Jenks, the master-at-arms, otherwise known as Jimmylegs, was the best Jimmylegs in the naval service of the United States. His countenance was usually as stolid as a mummy's, and his voice as steady as the Sphinx's might have been. He would have announced "The magazine is on fire, sir," in precisely the same tone as "John Smith has broken his liberty, sir." Therefore when Mr. Belton, First Lieutenant of the training-ship Spitfire, in his first interview after coming aboard, detected a rudimentary grin upon Jimmylegs's usually impassive face, he stopped short in the perilous operation of shaving while the ship had a sharp roll on, and asked: "What is it, master-at-arms? Out with it!"
"Just this, sir," replied old Jenks, crossing his arms and tugging at his left whisker with his right hand. "Along o' that 'prentice boy, Hopkins—the other boys call him Crying Tommy, because he's always blubbering about something or 'nother. That boy'd be worth good money to a undertaker, he's got such a distressful countenance. Well, sir, I brought him down, with a batch o' other boys[Pg 330] from the training-station, and he didn't half seem to like going aboard ship. Howsomedever, I never misdoubted as how he'd jump the ship. But after them boys was landed at the dock, I looked around, and there wasn't no Crying Tommy. I brought the rest of 'em along, and reported on board ship, and then I started out on a quiet hunt for that there boy. I didn't have no luck, though; but about dark that evening there come over the for'ard gangway a great strappin' red-headed girl about fifteen, holdin' on to Crying Tommy like grim death, and he scared half out of his wits. She marches him up to me, and she says, 'Here's that dratted boy'—dratted was the very word she used, sir—and she kep' on, 'He won't run away no more, I think—not if my name is Mary Jane Griggs.' And I says to her, bowin' and tryin' to keep from grinnin', for the girl had as honest a face, sir, as I ever clapped eyes on, 'Miss Griggs, may I ask what relation you are to Mr. Hopkins here?' And she snapped out: 'Not a bit; only after his mother died we took him in our house, and he paid his way—when he could. Then one day I read in the paper about naval apprentices, and I said to Tommy, "That's the place for you." So he went and signed the articles. That was six months ago. And this afternoon, when I come home from the box factory where I works, there was this great lummux.' Well! how her eyes did flash! Mr. Belton, I'm afraid o' red-headed women and girls, sir—that I am—and Crying Tommy, I saw, was in mortal fear of Mary Jane Griggs. And she says, 'I marched him straight back; he bellowed like a calf—he's the greatest crier I ever see; but I want you to take him and make him behave himself.' 'I will endeavor to do so, Miss Griggs,' says I, and then she gave her flipper to the boy, and went off home, I suppose, and we sailed that night."
"Well, what sort of a boy is he?" asked the Lieutenant.
Jimmylegs tugged at his whiskers harder than ever.
"Well, sir," he said, presently, "the boy ain't no shirk. He's a foretopman, and the captain of the foretop says he's the smartest boy he's got aloft. But he keeps on crying, and I'm mightily afraid he'll start some of the other boys to crying, and they'll think the ship is a penitentiary. Low spirits is ketchin','specially in the foc's'l', and I wish that blessed brat would stop his bawling. I'd like you to speak to him, sir; you've got such a fine way with boys, sir." Which was true enough.
"Send him here," said the Lieutenant, wiping his face after his shave.
Presently there came a timid knock at the door, and Crying Tommy appeared. He was a sandy-haired boy of sixteen, ill-grown for his age, and of a most doleful countenance.
"Well, my lad," said the Lieutenant, cheerily, "I hear that you are always piping your eye. What's that for?"
Crying Tommy shook his head helplessly, but said nothing.
"Do the men run you?"
"Yes, sir; but—'taint that."
"Do you get enough to eat?"
"Yes, sir—never had such good grub in my life before."
"Then what in the name of sense are you always howling for?"
Crying Tommy looked about him more helplessly than ever, and then burst out suddenly and desperately:
"I don't know, sir, except that I've always had—somebody to look out for me. Mary Jane Griggs done that—she's a corker, sir—and she made me go and be a 'prentice—and I didn't want to; she made me go—that she did, sir!"
"I'm not surprised that Mary Jane wanted to get rid of you if this is the way you acted. Now mind; do you stop this boo-hooing, and do your duty cheerfully. Do you understand me? For I hear that you do your duty. And if you don't, why"—here the Lieutenant quickly assumed his "quarter-deck" voice and roared out, "I'll give you something to cry for!"
Crying Tommy fled down the gangway. Half an hour afterwards the Lieutenant was on the bridge, the anchor was picked up, the Spitfire was spreading her white wings to the freshening breeze. Mr. Belton, watch in hand, was keenly observing the young bluejackets, and when he saw that all plain sail was made within ten minutes, he put his watch back with a feeling of satisfaction. He had sailor-boys to count on, not farmers and haymakers, aloft. Especially had he noticed one boy, who, laying out with cat-like swiftness on the very end of the topsail-yard, did his work with a quickness and steadiness that many an old man-o'-war's man might have envied. When this smart youngster landed on deck Mr. Belton was surprised to see that it was Crying Tommy, looking, as usual when he was not crying, as if he were just ready to begin.
But Mr. Belton had something else to study besides the boys, and this was the ship. The Spitfire was a fine old-fashioned, tall-masted, big-sparred frigate, which could leg it considerably faster under her great sails than under her small engines. She had the spacious quarters for officers and the roomy airy spaces between decks for the men of the ships of her class, and was altogether a much more comfortable ship for cruising than the modern floating forts that could have blown her out of the water with a single round. Stanch and weatherly, Mr. Belton had but one fault to find with her, and that was her powder-magazine was exactly where it ought not to have been; the breech of one of her guns was directly over the chute by which the ammunition was handed up. Whenever that gun was fired, Mr. Belton would go up to the gun captain and give him a look of warning, and the man would respond to this silent caution by touching his cap. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant said to himself sometimes, "If we finish this cruise without some trouble with the magazine, the Spitfire will deserve her name of a lucky ship."
They had sailed in April, and six very satisfactory weeks had been passed at sea. Homesickness and seasickness had disappeared after the first week, and the whole ship's company from the Captain down—who rejoiced in such a First Lieutenant as Mr. Belton—was happy and satisfied, with the possible exception of Crying Tommy. The master-at-arms never had so little disagreeable work to do, and so he told Mr. Belton one Sunday morning after inspection.
"By-the-way," asked the Lieutenant, "I see that Hopkins boy is doing well. He has never had a report against him. Has he stopped that habit of howling for nothing?"
"Well, sir," replied old Jimmylegs, "he has, partly. The other boys laughed at him, and that done him good. They've caught on to Mary Jane, and they asks him if he has to report to Mary Jane twicet a day when he is ashore, and such like pullin' of his legs as boys delights in. The other day, sir, he got to cryin' about something or 'nother, and they run him too hard. I saw 'em and heard 'em, but they didn't know it. Fust thing Crying Tommy lights out from the shoulder, and laid the biggest of 'em sprawlin', and they shoved off pretty quick, sir. I didn't think as 'twas my duty to report him for fightin', and I 'ain't never had occasion to report him for nothin' else. A better boy nor a smarter at his duty I 'ain't never seen, sir."
One lovely May morning a few days after this found the Spitfire off the glorious bay of Naples. The sun shone from a sapphire sky upon a sapphire sea, while in the distance rose the darker blue cone of Vesuvius, crowned with fire and flame. Across the rippling water swept innumerable sail-boats, while tall-masted merchantmen and steamships with inky smoke pouring out of their black funnels ploughed their way in and out the harbor. Near a huge government mole half a dozen majestic war-ships, strung out in a semicircle, rode at anchor. A great British battle-ship, all black and yellow, towered over the smart little cruiser near by, which also flew a British ensign from her peak. Not far away lay a French ship with remarkably handsome masts and spars and a wicked-looking ram as sharp as a knife, that could cut an armored ship in half like a cheese if ever she got the chance. Farther off still lay three Italian men-of-war, from one of which flew the blue flag of an Admiral. The Captain of the Spitfire was with Mr. Belton on the bridge as they came in, with a fair wind, and a mountain of canvas piled on the ship. The Captain, knowing that no man could handle a sailing-ship more beautifully than his First Lieutenant, was quite willing[Pg 331] that he should show his expertness before the thousands of sailors watching the Spitfire. On she rushed, the water bellowing against her sides as her keen bows cut her way through the blue waves. Mr. Belton, with a seaman's eye, selected an admirable anchorage, and just as the on-lookers were wondering where the Spitfire meant to bring up, she made a beautiful flying move. Her yards were squared like magic, and her sails furled with almost incredible swiftness. With a gleam like lightning and a rattle like thunder her cable rushed out of the hawse-hole, and scarcely had the splash of her anchor resounded when the Italian colors were broken at the mast-head and the first gun of the salute boomed over the bright water.
"Well done, Spitfire!" cried the Captain; and well done it was.
Twenty guns roared out, with scarcely a second's difference in their steady boom!—boom!—boom!—and then there was a sudden break before the twenty-first gun was fired. Mr. Belton turned, and his eye instinctively flashed upon the starboard gun over the magazine. Yes, there it was—that accident he had been looking for ever since he set foot on the ship. The shreds of a blazing cartridge-bag dropped under the breech, and a faint puff of wind blew them over the edge of the open chute, and down they went into the powder-magazine.
The Lieutenant hardly knew how he reached the deck and sped along it, but in a moment he had leaped down the ladder toward the open door of the magazine, where an ominous crackling was heard. And instead of half a dozen men at work flooding the magazine, there were half a dozen pale, wild-eyed, and panic-stricken creatures, as the bravest will be sometimes, crowding out into the passage, and quite dazed with fear.
"Return to your duty!" shouted Mr. Belton, feeling for his pistol, and not finding it, seizing a bucket of water that was handy and dashing it in the men's faces. The shock brought them to their senses; they stopped in their mad flight and turned toward the magazine. Mr. Belton rushed like a catapult among them, wedged together in the narrow passage, and right behind was old Jimmylegs with a bucket of water. They could see a boyish figure on hands and knees in the magazine with a wet swab, crawling about and putting out the sparks that flashed from all over the floor. The next moment the whole floor was awash; the danger was over, and Mr. Belton and the master-at-arms had time to observe that the boy who had stood to his post when men fled was Crying Tommy, and he was crying vigorously. When he saw that the fire was out, he sat down on the wet floor and began to howl louder than ever. Old Jimmylegs seized him by the shoulder, and giving him a shake that made his teeth rattle in his head, bawled,
"Choke a luff, and tell the orficer about the fire!"
Crying Tommy was so scared at this that he actually stopped weeping, and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.
"I see the loose powder on the floor burning, and the men saw it, and then one of em called out, 'Oh Lord! we're dead men!' and they all ran away." Here Crying Tommy piped up again.
"And you didn't run away. Go on," said Mr. Belton.
"And I reached out for the swab and the water-bucket, and I swabbed the floor the best I could."
"A-cryin' all the time, no doubt," put in old Jimmylegs.
"I couldn't help it, sir," whimpered Crying Tommy.
"Well," said Mr. Belton, "you had something to cry for this time. Now get out of here. You've saved the ship."
Not long after this, one Sunday morning, the boatswain was directed to pipe all hands up and aft. And when all the officers and men were assembled, the Captain read out the appointment of Thomas Hopkins, apprentice boy, as acting gunner's mate for his gallantry in putting out the fire in the magazine on that May morning. Then Mr. Belton handed Tommy a handsome watch as a gift from the officers, at which the men cheered, and Tommy bowed and bowed again, and presently put up his ever-ready jacket sleeve to his eye; and the officers roared with laughing and the men grinned, and Tommy went below, weeping but very happy.
One day, some years after this, Mr. Belton and old Jimmylegs, who were then on different ships, met at the navy-yard gate, and, being old shipmates, they exchanged very warm greetings. Presently there passed them a smart-looking young gunner, and holding his arm was a tall fine-looking young woman in a red gown, with a red feather in her hat, red cheeks, and a brilliant red head, and she looked very proud and smiling. Her companion, on the contrary, seemed overcome with bashfulness on seeing the Lieutenant and the old master-at-arms, and hurriedly saluting, made off in the opposite direction, looking uncommonly sheepish.
"That, sir," said Jimmylegs, with a sly grin, "is Gunner Hopkins, and that is Mrs. Hopkins. They're just married. He used to be called Crying Tommy, and she was Mary Jane Griggs, sir."
"I remember," answered the Lieutenant, smiling.