Crown and Anchor Part 11

"Ah, would you, now!" he exclaimed in reply, as I tried to wrench myself free. "Don't cry, my little pet, you haven't got your mammy here to mollycoddle you!"

"Let me go, Larkyns, you're choking me," I gasped out, wriggling violently and kicking out behind. "I'll hurt you if you don't loose me; I will, indeed!"

He wouldn't release me yet, however, seeing I was out of temper; and, some of the other middies not on duty gathering round, it being their watch below, egged Larkyns on, suggesting that as I seemed to think myself such a "big gun," I ought to be sponged and loaded and run out.

This humorous advice was immediately acted upon, a couple of the gang laying hold of my legs in spite of my kicks, while another a.s.sisted Larkyns, my tormenter; and the mischievous lot swung me backwards and forwards in and out of the port, until nearly all my clothes were pulled off my back and I hadn't a sound b.u.t.ton left to my jacket.

I felt hot all over; and was in a fine rage, "I tell you," as the gunner used to say.

Mr Triggs, meanwhile, had gone up the hatchway to see about getting on board his ammunition, the vermilion-painted powder hoys I had observed in the distance at the mouth of the harbour being now nearly alongside the s.h.i.+p; and, all of a sudden, as my reckless s.h.i.+pmates were pulling me almost to pieces between them in their mad prank, there came a cry from the deck above, "Stand clear, below there!"

At the same instant, a coil of rope whizzed by the port-hole out of which my body projected, the bight of it narrowly escaping my head in its downward descent, wetting my face with the spray it threw up as it splashed into the water right under me.

I could not restrain a shriek of alarm; and, wriggling more violently than before in the hands of those holding me as I tried to release myself, I managed somehow or other to jerk away from their grasp, sending them all sprawling backward on the deck inboard, while I shot out of the port like a catapult, tumbling headlong into the sea as if taking a header after the rope!

CHAPTER NINE.

MY DIP GAINS ME A DINNER.

Fortunately, though, as I fell, my outstretched hands, clutching wildly in the air, came in contact with the identical rope whose sudden descent from the gangway above had been the unwitting cause of the disaster, the tail end of the "whip" Mr Triggs had ordered to be rigged up from the lee yardarm, in readiness to hoist in the powder when the hoy bringing the same was made fast alongside.

This naturally yielded to my weight as I clung to it, on account of the other end, which pa.s.sed through a block fastened to the yard, not being secured.

However, it let me down easy into the water, my unexpected immersion making no noise to speak of and hardly causing a ripple on the surface of the tide as it gurgled past the s.h.i.+p's counter and eddied away in ripples under her stem.

Not a soul on board, indeed, knew of my mishap save those merry messmates of mine, all of whom doubtless, I thought, as soon as I regained my composure after the fright and knew that I was comparatively safe, would be in a great funk, fearing the worst had happened.

Glancing upward, my head being just clear of the water, which I trod to keep myself in an erect position, holding on, though, all the while, "like grim death," to the rope, of which I had taken a turn round my wrist, I saw Larkyns, the ringleader of the frolic, leaning out over the port sill as pale as a ghost.

He was looking downwards, in every direction but the right one, seeking vainly to discover me; and he evidently dreaded that I was drowned, his face being the picture of misery and despair.

"Hist, old chap, don't call out," I whispered in a low voice, as he was about to give up the search and rouse the s.h.i.+p. "I'm all right, my boy."

"My goodness Vernon, is that you? I thought you were lost, old chap,"

he hailed back in the same key, the expression of his face changing instantly to one of heartfelt relief. "Thank G.o.d you're not drowned!

But, where are you, old fellow; I can't see you?"

"Right under your very nose, you blind old mole! I am bent on to a bight of the whip falls," I answered, with a chuckle. "Keep the other end of the rope taut, old chap, and I'll be able to climb up back into the port without anybody being the wiser but ourselves, my hearty, and so we'll all escape going into the report."

He grasped the situation in an instant; and, likewise, saw the advisability of keeping the matter quiet now that I was not in any imminent peril.

Master Larkyns knew as well as myself that if the tragic result of their skylarking should get wind and reach the ears of Captain Farmer, he and his brother mids would have a rough time of it, and probably all be had up on the quarter-deck.

"All serene, Vernon, I under-constubble," he softly whispered back to me, in our gunroom slang. "Do you think you can manage to climb up by yourself, or shall I come down and help you?"

"Fiddlesticks, you duffer! I can get up right enough on _my own_ cheek," I said with a t.i.tter, though my mouth was full of the brackish water into which I had plunged at first head and ears over, while my teeth were chattering with cold, the frosty November air being chilly.

"I shall fancy I'm climbing the greasy pole at a regatta and that you're the pig on the top, old fellow. How's that, umpire, for your 'Squaretoes,' eh?"

"Ah, pax! You're a trump, Jack Vernon, and I promise never to call you by that name any more as it annoys you," he replied, chuckling at my joke, though it was at his own expense. He then leant out of the port further so as to get a tight grip of the whip fall, the other fellows holding on to him in turn to prevent his toppling over and joining me below, singing out as soon as their preparations were completed, calling out to me, "Are you ready?"

"Ready?" I repeated, quoting my favourite Napierian motto again. "Ay ready!"

"Then, up you come, my joker! Put your feet in the bight and hold on to the slack of the rope above your head and we'll hoist you up in regular man-of-war fas.h.i.+on. Now, my lads, pull baker, pull devil!"

He spoke under his breath; and yet, I heard every word he said, not only to me, but to the others inboard, grouped behind him within the port.

Quick as lightning I followed out his directions, clinging to the lower end of the rope like an eel; and, as soon as I gave the word, Larkyns and the rest of the mids clapping on to the running part of the whip falls, which ran through the block above, hoisted me up in a twinkling, as if I were a sack of flour, to the level of the port sill.

Once there, I was clutched by a dozen eager hands, and my whilom tormenters dragged me in, all dripping, and landed me on the deck beside them--"very like a fish," according to the old adage; and bearing just then the most unmistakable evidence of having come "out of water!"

After thus "landing me," the ends of the whip tackle were dropped again over the side in the same stealthy manner in which my rescue was effected, and as promptly.

My frolicsome friends were not an instant too soon; for, even while they were congratulating me all round, and declaring I was the best of good fellows for behaving so bravely and not "kicking up a row," though I had gone overboard so suddenly, the big, broad-beamed powder hoy slewed up alongside and Mr Triggs bustled down the hatchway.

Immediately after him came Mr Cheffinch, our gunnery lieutenant, accompanied by a strong working party to ensure the rapid trans.h.i.+pment of the combustible material and its storage in the magazines; and we could hear the boatswain piping all hands on the upper deck to man the whip falls of the hoists and lowering tackle.

I at once rushed away to my chest in the steerage, to change my wet clothes, hoping to return as quickly as I could to see what was going on, without my plight being seen or anyone knowing what had happened to get me into such a drenched condition; but, unfortunately, Corporal Macan caught sight of me as I was struggling to open my chest, for my fingers were so numbed with the cold that the keys I held in my hand jingled like castanets.

"Begorrah an' it's a purty state ye're in, sor," he said, eyeing me with much commiseration. "Sure an' ye've got the aguey."

"Nonsense, Macan," I answered shortly, wis.h.i.+ng to shut him up at once, for he was Dr Nettleby's factotum and if he got hold of the story it would soon be all over the s.h.i.+p. "I've only been splashed with some water and want to s.h.i.+ft my rig, that's all."

"Sphlashed is it, sor?" he repeated with a broad grin that completely shut out the rest of his face. "Faith, if ye was to axe me I'd tell ye, begorrah, ye looks loike a drowned rat, sor!"

"None of your impudence, corporal," I said with dignity, not liking his easy familiarity; though, poor fellow, he did not mean any harm by it, as it was only his Irish way of speaking; "I'll report you to the sergeant."

"An' is it rayporting _me_, sor, you'd be afther, an' you thremblin' all over," he rejoined, catching hold of me and helping to peel off my soaking garments. "Faith, sor, I'll be afther rayportin' _you_ to the docthor!"

"Hi, hullo, who's taking my name in vain?" at that moment exclaimed Dr Nettleby himself, emerging from the gunroom at this critical juncture, the worthy medico having been making his rounds, looking up some of those of his patients who were not actually on the sick list. "I'm sure I heard that Irish blackguard Macan's voice somewhere. Ah, it is you, corporal, as I thought! Hi, hullo, what's the matter, youngster?"

"I--I'm all right, sir," said I, trying to rise, but sinking back again on the lid of my chest, where I had been sitting down while the good-natured marine was endeavouring to pull off my wet boots. "It is nothing, sir."

"He's bin taking a dip in the say, sir, wid all his clothes on,"

explained Macan; "an' faith he's got a bit damp, sir."

"Damp, you call it, corporal? Why, he's dripping wet and chilled to the bone!" cried the doctor, feeling my pulse. "How did this come about, youngster?"

"It was an accident, sir," I replied hesitatingly, not wis.h.i.+ng to incriminate my messmates. "I would rather not speak of it, doctor, if you'll excuse me."

"Oh, I see, skylarking, eh? Well, well, you must go to bed at once, or you'll be in a high fever before sundown. Corporal Macan!"

"Yis, sor."

"Take this young gentleman to the sick bay and put him into a clean cot with plenty of blankets round him. By the way, too, corporal, ask Dr McGilpin to let you have a stiff gla.s.s of hot grog."

"For mesilf, sor?"