Part 21 (1/2)
”Begorrah, Tom,” cried he, wiping his eye with the sleeve of his jumper, ”Oi wudn't 'a belaved it, sure, if ye hadn't towld me, mabouchal, wid yer own potato trap! Faith, the poor chap samed quoite a t'other sort.
Sure, Tom, me darlint, as he's bin an' gone an' saved the noomber ov yer mess, be the powers, Oi'll spake to Father O'Flannagan whin I git back to Porchmouth an' ax him fur to say a ma.s.s, sure, fur the poor beggar, so that his sowl may rest in paice. May the saints protict him!”
Three days afterwards, without any further adventure, we anch.o.r.ed in Funchal Roads.
Here the squadron remained a week, the other s.h.i.+ps having joined us when within a day's sail of Madeira; and, as we were going to make such a comparatively long stay, the men were granted leave to go ash.o.r.e, watch and watch in turn.
Just before we left, the commodore gave a grand picnic to all the officers at the Grande Curral, when I had the luck of accompanying the party that went from our s.h.i.+p, a piece of good fortune shared by Mick, my chum.
This Curral, a name which means, I'm told, in the Spanish language a 'sheepfold,' is an immense valley, completely surrounded by hills, that lies a few miles to the north-west of Funchal, the capital of the island.
The hills encircling the natural plateau of the Curral are literally perpendicular, being in no part less than a thousand feet high; while round a part of the cliffs there is a narrow road leading to the 'garden houses' of the rich folk having business premises in the town, and a number of plantations, which is cut out of the solid rock and is about ten or twelve feet high.
As the picnic party went along over this road, the view presented to our eyes on looking down below was that of an unfathomable abyss, filled up by a ma.s.s of clouds and vapours, all rolling about in constant motion, and tumbling the one on top of another.
Mick and I were each aboard a mule and enjoyed ourselves to rights, racing against one another all the way; though we took precious good care to keep in the rear of our officers, amongst whom was Lieutenant Robinson, whose liver must have been particularly out of sorts that morning, for he was in a grumpier and more fault-finding mood than usual.
He did catch sight of us once as we were turning a sharp point in the road round a projection of a cliff; but, through the fortunate circ.u.mstance of the mule which the lieutenant was riding happening to bolt at the moment, the joker had too much to do in taking care of his own valuable carca.s.s to have much time to growl at us.
The lieutenant, though, did not forget the incident: for, on Mick chancing to trip over one of his legs as he sat on the gra.s.s while handing him a plate of salad, the pleasant gentleman called him as many names as some of the watermen at Point are in the habit of using when they are put out of temper by being cheated of a fare.
”Bedad, Tom,” whispered Mick to me, when he got out of range of the lieutenant's grapeshot, and we were having a feed ourselves in a quiet corner, ”Oi wush thet blissid ould baist he wor roidin' hed run away wid him, sure, over the cliff an' made an ind ov the spalpeen! Faith, it isn't mesilf thet wud cry me oyes out, or wear mournin' fur him!”
On leaving Madeira, which we did with much regret, the people being very hospitable and most good-naturedly disposed towards all sailors, especially to British bluejackets, we fetched a compa.s.s for Teneriffe, where we arrived some three or four days afterwards; the commodore occupying the additional time in exercising the s.h.i.+ps under his command, and matching them one against another.
In sailing on a wind the _Active_, I'm glad to say, beat all the rest of the squadron; though, in running before the wind, the little _Ruby_ weathered on us and the _Volage_, our sister s.h.i.+p, ran us pretty close.
When nearing Teneriffe and close in to the African coast, we saw a splendid tight in the sea, between a big black whale on the one side, and a 'thrasher' or fox-shark on the other, aided by a swordfish, with which latter he had just apparently struck up an alliance offensive and defensive for the time.
The thrasher, which has a back as elastic as an india-rubber ball, would jump clean out of the water and give the whale a whack in the ribs that must have taken all the elasticity out of him; and then, on the poor leviathan of the deep fluking his tail to dive so as to escape from his aerial antagonist, his chum the swordfish would tickle up the whale from below by sending a yard or two of his long saw-like snout into his tenderest part.
Presently, as we luffed up to see the end of the fun, the sea in the vicinity of the fray became tinged with blood, the colour of carmine, showing that somebody at all events was having a bad time of it.
”By the powers, it bates Bannagher,” cried Mick, who was watching the fight alongside of me on the upper deck, springing up on to the hammock nettings in his excitement to see the finish, unthinking of the breach of discipline he was committing. ”Go it, ye cripples. Sure, Tom, the little wun'll win--what d'ye call him?”
”He's a thrasher,” I replied, jumping up, too, on the top of the nettings. ”A sort of shark, I think. Father has one stuffed at home, stowed away somewhere, that looks like that chap. If so, he's a fox- shark.”
”A fox-shark, begorrah!” repeated Mick, with a grin. ”Faith, Tom, he's goin' fur thet ould whale theer ez if he wor not ownly a fox, sure, but a pack of hounds as will, alannah!”
”Hi, there, you boys,” roared out a voice at this juncture, which we had little difficulty in recognising as belonging to Lieutenant Robinson, who was again officer of the watch this afternoon, his turn of duty having once more come round. ”Get off that netting at once and go below, both of you. Master-at-arms, take those boys' names down and put them in the report, and bring them up on the deck after 'divisions' to- morrow!”
The 'Jaunty,' who was standing below the break of the p.o.o.p, looked up at the scowling lieutenant, saluting him.
”Very good, sir,” said he, with another touch of his hat, in recognition of the authority of the speaker. ”I will see to it, sir.”
But, a 'Deus ex machina,' or 'G.o.d from the bathing-machine,' as our old captain of the _Saint Vincent_ would have said in his Latin lingo, just then intervened on our behalf.
Mick Donovan and I were sneaking down the main hatch, like a pair of whipped dogs with their tails between their legs--though I must say we were more chagrined at losing the best part of the fight going on in the water, which was rapidly approaching a climax, than dismayed at having incurred the displeasure of the lieutenant--when, if you please, we heard somebody shout out something behind us, and the master-at-arms, who had followed in our wake, called out to us to stop.
”Belay there, you boys,” he shouted down the hatchway. ”Ye're to return on deck!”