Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber by L. A. Meyer Page B
Authors: L. A. Meyer
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truth."
I know, I know, it is a blow to your male pride, but it will be all right, you'll see...
At the beginning of the Second Dog, Robin and I slide back down to the deck. We have some things resolved and we go into the berth for dinner. The others are there, playing at cards. They look up as we enter.
"Stand up," I say, and when they do, I continue. "Tomorrow, lads, your education as naval officers begins. Mr. Raeburne and I have the two night watches tonight, but in the morn you, Mr. Wheeler, will be the Junior Officer of the Watch for the Morning Watch, and you, Mr. Barrows, shall have the Afternoon Watch. Mr. Piggott, the First Dog. And back again to me for the Second. And so on, in never-ending rotation. Is that clear?"
They gulp and say yes, but Georgie pipes up with, "But what will we
do,
Miss?"
"You will do what the Officer of the Watch tells you to do. If he tells you nothing, then you will stand there at Parade Rest until he does tell you to do something."
They look uneasy and I continue. "You might tell the Officer of the Watch that I expect you to know the name of every single sail that is drawing wind tomorrow, and if you do not know that when I come on watch at six in the evening, you two will each receive two demerits and no dinner. Do you understand?"
They nod.
"Good. And at noon we will join Mr. Barrows on the quarterdeck, and I will show you how to take a sun line to determine our longitude. And then all will join me on the Second Dog to shoot Polaris for our latitude, weather permitting. In the morning Mr. Raeburne shall conduct math class for those not on watch, and I shall drill you in writing, reading, and spelling. All right?"
More nods.
"Good. One other thing. When we are here in the berth, we are Robin, Jacky, Tom, Ned, and Georgie, as we are all fellow midshipmen. But when we are on deck, we are Mister and Miss, for that is how we want the men to address us. Clear? All right then, lads, let's eat."
Just then the door is kicked open and our food arrives, borne by the same surly cook's helper who had delivered our rations before. He is a miserable looking creature, slump shouldered and chinless and not very clean. He drops the tray upon the table and goes to leave.
As he does so, I stick out my boot between his feet and trip him, such that he pitches forth, facedown on the deck.
"Wot? Wot, the hell!" he says, scrambling to his feet, full of indignation.
"Belay that," I say. He looks at me in openmouthed wonder. I put on the Lawson Peabody Look and gaze down my nose at him. "Pick up the tray and go back out and ask permission to enter." He now looks confused. "Do it, or you shall feel the Nine-Tailed Cat scratch your worthless back!" I hiss, and he jumps to his feet, takes the tray, and scurries back out.
Soon there is a scratching at the hatchway door.
"Yes," I say, as icily as I can.
"Dinner, Miss."
"You may enter."
He comes back in.
"What is your name?" I demand.
"Weisling, Miss."
"Very well, Weisling, you may serve us our dinner."
The now thoroughly cowed man enters and goes to put the tray on the table.
"No," I say. "Serve each of us our plates. From the right, if you please. Thank you."
He does it and puts a pitcher of hot tea on the table and a pint of rum in front of Robin and another in front of me.
Hmmm.
At least I'm to get a full ration. I pick it up and hand it back to him.
"I do not drink spirits. Take it back, please. If there is wine, I will have some. If not, I will content myself with tea.
And,
" I say, "make sure that pint finds its way back to the Bo'sun. I
will
check, count on it."
He leaves, and we fall to, talking easily among ourselves of the day's events. Presently, our reluctant servant comes back in bearing a bottle of red wine. He uncorks it and pours me a glass. It is not a great vintage, but it is drinkable.
"Thank you," I say. He leaves the bottle on the table and goes out, no doubt to spread tales of my vicious nature.
"A glass of wine with
I know, I know, it is a blow to your male pride, but it will be all right, you'll see...
At the beginning of the Second Dog, Robin and I slide back down to the deck. We have some things resolved and we go into the berth for dinner. The others are there, playing at cards. They look up as we enter.
"Stand up," I say, and when they do, I continue. "Tomorrow, lads, your education as naval officers begins. Mr. Raeburne and I have the two night watches tonight, but in the morn you, Mr. Wheeler, will be the Junior Officer of the Watch for the Morning Watch, and you, Mr. Barrows, shall have the Afternoon Watch. Mr. Piggott, the First Dog. And back again to me for the Second. And so on, in never-ending rotation. Is that clear?"
They gulp and say yes, but Georgie pipes up with, "But what will we
do,
Miss?"
"You will do what the Officer of the Watch tells you to do. If he tells you nothing, then you will stand there at Parade Rest until he does tell you to do something."
They look uneasy and I continue. "You might tell the Officer of the Watch that I expect you to know the name of every single sail that is drawing wind tomorrow, and if you do not know that when I come on watch at six in the evening, you two will each receive two demerits and no dinner. Do you understand?"
They nod.
"Good. And at noon we will join Mr. Barrows on the quarterdeck, and I will show you how to take a sun line to determine our longitude. And then all will join me on the Second Dog to shoot Polaris for our latitude, weather permitting. In the morning Mr. Raeburne shall conduct math class for those not on watch, and I shall drill you in writing, reading, and spelling. All right?"
More nods.
"Good. One other thing. When we are here in the berth, we are Robin, Jacky, Tom, Ned, and Georgie, as we are all fellow midshipmen. But when we are on deck, we are Mister and Miss, for that is how we want the men to address us. Clear? All right then, lads, let's eat."
Just then the door is kicked open and our food arrives, borne by the same surly cook's helper who had delivered our rations before. He is a miserable looking creature, slump shouldered and chinless and not very clean. He drops the tray upon the table and goes to leave.
As he does so, I stick out my boot between his feet and trip him, such that he pitches forth, facedown on the deck.
"Wot? Wot, the hell!" he says, scrambling to his feet, full of indignation.
"Belay that," I say. He looks at me in openmouthed wonder. I put on the Lawson Peabody Look and gaze down my nose at him. "Pick up the tray and go back out and ask permission to enter." He now looks confused. "Do it, or you shall feel the Nine-Tailed Cat scratch your worthless back!" I hiss, and he jumps to his feet, takes the tray, and scurries back out.
Soon there is a scratching at the hatchway door.
"Yes," I say, as icily as I can.
"Dinner, Miss."
"You may enter."
He comes back in.
"What is your name?" I demand.
"Weisling, Miss."
"Very well, Weisling, you may serve us our dinner."
The now thoroughly cowed man enters and goes to put the tray on the table.
"No," I say. "Serve each of us our plates. From the right, if you please. Thank you."
He does it and puts a pitcher of hot tea on the table and a pint of rum in front of Robin and another in front of me.
Hmmm.
At least I'm to get a full ration. I pick it up and hand it back to him.
"I do not drink spirits. Take it back, please. If there is wine, I will have some. If not, I will content myself with tea.
And,
" I say, "make sure that pint finds its way back to the Bo'sun. I
will
check, count on it."
He leaves, and we fall to, talking easily among ourselves of the day's events. Presently, our reluctant servant comes back in bearing a bottle of red wine. He uncorks it and pours me a glass. It is not a great vintage, but it is drinkable.
"Thank you," I say. He leaves the bottle on the table and goes out, no doubt to spread tales of my vicious nature.
"A glass of wine with
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