, the Commander, Bill Perkins, and Montague, the Gunnery Lieutenant, slapping round, from morning to night for all they were worth. The marines, three companies of seamen, two field-guns’ and two maxim-guns’ crews, and a stretcher party of stokers were told off to land. Their leather gear, haversacks, water-bottles, and rolled-up blankets were all got ready, hung over their rifles in the racks, and, morning and evening, we made an evolution of ’falling in’ on the quarterdeck and fo’c’stle, and getting on our gear in double quick time.

Ten of my sixteen mids. were told off to land, and were as happy as fleas in a blanket, fitting their leather gear and sharpening their dirks all day long, and thinking about what they’d do when they got ashore half the night.

Marchant, the young clerk—he’d only just joined the Navy, and this was his first ship—was told off to land as ’Old Tin Eye’s’ secretary.

He was being pretty well bullied and knocked into shape by the mids., and made to feel what a hopeless worm he was; but now there were six of them who’d have given their heads to change places with him, and he absolutely swelled with pride and importance.

Three days after leaving Gib. the weather became gloriously warm, the sea simply like a sheet of glittering glass, the sun glaring on it all day long. It was grand to be alive, and we all—officers and men alike—went into training, and were doubled round and round, morning and evening, till the sweat rolled off us. Every evening, too, the parallel bars and the horizontal bar were rigged on the quarterdeck, and the ward-room fellows and we gun-room people did gymnastics for an hour or so, finishing up with a follow-my-leader round the battery till we nearly dropped. On board the _Hercules_ they were doing gymnastics and the new Swedish drill, on the fo’c’stle, the whole day long. But the sight of all was the fat blue marine subaltern—the Forlorn Hope, we called him—doubling up and down the quarterdeck, on his own, to work off his fat, so that he could march properly when he landed—his cheeks flopping from side to side, and running with perspiration. I’m sure you would have died of laughing, especially when his opposite number—the Shadow—the awfully thin red marine subaltern, doubled round after him, trying to work up an appetite, and put on more weight. It was the terribly earnest faces they shipped that made one laugh. When you come to think of it, the whole thing was really jolly odd. Here were these two great grey ships, with their long grim 9.2’s and 7.5’s, and their twelve hundred odd men, pounding steadily along for eight days and nights, to a country hardly any one of us had heard of before, and every one on board both of them was digging out to make himself and them as fit as ’paint,’ in case there was a job for us when we did get there.

The Commander even stopped bellowing at people, and brimmed over with good temper.

We had two great heroes on board—at any rate the mids. thought they were—one of the lieutenants—Bigge—who had been with Sir Edward Seymour in the Relief of Pekin force, and Mr. Bostock, the Gunner, who had been through the siege of Ladysmith during the Boer War.

Some one told the story how five Chinamen had attacked Bigge whilst he was trying to blow in a gate or something like that, and how he settled the whole lot of them with his revolver. Whether it was true or not—and I believe it was—the mids. simply hung round him now, and tried to get him to tell them some of his experiences. They looked at the little bit of yellow and red ribbon on his monkey-jacket, and simply longed for a chance to earn something like it, and have a bit of ribbon to stick on their chests. Although they never could get _him_ to talk about his show, Mr. Bostock would talk about the siege of Ladysmith, and how the naval brigade helped the sappers, that awful morning on the crest of Wagon Hill—would talk as long as they’d like to listen.

He’d sit smoking ship’s tobacco in his cabin—it hadn’t any scuttle or ventilation whatever of any account, so you can have an idea what the smell was like—and the mids. would crowd in, those who couldn’t do so squeezing into the doorway, and listen by the hour. Nothing else but war was talked about from morning to night.