CHAPTER IX.

IN THE GOOD OLD "GURNET."

Before Jack Mackenzie came to sea, he had received, as far as any boy could, a thoroughly theoretical education. His grandmother had seen to that. Much she would have liked to have the boy constantly with her, but she knew that this would not be to his advantage; for when the very best has been said about the system of what I may call fireside education under a tutor, it must be confessed that there is no emulation about it. So Jack had been sent to one of the best schools in Glasgow, and had private tutors as well, one of them being an old naval commander, who saw nothing derogatory in coaching a few young fellows who were to serve afloat. For six months every year Jack had been in Glasgow; the rest of the time he spent at Drumglen and his mother's pretty cottage.

While in Glasgow, as was only to be expected, he had spent many a pleasant day and evening at the villa of his uncle and cousins the Morgans. On Sunday he never failed to put in an appearance dressed and ready for church. But the Sabbath evenings he had used to spend as often as not with Mrs. Malony and Little Peter.

During his intercourse with his cousins, independent of his falling in love, as he termed it, with the tiny but old-fashioned Tottie, he had cemented a close and enduring friendship with the elder boy, Llewellyn.

Ah, reader! friendships like these are very sweet. Wherever in all the wide world we roam, we never, never forget them.

Llewellyn at sixteen was very tall and handsome, and in every way, one would say, cut out for a soldier. If his father was Welsh, his mother was a true Scot; he was therefore Celtic to the core. It is no wonder, then, that he should prefer a cadetship in a Highland regiment to that in any other. The 93rd is most assuredly one of the grandest and gallantest of our Scottish regiments, and has maintained its high renown on many a blood-stained field.

Just one thing I must say in favour of Jack's conservative old grandma. Although then she neither loved the Welsh nor liked business people, she did not now go the whole length of ostracizing her daughter and her family. I suppose old age has a softening effect upon the heart, for she even went so far as to invite her daughter and children now and then to Drumglen. The latter went frequently to see the old lady, but her daughter very seldom, for the simplest and best of reasons—namely, that her husband had not been included.

However, Llewellyn became a special favourite with this stern old dame, and so did Baby Morgan—that is, Jack's wee sweetheart, Tottie or Violet. What glorious days the two boys had spent together on the loch, by the riverside, in the forests—dark even in daylight—or wandering over the purple hills! Never, never would they forget these dear days while in camp or field, in the trenches, or far away on the lone blue sea.

There had been tears of genuine grief coursing down Jack's cheeks when he bade Llewellyn farewell at last; and though older, it must be confessed that the young cadet was glad in a measure when the parting was over, for there was a big lump in his throat that he had tried in vain to swallow.

Little Tottie, now nearly nine years of age, was not, truth compels me to say, so very much affected at bidding her lover good-bye as Jack, who had a large spice of romance in him, would have liked. She did not cry—not she. Her last words, as the train was starting and Jack was leaning over the window, might have been said to smack of selfishness and gore.

"Mind, Johnnie," she cried, "to bring me home somefing very nice, and don't fo'get to kill lots and lots of dead sailors."

* * * * *

There was no naval instructor on board the Gurnet, of course; but Jack determined to study, nevertheless, theoretically as well as practically. Well, he found himself among good friends, always willing to help him out of a hole. There were the doctor and second master down below, and there was Lieutenant Sturdy, his sea-dad, on deck, and the rough but kindly bos'n forward.

Mr. Fitzgerald, the senior midshipman, was a tall, lanky young fellow, the younger son of a lord, and though no doubt clever enough after a fashion, he did not see the fun, he said, of studying anything in particular. "Zeal for the service!" he told Sturdy once; "I haven't got any. There is no extra screw for that; and if my brother dies, I shall go on shore and keep my hunters."

Mr. Gribble, the assistant-paymaster, was the tease of the mess. He could sing a rattling good comic song, however, and spin good yarns—all true, he said, because he himself had made them up. So he was rather a favourite in the little mess.

On the whole, the members of the ward-room mess were fairly well met, and lived as jolly a life as the same number of young fellows could live anywhere.

From Gibraltar they went cruising away down the Mediterranean, for the Gurnet carried important dispatches for Malta. They were not put in quarantine here. They just escaped that, having been detained at sea by contrary winds. Yes, they might have steamed; but Captain Gillespie's orders had been to save coals if possible, and never to light fires if there was wind enough to carry the ship along.

At Malta, then, much to his delight, Jack got on shore. The doctor, who was assistant-surgeon in charge, and could do very much as he liked, took Jack with him.

What long letters our little hero had to write about this strange town, with its streets of stairs, its quaintly-dressed inhabitants, its bumboat men and women, its churches, with bells that jangle-jangled on for ever and ever; its bazaars and fortifications and ships, and its hill, or rather brae, on which a wood was said to exist. Dr. Reikie went to this wood on a butterfly expedition, and in search of fossils. Well, the wood itself seemed a fossil, a most forlorn and dilapidated belt of trees indeed. But the doctor and Jack came back laden with specimens, white with dust, and with faces that seemed to have been rubbed with a wet brick.

The only thing worth seeing about Malta, said Lord Tomfoozle, as the doctor called Fitzgerald, the senior mid, was the opera. So he did not miss that for a single night of the ten days the Gurnet lay in Malta. I fear that in one respect Fitzgerald rather gave himself away, as the Yankees express it; for he assured everybody before coming to Malta that he could speak Italian. Well, when he aired this language for the first time at a good hotel kept by a native of sunny Italia, the landlord shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"De Rooshian langwidge," he said, "I not can; but de Engleese mooch plenty, sare."

Dr. Reikie, who was there, guffawed. It was very rude. Fitzgerald turned red in the face, then he called the doctor a bear, and left the hotel.

But the doctor, or doctor's mate as some old tars on board would call him, was too good a fellow to take offence at being called a bear by young Tomfoozle; so at dinner that day he was extra civil to him, and asked him twice if he would have some more pudding. Dr. Reikie knew the mid's weakness, and what would soften his heart; so presently my lord smiled.

"I accept your apology, doctor," he said.

"Apology, Tomfoozle? I didn't make one."

"Oh yes, you did. You asked me twice to have pudding. Pudding and apology are—er—"

"Synonymous?"

"That's the word. I called you a bear to-day, doctor, but I meant a brick."

"Oh, he meant a brick, did he?" chimed in the A.P.*

* A.P. is the abbreviation for assistant-paymaster.

"Mr. Sturdy, please take note; Lord Tomfoozle meant a brick."

"Shut up, you A.P.," cried the mid, "or rather you APE. I'm talking to a gentleman.—Yes, doctor, I did mean a brick; so there!"

"I say, doctor, you look out," said the mischievous quill-driver. "Old Tomfoozle expects you to put him on the sick-list next—"

"Next what?" said the mid.

"Next gale of wind."

"Avast heaving now, you youngsters," put in Sturdy.—"That's the worst of having babies in the mess, doctor."

"I didn't heave anything," said Fitzgerald; "but if the biscuits had been handy, Mr. A.P., without the E, would have had to duck his somewhat empty head."

* * * * *

I cannot say that Jack Mackenzie was over-well pleased with the city of the Templars. It was foreign enough and romantic enough, and military enough also, but it lacked greenness and vegetation. True, the orange-trees bloomed bonnie in many of the gardens, and flowers too, rich and rare, but on the whole it was a parched and sunburnt town. The sea all around, however, was very blue and beautiful, and perhaps no one was sorry when the Gurnet was once more off and away on the bosom of the broad Levant, and bound for Alexandria.

The ship was now all that a little ship of war should be. Sturdy took a pride in her. And he would have her clean alow and aloft, outside and in; and the men seeing this, did all they could to please their good lieutenant. The principal warrant or non-commissioned officers on board the Gurnet were the bos'n, who was so good a friend to Jack, the quartermaster, and sergeant of marines. There were ten at least of these redcoats on board; and although they were very plainly dressed indeed on week-days—just sloped about anyhow, as the bos'n phrased it—still, drawn up on the ivory-white deck on a Sunday morning in line with the blue-jackets, all with rifles and white bayonets ready for inspection, the effect was very pretty.

On the Sabbath morning, as Dr. Reikie solemnly called this holy day, divisions of course formed quite an event. The officers were all in frock-coats and swords, except Jack, who was lashed to his dirk. The best and biggest flag floated gaily aloft, and if a breeze was blowing, the Gurnet, with every white sail bellying out before it, looked indeed a thing of life and beauty. Down below on deck there wasn't a rope's end out of place; the hammocks were neatly arranged above the bulwarks, and the brass-work shone like the inside of a good gold watch.

Solemnly along the line of sailors and marines marched the captain, followed by Sturdy, followed in his turn by Dr. Reikie, and there was nothing that escaped the eagle eyes of any of the three. The men's very faces and ears came in for inspection, and even the cut and length of their hair, the hang of their knives, the lay of their lanyards; and if a bluejacket's collar was badly and carelessly spread, or if it were too broad or too narrow, the quartermaster's attention was drawn thereto.

To appear with a dirty face on a Sunday morning was indeed a crime. The captain would call attention to it, perhaps as follows: "Is that man's face clean and wholesome, Dr. Reikie?"

"It's waur* than a brookie's, sir; and look, his lugs† are like midden creels."‡

* "Waur," worse.

† "Lugs," ears.

‡ "Midden creels," baskets used in the Highlands of Scotland for carrying manure to the fields.

There were times, you see, when the English language would hardly meet the demands of the case, and then the honest doctor permitted himself to drift into his dearly-beloved native dialect.

"Bring that man before me to-morrow forenoon, quartermaster."

That man would next day be planked accordingly, and perhaps his grog stopped for a week, or, if the ship were in harbour, his leave stopped.

A milder punishment for milder offences was three-water grog. In this case the men to be punished were drawn up amidships, each with a basin in his hand; and into this was poured his grog, very much diluted indeed. Then came the command, "Caps off. Queen!"

"Queen!" each man would repeat, and thus toasting Her Gracious Majesty, toss off his three-water grog.

I have already said there was no naval instructor on board, neither was there a parson. Now, the duty of reading prayers in such cases devolves, I think, on the captain himself, but on board the saucy Gurnet it was turned over to the first lieutenant. He had a deep, strong voice, which he could make singularly impressive when reading the lessons.

It was rather more than impressive on one particular occasion, shortly after the ship sailed from Malta. It was a very lovely day indeed, and church service was, as usual, held on the upper deck abaft the mainmast.

Sturdy stood by the capstan reading, and more than one officer had been noticing the antics of Fred Harris, a young blue-jacket, a first-class boy, who was doing all he could to make his comrades laugh. His conduct had evidently given Lieutenant Sturdy the fidgets; for, much to everybody's surprise, the service did not conclude that morning with the simple "Amen," but Amen with a pennant to it, as a sailor would say. It ran thus, all in one breath, mind you: "Amen!—Harris, confound you, sir, I've been watching you all the time. You'll have the cat for your shocking irreverence, as sure as my name's Sturdy.—Pipe down!"

Well, it was time to pipe down after this.

N.B.—The above anecdote is perfectly true, but any reader who doesn't like the tone of it is welcome to skip it.

* * * * *

If the reader will take a glance at the map, he will notice that Sicily is a large island lying to the south and west of the extreme end of Italy, which good-naturedly curls round as if to meet it and bid it welcome. Sicily is principally celebrated, Mr. Sturdy told Jack one night in the middle watch, for good fruit, bad garlic, fried fish, brigands, and a burning mountain.

"That would be Mount Etna," said Jack.

"Yes, old Jack; that's her name. There is a navy yarn told about that mountain which I'm not sure I should tell you, although I was told it myself by a priest."

"Oh yes, tell me."

"Well, it's a warning to all contractors anyhow, who sometimes supply very bad biscuits to England's fighting navy. Once upon a time, then, when the gallant Roarer, a shoudy-boudy old seventy-four, and terribly badly found in the matter of hard tack—her biscuits being half dust, half weevils—was cruising around here, the officer of the watch, one dark night in the middle watch, called all hands to witness a terrible but somewhat ridiculous sight.

"The ship was sailing close past Sicily, and not far from Etna, which had been in eruption for some weeks; only they appeared to be burning up the slack and the cinders in the crater just then, because there was plenty of light but not much smoke.

"Well, all hands came tumbling up, thinking perhaps a Frenchman was bearing down upon them, and that they wouldn't have any more sleep till they sent her to Davy Jones's locker.

"But it wasn't that.

"The captain himself stood on the poop, with his battered old telescope to his eye, and turned towards the mountain top.

"The eyes of all the crew were now bent in the same direction. No wonder that they stared in astonishment, rubbed their eyes, and stared again. For there, on the very brink of the crater, stood two tall figures, wrestling, as it were, for the mastery. One was speedily made out to be Mr. Pipeclay, a baker of Portsmouth, who supplied biscuits to the royal navy—biscuits that had been once or twice on a voyage round the world in the merchant service.* The other figure was soon discovered by the captain to be none other than Auld Nickie Ben himself.

* I know for a fact that, not longer ago than the sixties, old ship-biscuits that had been several cruises in whalers and sealers to the Arctic regions, and condemned, were bought up and sold to the navy. Poor Jack!

"'Yes,' shouted the captain, 'it is Nick himself. I can distinctly make out the cloven hoof.—Bravo, Nick, that's got him!'

"Then he took the glass from his eye and shouted to the commander,—

"'Heave her to, Mr. Deadlight; we must see the end of this.'

"The ship was hove to very quickly indeed, and the crew lined the bulwarks and hung like bees to the rigging, and meanwhile the terrible struggle on the mountain top went on.

"Now, Britons are proverbially lovers of fair-play, and in this case they extended their patronage to the baker and Nick without favour.

"The baker was evidently trying to pull away from the crater, while the object of the other combatant was to get his antagonist down the awful pit.

"On board the ship there was wild shouting or cheering, as one or other seemed to gain an advantage, with loud cries of 'Pull, baker, pull,' or 'Pull, Nick, pull,' as the case might be.

"But at last, terrible to relate, the baker was floored and flung in; Auld Nickie Ben, with an eldritch scream, dived after him, the last portion of him seen being his hoof.

"A clap of thunder followed, and soon after that it came on to blow such a fearful gale that for four-and-twenty hours the good ship Roarer was scudding under bare poles, and it is just a wonder that she survived to tell the tale."

CHAPTER X.

PADDY'S ADVENTURE—FRED HARRIS PROVES
HIMSELF A HERO.

Though far wilder scenes and adventures must soon engage our attention, I shall linger just a little longer in the blue Levant before we sail away south and round the world. Alexandria, then, where Jack was permitted to land and enjoy himself pretty much as he pleased, he liked, probably on this very account. Our hero was certainly not allowed an unlimited amount of pocket-money, but he had enough; besides, you know, it was impossible to spend any at sea, for no card-playing for money was permitted on board the Gurnet.

An Egyptian offered to be his guide, and Jack accepted his services. A lithe and saucy-looking tatterdemalion he was, from his greasy skull-cap to his bare brown toes. He took Jack everywhere, and showed him all the sights. At Pompey's Pillar he met a crowd of blue-jackets not belonging to his own ship. They had flown a kite over the pillar and drawn a rope up, and several sailors went hand over hand up to the top. They danced on the top, and they drank on the top. It made Jack's head giddy to look at them, for he could not help noticing that some of them were not perfectly sober.

Presently he was horrified to see one young sailor lose his balance and topple over. What followed illustrated the presence of mind of a British tar in a way that I think has never been beaten. He was standing near Jack when the man fell.

"Haul taut above!" he shouted.

Then in the twinkling of an eye he loosened the rope below. It is no exaggeration to say that in less than two seconds he had full command of the line, and in two seconds more he had coiled a bight of it round the falling sailor.

"Now lower away from aloft!" he shouted.

The man had been caught by body and legs when about half-way down, and was now lowered easily to the ground.

He was partially insensible, but otherwise intact.

"That's the way we catches Cape pigeons," said the man who had so cleverly saved his shipmate's life.

Jack begged him to explain.

"Why, young sir," he said, "it's simple enough. Near the Cape, you know, and up the 'Bique, the birds come sailing round astern of the ship to pick up the crumbs. Well, we just tie a line to a chunk o' wood and pitches it overboard. When a bird flies near it, we loosens the line like, and a turn of the wrist entangles him; then on board he comes straight off the reel."

In a hotel in one of the beautiful squares Jack dined that day in solitary grandeur.

When he went on board again, he told his adventures to his messmates.

"I say, little 'un," said Gribble, the assistant-paymaster, "you're getting on. I thought I was a bit of a liar myself, but— Steward, another cup o' tea."

"Well," said Jack, in a disheartened kind of way, "I don't see the value of truthfulness if one isn't to be believed."

"Bravo, Jack!" cried Dr. Reikie. "I believe you. What you have told us is doubtless true. The clever feat is scientifically possible; but, alas! to talk science to Gribble there is like throwing pearls before—"

"Before what, Mister Learned Scot?"

"Before— Steward, another cup of tea."

The advantages of temperance are nowadays well recognized by the men themselves in the royal navy; but in those times it was nothing unusual to find the men come off in the liberty-boat "fechtin' fou," as Dr. Reikie called it—that is, to put it plain, "fighting drunk." Sometimes they had to be put in irons on account of their violence. This was not perhaps so much owing to the amount they disposed of as to the vile nature of the stuff they drank.

When Midshipman Jack was one day sent on shore with a boat's crew and some letters at Alexandria, he felt himself a very important officer indeed. He had orders also to make a call and wait for a reply, but to be off again within two hours. He got down to his boat in plenty of time, singing to himself. He sang another song, though, when he found only one man at the boat.

He lowered his brows, and demanded to know where the others were.

"Only gone up to drink the Queen's health, God bless her!" said Paddy O'Rayne.

"But I gave them strict orders not to leave the boat."

"Bhoys will be bhoys, yer honor. But if you'll stand by her head here, sorr, troth I'll bring them all in a minute."

Away went Paddy.

In an hour's time, and when Jack was almost in tears, down came two men—they were singing. Then came Paddy—he was reeling. Then two more—one with a black eye. Jack would wait no longer, but shoved off.

Three times did the stroke oar catch a crab; the third time he couldn't get up, and Paddy took his place.

In order to get alongside safely and gracefully, he made a kind of admiral's sweep, much to the amusement of Dr. Reikie and Lieutenant Sturdy, who were both on the quarter-deck.

"In bow!"

"Way enough! Oars!"

The bow stood up, boat-hook in hand.

He tried to do so very gracefully—too gracefully in fact; for in reaching out to catch on, he lost his balance. He was fished out after a time; and so Jack and his merry men got up the side.

Our young hero made his report very sadly; but Sturdy only laughed.

"I merely sent you," he said, "to give you experience. Sailors are just like babies, you know, and want a lot of watching to keep them out of mischief."

"That's true," said Reikie. "Why, I remember once when in the old gunboat Rattler, on the coast of Africa, having ten men down with sickness all in one day. I thought we were struck with cholera till I made inquiry, and found it was 'pine-apple ailment.' They had all been on shore at Zanzibar, and pine-apples were cheap. Well, Sturdy, would you believe, one man told me that 'sure, he'd only eaten nine!'"

* * * * *

In two months' time the Gurnet was at anchor at Constantinople. This was Jack's first visit to the capital of the Turk, but it wasn't to be his last by any means.

Just one little story here concerning Paddy O'Rayne.

Paddy was a sailor-soldier, you must know; in other words, he was a red marine. He belonged to the R.M.L.I., or Royal Marine Light Infantry. They are called infantry, not to distinguish them from cavalry—for there are no horse marines—but from the R.M.A., or Royal Marine Artillery. These red marines are really splendid fellows, and, as a rule, men of grand physique. It is said that they take up as much room on parade as the "gallant Forty-twa," though my own opinion is that the Highlanders could give them yards and beat them. Never mind, Paddy was a capital specimen; and he "did for the doctor"—that is, he was the worthy surgeon's servant, and sometimes even assisted in the sick-bay.

As regards drinking, Dr. Reikie had always considered him fairly temperate, and had never missed a drop out of his own bottle of rum, which was taken up for him once a week.

"I never saw you the worse of drink yet," said the doctor to him one day, by way of compliment.

"Indade! thin, sorr," said Paddy, "the raison is just this: I niver dhrink more than one glass at a time. Sure, sorr, me mouth wouldn't hould a dhrop more."

But, alas! during this visit to Constantinople proof was forthcoming that even Paddy was not invariably infallible.

Paddy was granted a day's leave then to go on shore and see the "unspakeable Turk." He was as natty as a new pin when he passed over the side to take his place in the liberty-boat.

But when that same boat came off with the liberty-men at night, behold Paddy was not there. Nor did he appear next day, nor till the middle of the next, when he came on board. His appearance as he came in over the side was, to say the least, sufficient to make him the cynosure of all eyes. He had nothing on at all except a pair of old blue drawers and a brass cavalry helmet. His face was fearfully disfigured. But heedless of the peals of laughter that greeted him from all hands, he marched boldly aft to where Dr. Reikie stood on the quarter-deck, saluted, and reported himself.

"It's me, sorr," he said, "and sorra a one else."

"Well, Paddy, I wouldn't have known you. Get down at once to the sick-bay, and I'll see you there."

There were three parallel scars on Paddy's face—brow, nose, and chin—thus 3 bars. The excuse he pleaded, when asked how he managed to injure himself, was as droll as Paddy himself.

"You, see, sorr, it was like this. I was aslape on the floor as innocent as an unborn lamb, sorr, and when I awoke I found the stove had thrown itself down and the bars had burnt me face."

But he spoke as if the stove had been lying on his face for quite a long time.

Dr. Reikie forgave him.

The officers of the Gurnet managed to enjoy themselves very much at Constantinople, and were everywhere well received. There were other ships here too, and so the fun was pretty general.

After leaving the Turkish capital, the Gurnet returned to Alexandria and Malta and Gibraltar.

The reason was that there was then no Suez Canal, else the saucy craft would have steamed right away through into the Indian Ocean.

Round the Cape she must go therefore, but nobody minded this. The Cape of Good Hope is rather a pleasant station than otherwise; and, besides, time is of no object with a ship just newly commissioned, for throe or four years being a very long time to look forward to, no one thinks of looking.

The ship touched at Madeira, then stood straight away south—with not much easterly in it—for Ascension and St. Helena.

After many days' sailing they sighted the beautiful Canary Islands, and then the Cape de Verd Islands, getting pretty close to one which I think was St. Antonio. But they did not land, for the breeze was a spanking trade, and carried them on and on all day and all night, as if their ship had been a fairy ship and the sea around a fairy sea.

There was certainly not much in the shape of adventure, however, and not a deal to be seen; although Dr. Reikie, ever busy in the pursuit of science, found much in that deep-blue sparkling ocean to interest him: for he trailed little open gauze nets overboard, and the animalcules that he caught thus and spread out on black card-board with the aid of needles were extremely beautiful to behold. It needed good eyes to see some of the worthy medico's specimens, however. Here, for instance, were tiny transparent fishes, seemingly, all perfect and complete, yet so small they could have swum easily through the eye of a bodkin; little star-fish too, and the drollest and daftest looking shrimps you could imagine, and these were no bigger than the head of an old-fashioned pin. Under a large magnifying-glass, however, you could see even the hearts of these little fishes beating.

"Oh, isn't it wonderful!" Dr. Reikie would say; "and to think that God made them all, and every tiny blood-vessel in their bits of bodies."

One night about five bells in the first watch there was a cry of, "Man overboard."

This was quickly followed by the bos'n's pipe—"Away, lifeboat's crew."

But who was it? Everybody looked about on deck or below to see if they missed a messmate.

Rattle-rattle, rumble-tumble, how those good fellows fly on deck! Hardly a minute elapses ere the boat reaches the water on a level keel and with a dull plash. Then there are the swish of the oars, and the clunk-clunk in the rowlocks, as she speeds away astern.

The life-buoy has been lit and let go, and is burning brightly enough far away astern yonder, and as speedily as possible the ship is hove to.

For that life-buoy the men are now steadily pulling as if their own lives depended on the strength of their brawny arms, while the sub-lieutenant himself as coxswain stands tiller in hand in the stern sheets.

What a long pull it seems to be! But they reach the beacon light at last.

No soul is clinging there!

But a huge shark appears for a moment in the bright starlight, swims half-way round the buoy, and disappears with an ugly plash.

"Ah, lads," says the officer, "that tiger of the seas has had his supper. We can do no more. Stand by to ship the buoy."

This was got inboard and steadied forward in the bows, and after pulling around slowly for a short time, the lifeboat was headed once more for the now distant ship.

"Pull easy, men—pull easy."

The poor fellows were terribly pumped.

"Hark!" cried the first-class boy Harris. "Did you hear that cry, sir?"

It was the same lad who had been planked by Sturdy for skylarking in church: a bold and fearless young fellow he was.

"Hark, sir, there it is again!"

"Lie on your oars, men.—You must have 'cute ears, boy. I heard nothing."

There wasn't a sound now except the "jabble" or lapping of the water as the boat moved slowly up and down. The night was delightfully clear; the stars so bright and near it seemed as though they were not many oars' lengths overhead. The Southern Cross was particularly brilliant. No clouds in the sky except a few rock-and-tower-shaped ones low down on the western horizon, behind which the tropical lightning played intermittently.

But never a sound.

"Hark again!" cried Harris.

Yes; every one heard it now—far down to leeward.

"It is but the cry of a bird," said the officer.

"It's only a Mother Carey's chicken," said the stroke.

"Round with her, lads," cried Sub-Lieutenant Wilson. "Give way port. Off she dances. We'll soon see."

The beacon light was out, but a lantern was hung up, and away went the lifeboat. Though I say life-boat, reader, remember she was but an ordinary whaler.

After pulling for some time, they could hear the cries ahead distinctly enough.

They answered with a vigorous shout, and redoubled their efforts, for the cries were unmistakably those of a drowning man.

They ceased entirely after a time.

The good crew were in despair. They listened and listened in vain, and were just putting about, when Harris dropped his oar, to the astonishment of everybody, and sprang overboard like a flash.

In the side of a dark curling wave he had seen a white face. Next minute he was ploughing along back towards the boat with one hand, while with the other he supported the form of the drowned or drowning man.

It was the doctor himself. While hauling in his net as he sat in the dinghy that hung from the davits astern, he had somehow slued it and gone head foremost into the sea.

For a long time he gave no signs of life. But his wet clothing was speedily taken off, and he was laid on the men's coats. After fully half an hour of rubbing and rolling, he gave a sigh and opened his eyes. A little flask of brandy was held to his lips, a portion of which he managed to swallow. He speedily revived now, and by the time they got him on board he was able to tell his story. He did not swim to the life-buoy, he said, because it was watched by a demon shark that would undoubtedly have taken him down.

Next day he was able to resume his duties; but that boy Fred Harris was the hero of the ship for many a week after this strange adventure.

CHAPTER XI.

A TRAGEDY—AULD REIKIE PURSUES SCIENCE
UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

For nine months, if not longer, the Gurnet cruised around the Cape, and along the east coast of Africa, as high up as the tropics, and as low down as Algoa Bay. She took a run round once as far as Simon's Bay.

Jack Mackenzie felt himself now to be a boy no longer. He had grown taller, broader, and, I may add, browner.

Who could have foretold that the little ragged guttersnipe boy whom big Tom Morgan found on that snowy Christmas eve, and took pity upon, would have developed into so manly a young officer, walking the quarter-deck of one of Her Majesty's cruisers, and feeling fit almost to keep a watch all by himself.

We next find the Gurnet at anchor in Bombay roadstead or harbour. She looked small, indeed, beside some of the great East Indiamen lying here, and almost hidden in the forest of masts everywhere around her.

At this time the walls of Bombay were still standing, and a ditch ran round a great portion of it. The British town was therefore far more gloomy than it is now, and the native town perhaps a deal dirtier, if that were possible. Nevertheless, Jack used to enjoy a run on shore with his friend the doctor, for there was much to be seen and much to study from a natural history point of view. So they never came off without specimens of some kind.

"If I had a year to myself," said Dr. Reikie, "I would spend it in studying anthropology and zoology in the old and new towns of Bombay."

Well, as regards these, one might go further and fare worse.

But every creature and human being, except restless Europeans, seemed calm and contented here. The doctor and Jack, after a time, got into a habit of just wandering about in the glorious sunshine and looking at things, or they would hire a buggy and make the buggy-wallah drive slowly about. A palkee or palanquin was another method of progression the two sometimes adopted. They made the bearers walk abreast, so that they could converse from their respective windows, or ports, as Dr. Reikie called them.

A palanquin is really a kind of sedan chair, borne along on a long bamboo pole by half-naked natives; only, instead of sitting you lie at full length. My own experience of palkees leads me to say that in such a mode of travelling one enjoys the dolce far niente to perfection, and people and things flit past you as if they were part and parcel of a beautiful dream, or the transformation scene in a pantomime. The natives are picturesque in the extreme—turbanned Arabs; swarthy Parsees; fat Hindus; native servants of every description; lazy blue-dressed native policemen; British soldiers in scarlet coats; British blue-jackets; solemn-looking little cows with humps and gilded horns; rings of workmen squatting on the foot-path smoking opium; droll-looking birds called adjutants, that, assisted by the bluebottle flies, do all the scavenging; and, last but not least, rows of pretty maidens, dressed in rolls of silk of various colours; with here and there bevies of beautiful children. The whole forms a picture that never passes from the mind away.

The Gurnet next went to Ceylon.

While on her voyage thither some stock-taking was done, and, to Captain Gillespie's astonishment, the rum was short.

Who could the thief be? No one could get into the spirit-room without the assistant-paymaster's orders or Lieutenant Sturdy's. It was extremely puzzling. A watch was kept on the door, nevertheless; but nothing was found out. Still the rum disappeared—more, that is, than was taken out honestly. A small cask was taken up every day at twelve. The bung was started, and the spirit drawn off with a siphon. Then the cask was returned.

It was a case for a detective.

And that detective was forthcoming in the person of Auld Reikie, as his messmates frequently called the honest doctor.

"I have it, Sturdy, I have it," he cried one forenoon, rushing into the ward-room. "Man, there is nothing in a' the warld to beat the glorious licht o' science."

"Well, heave round," said Sturdy, lighting a cigar; "show your glorious 'licht,' as you call it."

"I'll do that, man. Listen, Sturdy; listen, my Lord Tomfoozle, for I'll mak the truth apparent to even your feckless noddle."

"Thank you, Reikie," drawled Fitzgerald.

"Every day, then, the siphon is carried away full. You've only to put your thumb on it and the thing's done. Watch the morn, Sturdy, and you'll put your thumb on the culprits."

And Auld Reikie was right.

But the trick was so simple and yet so clever that the culprits were allowed to escape with only a nominal punishment.

* * * * *

The bos'n was such a good fellow that no one could have believed he had an enemy on board. He was, however, a strict-service man, and nobody at sea can do his duty strictly without making at least one foe.

It was Christmas time then, and the Gurnet was still lying at Bombay. Extra liberty had been granted to the men, which they did not abuse more than usual; and as for the officers, many of them spent nights on shore at entertainments got up in their behalf by rich European merchants.

Jack himself was unusually happy on the Christmas eve, because only the day before he had received a whole bundle of letters from home—from his grandma, his mother, his sister, big Uncle Tom himself, and his little cousin Violet, or Tottie as he liked to call her. He had received a long, delightful letter also from Llewellyn. His regiment, or a part of it, was then at Fort George.

Probably the memory of a long-gone-by Christmas eve tended to make Jack all the brighter and happier on this particular night, but certainly he had never felt brighter or more joyful.

The moon was shining brightly on the water as Dr. Reikie and he came alongside and got quietly on board, for it was now

"The wee short oor ayont the twal."

They turned in almost immediately, but not before Jack had knelt beside his chest and prayed for all the dear ones so far away.

It must have been well on towards six bells in the same watch when the bos'n in his cabin was startled by hearing his curtain drawn back.

There was a feeble light outside, and he could just make out the figure of a tall man in the doorway.

"Who is it? What do you want?"

"It's me, sir; it's Jack Bisset, the man you reported to the commander. You were quite right, and though we haven't been friends since, I couldn't sleep to-night of all nights—for it is Christmas morning—till I came to shake hands and make it up."

"All right, Bisset. Let us be friends. I bear no ill-will."

He held out his right hand as he spoke.

This the sailor grasped tightly with his left, then aimed a murderous blow at the poor bos'n's skull, with an iron bar or huge file.

The bos'n fell back; and thinking he had done his murderous work, Bisset dropped the piece of iron and rushed up the ladder. He flew past the sentry, and reaching the forecastle, leaped at once into the sea.

Once again the shout of "Man overboard!" rang fore and aft, and every one was aroused.

But the would-be murderer was seen but for a moment in the moonlight. He threw up his arms as if making one last appeal to Heaven, then sank like a stone.

The bos'n was not killed. The man's blow had missed the skull, but cut the ear almost off.

So ended that tragedy.

* * * * *

At Bombay one of Dr. Reikie's friends had made him a present of a photographic apparatus. This was a somewhat recent invention in those days, and Auld Reikie was delighted beyond measure.

There would be no end to the scenes he might now depict. I believe the possession of that lens and camera kept him awake for several nights before he reached Ceylon.

There he refused all offers of sport. Elephant-hunting, anyhow, was brutally cruel, he said, and he would find plenty of enjoyment with his camera.

The worthy surgeon, on the ship's arrival at Trincomalee, formed a resolve to astonish his messmates. He would give them a pleasant surprise. He had already taken portraits on glass of the captain himself, of Sturdy, a group of men, the ship's cat, and the mongoose. He should now do something extra and special. Well, pleasant surprises are always welcome, more particularly to officers on foreign stations. So Dr. Reikie betook himself to the woods or bush. There would be plenty of scope here for an effective picture—a lovely bit of scenery, a treescape, with the sea and ships beyond, perhaps. The pictures would aid the advance of science, and prove even to Gribble, the assistant-paymaster, that mankind with the sword of knowledge was moving onwards, ever onwards, conquering and to conquer the world, ay, and the universe itself. Mind, he had told his messmates a thousand times over, was not matter in motion, as some shallow-minded philosophers would try to make out. The soul was as high above the merely material as Sirius was beyond the earth. The mind made use of matter only as a carpenter made use of a tool.

He went on shore, carrying his camera himself. He would not permit even Jack Mackenzie to accompany him to-day. For to-day his pictures would probably be little more than mere experiments. Even science must advance by gradual steps and slow. When he became a little more expert in the use of the camera, he—well, there is no saying what he might not do.

He found at last the spot that suited him—a charming bit of scenery: trees, rhododendrons just bursting into bloom, early though it was, great masses of dark foliage, the bend of a stream, a rustic bridge, and a distant mountain peak. He felt triumphant already. How tenderly he handled his apparatus, how gingerly he set it up, and how carefully he placed his head and shoulders under the black cloth! Yes, there was the picture, upside down of course, but in colouring complete—the most lovely miniature that ever his eyes had beheld. And yonder—oh!

The "oh" was an expression of pain. Something had struck him from behind. He tore off the black cloth and looked round, rubbing himself as he did so. There was a huge nut lying near him; but who could have thrown it? There was no one in sight, and no nut-tree from which it could have fallen. It was strange, but he refused to be discouraged, So he once more enveloped his head in the dark cloth, when whiz! bump! another and another. It was serious; he must be already black and blue.

What could it mean? The place was very lonesome. Not a sound was to be heard except the ripple of the stream and the piping of a bird in a bush near by. He was just a trifle superstitious, and he began to think the wood must be haunted. He dismissed the idea at once, however, as unworthy to be harboured by any scientific thinker.

To prove to himself that he was not afraid, he once more hid himself, and began to make sure of his focus. He had got it as nearly perfect as possible, when suddenly the black cloth was seized from behind and rolled about his head. He felt a weight on his back, a cold and tiny hand on the nape of his neck, and in the struggle to free himself the tripod got mixed up with his legs, and down he rolled, camera and all.

He was white in the face with fear—yes, there is no other word for it—when he at length succeeded in disentangling himself and getting up. The matter was serious. There were more things in heaven and earth and the woods of Ceylon than he had dreamt of in his philosophy. He determined to retire, and that right speedily too. So he bundled his things up hurriedly. He would never come here alone again, he told himself.

But the cap of the camera could nowhere be found. Dr. Reikie was a man of method and regularity, and he made sure he had laid it down just there. Well, it must have been spirited away.

He was bending down to pick up a strap, when crack! upon his bare head came the missing cap. His astonishment now knew no bounds; but on looking up, behold an old, very old man with a long white beard bearing down towards him, staff in hand, through a neighbouring glade.

Was this, then, the evil spirit of the place that had wrought all the mischief? Was this—

"Good-morning, sir. Glad to see you on my domains."

"Thank you; but really, sir—"

"Perhaps you would like to come up to my bungalow and drink a glass of sherbet. It is quite close. I am a sailor, like yourself, and a naturalist. I have quite a menagerie up here, and was just coming to look for two mischievous rascals of baboons that have escaped."

"Baboons!" said the doctor, rubbing himself once more; "did you say baboons, sir?"

"Ah! there come the rascals."

Next moment two splendid specimens of the agile gibbon (Hylobates agilis) came bounding from a tree with screams of delight.

"Oo—ah—ee!" they cried.

They stood nearly four feet high, and their faces were a study of blended fun and mischief. Such droll-looking apes Dr. Reikie had never seen before.

He told the stranger all about his adventure, and as they walked towards the naturalist's bungalow they had a hearty laugh over it.

Mr. Starley, as he was called, had a wonderful collection of curios and pets, and at his house Dr. Reikie and Jack also became constant visitors all the time the ship lay here.

CHAPTER XII.

TOM FINCH AND THE SHARK—SHOOTING IN THE
DISMAL SWAMP—DEATH AND PROMOTION.

It took the Gurnet a year and a half more to complete even two-thirds of her circuit, and this was in reality a voyage round the world of a far more complete nature than any offered by ocean racers nowadays, that do little more than touch at a port, hurry the passengers through the sights, and go off again. There is a vast deal of difference, as every man-o'-war sailor could tell you, between "doing" the world and "seeing" the world. Perhaps the best way to see the world would be to have a yacht of one's own, and to forget there is any such word as "time" in the dictionary. But, alas! few of us are born with silver spoons in our mouths, so we must be content to stay at home and read.

But the Gurnet sailed for the Chinese seas from Ceylon, then visited Java, and next straight away for Australia and New Zealand. After this she steered east and by south straight for stormy Cape Horn, rounding which, amid terrible dangers owing to a gale that drove her—after an accident to her machinery—among the icebergs, she bore up along the coast of South America till past Pernambuco, when the course was changed to north-north-west; and so we find her at long last safe at anchor at Port Royal, Jamaica.

Except for the breakdown in the machinery off the Horn, the Gurnet had not met with a single mishap since she had left the China seas. All had gone well. All hands—thanks perhaps to Dr. Reikie's care and attention, and to the first lieutenant's regard for cleanliness and hygiene—were happy and healthy.

* * * * *

It was now the commencement of what may well be called an unhappy year for Britain—1854—in which we entered upon the war in the Crimea; a war which proved, if anything ever did, that Britain's sons can hold their own, can fight and suffer and die by the sword or by sickness, no matter how badly affairs may be managed by those who sit at ease at home and pull the strings that move great fleets and armies.

But war had not yet been declared; and although it seemed to be known at headquarters here, in garrison and on board ship, that it was looming in the near distance, no one considered that it would be otherwise than simply an affair of a few months, a mere military parade and picnic, a little outing for our troops, with just enough fighting for them and our blue-jackets to give it zest and flavour.

How greatly every one was mistaken events will show.

Things still went on on board the old Gurnet, as she was now endearingly called, much in the same way as before. Dr. Reikie, though never relaxing his duties on board, nor neglecting a single patient, however humble, found plenty of time to continue the pursuit of science, often, it must be confessed, under the greatest and drollest difficulties.

The camera, however, he had given up. He had found it unsuitable for his purposes, and so it lay in the obscurity of a locker beneath his cot. But just think for a moment, reader, what a power this instrument has become in our day, what an aid to science and art, in war as well as peace, and even to the advancement of that greatest of all sciences, though only in its infancy, astronomy! For by its assistance myriads of stars beyond the ken of the most powerful telescopes have been revealed.

Well, as the Gurnet must lie here for a few months, her officers settled down to take things pretty easy, each according to his own taste or bent.

There were excursions to be made by land and by sea—these would suit the doctor at all events; there were parties and balls afloat and ashore—Jack and the junior officers, including Gribble the A.P., would go in for these; and there were whist parties and dinners, at which both the captain and his first lieutenant were sure to be present.

Jack's great ambition was to catch a shark. He expected to see them basking in the sunshine or green transparent sunlit water all around the ship.

"In the olden times," he asked Sturdy, who had been here before, "didn't there used to be a very large shark borne on the hooks of the flag-ship and fed with a ration of pork every day, to prevent the men from swimming on shore?"

"Yes," said Sturdy, laughing; "though it wasn't in my day. But at the little village of Twyford in England, in the almshouse, there used to live, and I think lives till this day, an old sailor who, being desirous to go a-boozing, as it is called, swam on shore alongside the shark nearly all the way."

"What! and the shark didn't swallow him?"

"No; I reckon he didn't, Jack, else he would hardly be alive to tell the story every Christmas evening."

"Well, sir, how did he manage?"

"Oh, simply enough. He chose a clear moonlight night, when you could have seen down to the very bottom of the harbour. The sentry was in the know, though not in the swim. In fact, Tom Finch promised to smuggle him off a drop of grog if he turned his back and kept looking astern while the daring sailor dropped quietly over the bows.

"Tom Finch was a splendid swimmer, and he had not burdened himself with a superfluity of garments; but he had three necessaries of life, as he called them: item—a pretty-well-lined purse; item—a big canvas bag containing pieces of pork for the government shark; and item—a big, sharp dagger, with which, he told his messmates, he would rip that tiger of the seas open from stem to stern if he didn't play fair."

"But," said Jack, "weren't there other sharks about as well as the tame one?"

"He wasn't tame, Jack, by any means; but he was king of the water, and when he sailed round, all the others kept at a respectful distance. So Tom Finch could have had no better convoy.

"Well, Tom struck out. But he soon found that this swim of his was going to be no child's play. The distance hadn't looked very insurmountable from the fo'c's'le-head, nor was it; but Tom hadn't considered the tidal current.

"He had swum probably fifty yards, when, as silently as a ghost, there slid up to his very side a great shark. Tom could just see it with the tail of his eye. Indeed, he says its cold, smooth nose touched the back of his hand. At the same moment he made the horrible discovery that this was not the shark.

"Thinking it was all up with him, he was just about to draw his knife, when dashing through the water came the ship's shark himself. There was no mistaking him. He made straight for the first comer.

"'That's Tom Finch,' he seemed to say. 'He's my man and my meat, if he's anybody's.'

"There was no fight between the two sharks, but there must have been a long race, for it was some time before the huge monster returned.

"Now, Jack," continued Sturdy, "I must tell you the rest of the story as old Tom Finch himself related it to the ancient dames in the almshouse not four years ago. I must premise, however, that the poor people are allowed a drop of beer at Christmas, and Tom Finch had drunk his own and had a sup from everybody else's mug.

"'"An' did the shark come back, Tom?" said old Sally.

"'Ah! that he did, Sally, and I was main glad to see him too. There was pork enough in my bag for him, but not for a score, you know.

"'"Good-evening," says Mr. Shark, quite polite like. "It is Tom Finch, isn't it?"

"'"That's me," says I. "I hopes I sees you. How's the wife and all the little 'uns?"

"'You see, ladies, I wanted to keep him talking as long as I could, to make the pork last.

"'"They're all nicely," he says. "But now, Tom, I must do my duty. I mustn't take the Queen's bounty for nothing. I've got to make a meal of you!"

"'"Duty's duty," I replies, swimming as hard as I knew how to; "and a very toothsome meal I'll make. But, my dear friend, how would a nice bit of pork do to begin with?"

"'"On with you then," says he, "if you've got it."

"'"Lie round on your side then, Mr. Shark, and open your pretty little mouth."

"'Round he lies as docile as a cat, and opens a mouth as big as the almshouse door there. I could have slit him down the stomach then and there; but Tom Finch never did a mean thing—thank you, ladies, I will taste again—so I just pitched him a piece of pork, and he caught it like a dog would a morsel of biscuit.

"'Then he winked to me.

"'"More!" he cries,

"'I flung the other piece as far as I could fling it.

"'"Don't do that again, Tom," he says, "else I'll have to begin at the other end of the banquet."

"'My heart began to quake a little now, and the shore seemed a longer way off than ever. I tell you what, ladies, I was getting a bit funky. But there was nothing for it but heave another bit o' pork.

"'"Are you quite ready?" I cries.

"'"Quite ready, Tom."

"'"You're sure?"

"'The shark lashed the water with his tail, and I knew he was losing his temper; so I sung out, "Play!" and threw the pork.

"'"More! more! more!"

"'La! ladies, I began to sweat with fear. The pork wouldn't hold out much longer, and then I knew as well what would happen, Sally, as I know what's in your pewter pot—thanks. So I threw and threw, and was soon down to the last morsel.

"'"I'm going to give you bag and all this time, Mr. Shark," says I; "you'll find the bag toothsome and tasty."

"'"Heave away," he cries; and I whips off the bag and takes out my knife at the same time. The struggle would soon begin. But as good luck would have it, I now found myself not far off the steps.

"'A light glimmered, and a black sentry appeared.

"'I threw the bag to my friend the shark.

"'"Who goes dere free times?" shouted the sentry. Bang went the musket immediately. The bullet tore up the water; but as the sentry had fired at me, of course he didn't touch me.*

* The black sentries on duty at night in or near the dockyards at Jamaica had orders to challenge "Who goes there?" three times, and to fire in the event of not receiving an answer. Their plan, however, was to shout, "Who goes dere free times?" and immediately fire.

"'"Good-bye, Tom," says the shark; "I'm off. Good luck to you till we meet again!"

"'"And may all the bad weather go with you, you ugly beast," says I. "But I'm safe now, and hurrah for a jolly time of it!"

"'I landed further down, and—that's all the story. Well, here's your good health again, ladies.'"

* * * * *

But Jack saw plenty of sharks after a time, and more than one was captured. It is about as poor sport, however, and as cruel as shooting alligators in the swamps.

* * * * *

I have now to describe a rather melancholy event which occurred here at Jamaica on board the Gurnet, which no one deplored more than Jack Mackenzie, although it led indirectly to his promotion.

We must go back a few weeks in our narrative, however, to describe how it happened, or rather to give you, as Dr. Reikie would have said, the primary cause of the sad affair.

The Gurnet, then, had called at Grey Town, Central America, and had been detained there for about a fortnight; so to pass the time a picnic and big pigeon-shoot were determined upon.

On the swampy island on which the party landed—the party consisting of the A.P. Gribble, the sub-lieutenant, Dr. Reikie, and Jack himself, with a boat's crew, and plenty of prog and grog—there were any number of pigeons on the trees, and almost an equal number of alligators in the swamps. As sly as sin these horrid brutes looked—they seemed to watch every movement of the sportsmen; and slow in movement though they appeared to be at the edge of the water, had any one fallen in they would have darted on him from every point of the compass with lightning speed, and torn him limb from limb more quickly than could be described.

The gunning went on all the forenoon, and by mid-day a very big bag had been made. The exercise, too, had made the sportsmen hungry; so what more natural than that they should light a fire and have a good dinner? Pork and roasted pigeons go well together, and neither biscuits, butter, nor the salt had been forgotten. The birds were spitted on ramrods and done to a turn, and all hands admitted it was the best meal they had eaten since they had left old England.

Then all sat round the camp fire smoking and yarning just as sailors will.

But suddenly the sky began to grow dark; the wind began to moan, and drive the smoke and fire about. A brilliant flash of lightning followed, and a startling peal of thunder. Then big drops of rain commenced to fall, and in a minute more a tropical shower burst over them in all its fury. Dr. Reikie was fain to confess that this shower beat all the showers ever he had known, including even a Scotch mist. There was no shelter, and in a few minutes' time every one was drenched to the skin.

Almost as speedily as they had banked up did the clouds go drifting away seaward, and once again the sun blazed out with redoubled fury.

Now, to permit one's clothes to dry on one's back in cases of this kind is not the best of policy. But what were they to do? Well, there was only one alternative, and that was adopted. They speedily built up a huge fire therefore, though being wet the wood took some time to ignite; then they stripped to the skin, retaining only a kind of kilt or cummerbund depending from the waist, and while the clothes were drying they all ran off to the woods and spent the time in playing at being savages.

The result of this shooting expedition in the dismal swamp was, that in a few days all who had taken part in it were down with ague.

The doctor himself and Jack soon threw off their attack, but on the arrival of the ship at Port Royal, both the A.P. and sub-lieutenant had to be sent to hospital.

Gribble got better from the day he entered, but it was soon apparent to every one that the sub-lieutenant would not get over it, and one forenoon Dr. Reikie returned on board with the melancholy intelligence that the poor fellow was no more.

This cast a gloom over the ship—for all liked the brave young fellow—that it took some time to dispel.

Sorrow, however, is a plant that thrives but badly in a climate like that of Jamaica, and I think the same may be said for other tropical climates—notably, perhaps, that of India. For six weeks I myself lay ill in Bombay of rheumatic fever, but during all that time I never had a single fit of depression or lowness of spirits.

Things then soon resumed their usual level on board the Gurnet. Gribble came back from hospital; Mr. Fitzgerald, alias Lord Tomfoozle, was appointed acting sub-lieutenant; and Jack Mackenzie became senior, because sole midshipman, of the ship.