Next morning on coming into the cuddy from my berth and looking through the door, I saw a number of convicts washing the decks down. Some were on the forecastle, some in the barricaded inclosure, and three or four were scrubbing the quarter-deck close beside the cuddy front. Every morning small gangs of the felons helped the sailors to wash down, whilst numbers below scrubbed their own quarters out. The boatswain and his mates and the captains of the gangs superintended, hurled the water along the decks out of the buckets handed to them, and kept the men to their work. It was a very fine morning; the wind was on the quarter, and the second mate overhead was calling to some hands aloft who were rigging out booms for the setting of those wide overhanging wings of canvas called ‘studding-sails.’
I immediately observed that the convicts were without irons. What with the soldiers, the prisoners, the sailors scrubbing or preparing to run the studding-sails aloft; what with the flashing of the sun on the wet decks, the pendulum swing of the straight-lined shadows of the rigging, the blowing of smoke from the two galley chimneys, combined with the sense of life in the noises of people scrubbing the poop overhead, of the bleating of sheep forward, the crowing of cocks, the grunting of a sow, the clanking of the head and poop pumps, the ceaseless gushing of water—the scene was one of such life and motion as forbade me for a little while from distinguishing.
I looked eagerly for Tom. The steward called to me sharply and angrily, after which I was for half an hour occupied with Frank in cleaning down the cuddy, without a single opportunity to turn my eyes toward the main deck. When this odious task was ended, Mr. Stiles gave me a piece of raw bacon to carry to the cook for the cuddy breakfast.
I took care to hold the letter in the palm of my hand, in the hope that I should meet Tom as I went or returned. A batch of about fifty convicts, stripped to the waist, were washing themselves on the port side of the main-deck, close against the barricade of the gangway alley. The doctor stood, viewing them, at a little distance. Two or three ‘captains’ walked to and fro, to observe that the men washed themselves properly. Seeing no other convicts on deck, I went along the gangway alley, and with my head straight, but with my eyes in the corner that the doctor might not detect my scrutiny, I narrowly viewed the convicts as I stepped forward, but Tom was not of that gang.
On coming, however, abreast of the prisoners’ galley, I saw my sweetheart inside. I did not notice what he was about. No doubt he had been told off to help the cooks that morning, or maybe he was there on some errand relating to his mess. Be this as it may, I saw him in an instant, and formed my resolution in a single beat of my heart. I coughed. The note of my cough made him turn his head. Even whilst our eyes met I entered the galley in which he stood.
‘Here, cook,’ said I, ‘the steward says——’ I started as though I had discovered my error. ‘I beg pardon for mistaking the galley,’ said I, and in turning, as though to leave, I purposely struck my foot against the coaming of the door, fell a step backward, and let fall the dish and the bacon. The dish was of tin: had it been crockery I should have let it fall all the same, though the noise of the breakage might have brought the doctor to the door. Tom stooped to pick up the bacon; our fingers touched, and I slipped the letter into his hand.
This was admirably done; the swiftness of the manœuvre renders it one of the most memorable of my exploits in this way. I had feared that Tom would not understand in time to render the trick successful, but the moment he felt the letter his hand closed upon it. I did not look at him or attempt to breathe a syllable, though our faces were close when we stooped. I could not tell who besides Tom was in that galley: there were several persons, convicts no doubt, men whose behaviour in the hulks had warranted the doctor in giving them posts of some little consequence and trust. All had happened so quickly, that I could not say whether the others besides Tom were clothed as felons or not.
This convicts’ galley, I should explain, was a temporary deck structure, built strongly abaft the ship’s galley, furnished with an abundant cooking apparatus, as you may suppose would be needed for the feeding of two hundred and thirty souls. None of the crew were suffered to enter it; it was sentinelled by convict warders or captains only. It was inspected every day by the doctor, and closed and locked when the convicts’ supper had been handed along.
I came out of the ship’s galley with a rejoicing heart, and peeped at the door of the other as I passed, but Tom was not in sight. However, he now had my letter; no risk had been run, not the most suspicious mind, not the most vigilant eye in the ship, could have imagined or detected what had passed between my sweetheart and me. My spirits were in a dance; for my letter would tell him as much—as much to the point, I mean—as my lips could have uttered in a half-hour’s meeting. I figured his impatience to read it, the glow of hope and pleasure that would warm his poor, dear heart as he read, the courage and support he would get out of it.
‘You vhas light-hearted this morning,’ said Frank to me, as we helped the steward to prepare the breakfast-table. ‘Dere vhas no twopenny postman at sea, or I should say dot you hov’ received some goodt news.’
‘It is the weather,’ I answered; ‘and then a young apprentice has kindly given me a clean flannel shirt to wear.’
‘Who’s the apprentice?’ exclaimed Mr. Stiles, who overheard me.
‘Mr. Johnstone,’ I answered.
‘Picked him up aboard, or did yer know him before you stowed yourself away?’
‘My father was a client of his father’s,’ I replied.
‘Wither me if it ain’t a-coming stronger and stronger with you every day!’ exclaimed Mr. Stiles. ‘What are you going to turn out afore you’re done?’ he added, stopping in his work to look at me.
‘I tell you vhat it vhas, sir,’ said Frank. ‘Dis vhas no ordinary shentleman. Dis vhas a young nobleman in disguise.’
‘Hold your yaw-yawing!’ cried the steward. ‘Who’s a-talking to you? You’re always a-putting in, you are, and a-stopping the work.’
The cuddy breakfast-bell was rung, and at half-past eight the captain and officers seated themselves. I received a sort of nod from Lieutenant Chimmo, and Captain Barrett looked at me pleasantly. Both men suggested that they regarded me as coming near to their social level. This was odd, for, as a rule, people rather shrink from and give the cold shoulder to gentle-folks who have been sunk by fortune into getting their bread in mean positions such as mine was on board that ship. Captain Sutherland never heeded me, but sometimes I thought the doctor’s stern eyes rested upon me with an expression of inquiry. The cuddy was full of sunlight; the glory of the morning sparkled in glass and crystal and plate, and the radiance was made lovely by the soft atmospheric azure tint which floated into it off the blue sea.
‘When do you start your school, doctor?’ said Captain Barrett.
‘On Monday,’ was the answer.
‘Captain,’ said Lieutenant Chimmo, addressing the commander of the ship, ‘did you see Barney Abram washing himself this morning? What a chest! What arms! Cut his head and legs off, fossilise what’s left, chuck the torso into the Tiber, and when dredged up it would be sworn to as the most magnificent fragment of ancient art in the wide world.’
‘A pity, Ellice,’ said Captain Barrett, ‘that you object to Barney stepping aft occasionally to give Chimmo and me a few tips in the grandest of all sciences.’
‘The most degrading, sir,’ said the doctor. ‘I am surprised that you should think proper to repeat the request.’
‘The voyage is a doocid long one,’ murmured Captain Barrett.
‘Isn’t there to be some punishment this morning?’ asked Captain Sutherland.
‘A little light punishment,’ answered the doctor—‘two hours of the box.’
‘You don’t believe in the cat, sir?’ said Captain Barrett.
‘I do not,’ answered the doctor.
‘I believed in the cat until pickling went out of fashion,’ said the subaltern. ‘A man who had been salted down whilst bleeding seldom courted a second dose; but now I understand your man-of-war’s man thinks so lightly of flogging that he would rather take three dozen than forfeit a day’s allowance of grog.’
‘I’m no lover of the cat myself,’ said Captain Sutherland, ‘but it’s good discipline. It’s a degrading punishment, very proper for degraded men. I have some men forward who deserve whipping, and whipping, perhaps, isn’t enough for them; nor would pickling suffice. They want quartering. The Government forces us commanders of hired transports to fill our forecastle with a given number of hands. No questions are asked. So long as your complement numerically corresponds with the Government requirement, all’s supposed to be right. Now, what sort of a crew did the crimp scramble together for me that my muster might answer to the Admiralty wants? I’ve about six seamen qualified to steer. I doubt if there are ten men forward who know how to send down a yard. But one has to take what one can get. The crimp comes along and throws a gutter-brood aboard; some are not fit even as shilling-a-monthers, and have bribed the crimp to the pawning of their only shirt to ship them, that they may get abroad, where they’ll run.’
‘I don’t like the looks of a good many of your men,’ said the doctor.
‘But you could muster strongly enough for an emergency, captain?’ said the subaltern.
‘What do you mean by an emergency?’ said Captain Sutherland.
‘A heavy squall of wind, sir, and the ship aback with royals set.’
‘Where the deuce did you pick up your nautical knowledge, Chimmo?’ said Captain Barrett.
‘Is that an emergency, captain?’ asked the subaltern.
‘Oh, I’ve no doubt we could manage, I’ve no doubt we could manage,’ answered the captain, with something of gloomy impatience.
Here I was dispatched to the pantry, and when I returned after a considerable interval the gentlemen had gone on deck.
As Tom was always in my mind when any sort of reference was made to the convicts, I was very eager and anxious to know what the punishment of the box was—to speak of it as the doctor had—and who was the culprit. A number of prisoners were assembled between the barricades, whether employed or not I do not recollect. The steward had gone forward, in all probability to smoke a pipe with the cook, under pretence of talking about the cabin dinner. I stood in the cuddy doorway viewing the prisoners, yearning for a sight of Tom, that by a swift look or smile he might let me know he had read my letter. An apprentice struck four bells—ten o’clock. The doctor came up from the prisoners’ quarters followed by Captain Barrett and the sergeant of the guard, and the three of them stood under the break of the poop, near enough for me to overhear them, though they could not see me.
Scarcely had the bell struck when a convict in irons passed out of the main-hatch. Two convict warders were with him and each, grasping an arm, marched him to that sort of sentry box which I have before described—a contrivance of about the width of a coffin and a trifle longer or higher, with a bucket hanging from a bar over it. The convict struggled angrily, and I guessed by the faces of those who were near enough for me to read that he cursed and swore very vilely, but only now and then did I catch an oath. A man stepped forward and threw open the front of the coffin-like structure, then helped the others to twist the prisoner with his face looking inboards, and when they had put him into this posture they thrust him backwards into the box and shut him up.
He was a young fellow of about twenty-two, with the wickedest face of any man’s in the ship. A grinning, wrinkled seaman stood beside the box holding the rope that was attached to the bucket. Another seaman was near, and beside him were four or five buckets of water.
‘He’s a profane rascal, and I have no hopes of him,’ I heard the doctor say.
‘Why not flog him?’ said Captain Barrett.
‘It may come to it, but I trust not.’
Meanwhile the prisoner in the box was bawling at the top of his voice and doubtless using horrid language. I observed that the wrinkled, grinning seaman watched the doctor, who, after a few minutes’ pause, lifted his hand as a signal, whereupon the sailor pulled the rope and tilted the bucket, and the water fell in a heavy splash upon the blaspheming youth boxed up inside.
Captain Barrett gave a great laugh. Indeed, a noise of laughter ran through the ship. A number of sailors, who had gathered together in sundry parts to witness the spectacle, seemed to find much to be pleased with in it. The prisoners within the inclosure grinned, without sound of merriment, and I thought that the rascally faces amongst them looked the rascallier for their smiles. The second sailor beside the box filled the hanging bucket afresh, and the wrinkled mariner continued to watch the doctor.
‘That’ll have extinguished the brimstone in him!’ exclaimed Captain Barrett, giving another great laugh. ‘Is the idea yours?’
‘No,’ answered the doctor. ‘I took the idea from a female convict ship which I went on board of at Sydney.’
By this time the half-drowned youth within had recovered his breath and was roaring out curses again. The doctor waited three minutes; then signed. The wrinkled sailor tilted the bucket, and the coffined wretch was soused for the second time. Once more Captain Barrett laughed loudly, and a rumble of laughter came from the seamen, who hung about in groups forward. I had imagined that two buckets would have done the fellow’s business for him, yet in five minutes he began to curse and swear once more, whereupon a third bucket was upset over his head. This proved effectual. No more noise proceeded from the inside of the box. The doctor, having waited some time, spoke to Captain Barrett, who crossed to the sentry at the quarter-deck barricade-gate and delivered certain instructions. Shortly afterward, Mr. Stiles came into the cuddy and ordered me to the pantry. I afterwards heard that the fellow in the box was silent whilst he stood in it, and that when he was let out and taken below he looked the most miserable, soaked, scowling, shame-faced, shivering wretch that was ever clothed in felon’s garb.