



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Young Tom Bowling
The Boys of the British Navy

By J.C. Hutcheson
________________________________________________________________________
This book fills a gap about just how boy seamen were trained at the end
of the nineteenth century.  From first to last it is very credible, and
also very readable.  It was not very easy to transcribe, because the
boys we meet come from a variety of country places, and hence have a
variety of dialects.  In particular one of the boys has a strong Irish
brogue, and another has an equally strong west Hampshire accent.  It is
this boy, `Ugly', that comes to a very sad and noble end.

Our hero, Tom, is trained for a little over a year in "Saint Vincent",
after which he moves on to various postings in the Fleet.  There is an
interesting period during which he is serving in a vessel that is taking
part in the British efforts to capture and punish slave-traders on the
African east coast.

It all rings true to me, because your reviewer has been in the Royal
Navy himself, and knows the way the Navy works.
________________________________________________________________________
YOUNG TOM BOWLING
THE BOYS OF THE BRITISH NAVY

BY J.C. HUTCHESON



CHAPTER ONE.

FATHER AND I "ARGUE THE POINT."

"Hullo, father!"  I sang out, when we had got a little way out from the
pontoon and opened the mouth of the harbour, noticing, as I looked over
my shoulder to see how we were steering, a string of flags being run up
aboard the old _Saint Vincent_.  "They're signalling away like mad this
morning all over the shop!  First, atop of the dockyard semaphore; and
then the flagship and the old _Victory_, both of 'em, blaze out in
bunting; while now the _Saint Vincent_ joins in at the game of `follow-
my-leader.'  I wonder what's up?"

"Lor' bless you, Tom!" rejoined father, still steadily tugging on at his
stroke oar as we pursued our course towards the middle of the stream, so
that we might take advantage of the last of the flood, and allow the
gradually slackening tide, which was nearly at the turn, to drift us
down alongside the old _Victory_, whither we were bound to pick up a
fare for the shore--"nothing in pertickler's up anyways uncommon that I
sees, sonny; and as for the buntin' that you're making sich a fuss
about, why, they've hauled all that down, and pretty near unbent all the
signal flags, too, and stowed 'em away in their lockers by this time!"

"But, father," I persisted, "they don't always go on like this for
nothing, I know!"

"In coorse they don't, stoopid!" said he, giving the water an angry
splash as he reached forwards, the blade of his oar sending up a tidy
sprinkle across my face.  "Why, where's your wits, Tom, this mornin'?"

"Where you put them, father," I replied with a laugh; "you know I'm your
son, and mother says I'm `a chip of the old block' whenever she's a bit
put out with me."

"None o' your imporence, Tom," said he, laughing too; for he and I were
the best of friends, and I don't think we ever had a serious difference
about anything since first I was able to toddle down to the Hard, a
little mite of four or five, to see him put off in his wherry, and
sometimes go out for a sail with him on the sly when mother wasn't
watching us, up to the time, as now, when I could help him with an oar.
"None o' your imporence, you young jackanapes.  But touching that there
signallin', I'm surprised, sonny, you don't know by this time that when
the commander-in-chief up at Admiralty House, in the dockyard, wishes
for to communicate to some ship out at Spithead, he telegraphs from his
office to the semaphore, which h'ists his orders, and then every ship in
port's bound to repeat the signal till the craft he means it for runs up
her answering pennant, for to show us how she's took the signal in and
underconstubled it."

"Oh yes, father, I know that," said I, leading him on purposely.  "But
what is the signal they've been so busy about this morning?  I can't
make it out at all."

Father snorted indignantly.

"Tom Bowling, junior, I'm right down ashamed on you for a son o' mine!"
he said, digging away at his oar savagely, as if trying to dredge up
some of the silt from the bottom of the harbour.  "You, turned fifteen
year old, and been back'ard and forrud 'twixt Hardway and the Gosport
shore for a matter of five years or more, and not for to know and read a
common signal like that, which you must 'a seed run up at the semaphore
or on board the _Dook_ a hundred times at least.  Lor'!  I'm jest
'shamed of you, that's what I be!"

"But that ain't telling me, father," I retorted, "what _is_ the signal.
You needn't make such a blooming mystery of it, like that chap we saw
t'other night at the theayeter!"

In return for my `cheek' he splashed the water over me again.

"Well, if you don't know it, sonny, which I can hardly believe on, and
wants for to know to improve your mind, which needs a lot of
improvement, as I knows, that theer signal, Tom, was that cruiser we saw
out at Spithead yesterday a-trying her speed at the measured mile, the
_Mercury_, I thinks she is, axin' the port-admiral if she might have her
sailin' orders; and look there, sonny, the `affirmative''s now run up
at the mizzen aboard the _Dook_, over yonder!"

"Yes, father," said I, playing him artfully, like the wily old fish he
was, with an object which you will soon learn--"and what does that
mean?"

"What does that mean?  You blessed young h'ignoramus!  Why, Tommy, your
brains be all wool-gathered this mornin'!  Can't you see that old Sir
Ommaney is tellin' the cruiser to `carry on' as soon as she likes, and
bid adoo to Spithead when she's weighed her anchor?  See, too, sonny,
the old _Vict'ry_ and the _Saint Vincent_ be now a-repeatin' the signal
arter the _Dook_, the same as they did that first h'ist, jest now!"

"That is, father," said I innocently like--"the port-admiral gives that
cruiser outside permission to go to sea?"

"Aye, Tom," he answered, without suspecting what my inquiry was leading
up to--"that's just it.  You've reckoned it up to a nicety, my hearty."

Now came the opportunity for which I had been waiting.

"The old port-admiral may be a martinet, as they say, in the dockyard,"
I said; "but he's a kinder chap than you are, father."

"The admiral kinder than me, sonny," he repeated, in a surprised
tone--"why, how's that, Tom?"

"Because he gives leave when he's asked for a fellow to go to sea."

We were just then about midway between the _Saint Vincent_ and the old
_Victory_; and, startled by my thus unexpectedly broaching my masked
battery, father dropped his oar and let the wherry drift along the
almost motionless tideway towards the stern of Nelson's whilom flagship,
which was slowly swinging round nearer us on the bosom of the stream,
thus showing that the ebb was setting in, or, rather, out.

"You owdacious young monkey!" he cried, slewing his head round on his
shoulders, even as the old _Victory's_ hull slewed with the tide, so
that he could look me full in the face.  "So, my joker, that's the
little rig you're a-tryin' to try on with me, Master Tommy, is it?"

"It ain't no rig, father," said I sturdily, sticking to my guns, now
that the cat was out of the bag.  "I can't see why you won't let me go
to sea.  I'm sure I've asked you often enough."

"Aye; and I'm sure I've had to refuse you jest as often."

"Why, father?"

"For your own good, sonny."

"I can't see it, father," I rejoined.  "Look at them _Saint Vincent_
boys in that cutter a-crossing our bows now.  How jolly they all seems
working at their proper calling, just as I'd like to be!"

"Aye, mebbe," said father, in his sententious way, cocking his eye as
the cutter sped on its way towards the training-ship.  "But jest you
look at me, Tom, and see what forty years' sailorin', man and boy, have
done for one o' the same kidney as them boys, jolly though they seems
now.  Poor young beggars, they all has their troubles afore 'em!"

"Most of us have our troubles, father," I replied to this bit of moral
philosophy of his, speaking just in his own manner.  "So our old parson
said on Sunday last, when mother and Jenny and I went to church.  We are
all bound to have them, he said, whether on sea or on land; and I can't
say as how a sailor has the worst chance."

"Ship my rullocks, Tom, can't ye?  Jest you look at me!"

"Why, father?"  I asked.  "What's the use of that?"

"None o' your imporence, Master Tommy; jest you look at me!"

"All right, father," said I.  "I am a-looking at you now!"

"Very good, Tom--one dog one bone!  Well, what d'ye see?"

"I see a brave sailor and a gallant defender of his country," I
answered, giving the bow oar I was pulling a vicious dig into the water
as I spoke, like as if I were tackling one of the Queen's enemies; "I
see a man who has got no cause to be ashamed of his past life, though he
might be getting on in years--you are that, father, you know; and one
who has won his medal with four clasps for hard fighting.  In real wars,
mind you, not your twopenny ha'penny Bombardment of Alexandria
business!--aye, I see one who ought to wear the Victoria Cross if he had
his rights.  That's what I see, father."

"Bosh, Tom, none o' your flummery," said he, grinning as he always does
at the mention of the Egyptian affair which they made such a fuss about,
just when I was a little nipper learning to run about, and that old men-
o'-warsmen thought all the more ridiculous from its contrast to Admiral
Hornby's rushing the British fleet through the Dardanelles, and stopping
the Russians in their march to victory at the very gates of
Constantinople, shortly before, in the days of `old Dizzy'--which was
really a deed to boast of, if any one wanted to talk of the British Lion
showing his teeth and waggling his tail, as he did when he `meant
business' in the good old days of Nelson!  Aye, that _was_ `something
like,' father says; and worth all the `bronze stars' in the Khedive's
collection of leather medals!  "None o' your flummery, Tom; you only
wants to put me off my course, you rascal, so as to make me forget what
I were a-talking about.  But I don't forget, sonny!  Look at me, I says,
and see what I've come to, with my forty year o' sailorin' all about the
world an' furrin parts--a poor rhumenaticky chap as is half a <DW36>,
forced to eke out his miserable pension of a bob an' a tanner a day by
pulling a rotten old tub of a boat back'ards and forruds, up and down
Porchm'uth Harbo'r, a-tryin' to gain an honest livin', an' jest only
arnin' bread an' cheese at that!"

"Oh, father!" said I.  "How about that rabbit smothered in onions we had
yesterday for dinner, and the `tidy little sum' you told me you and
mother had in the Savings Bank?  Besides that, we've bought the freehold
of our little house at Bonfire Corner, I know, father, and there's the
bird-shop and all the stock!"

"You knows too much, Master Tom, I'm a-thinking," he rejoined,
scratching his head again, as he always did, as now, when he was in a
quandary about anything, especially when any one had got the better of
him in an argument, or, as he said, `weathered' on him, and he wasn't
quite prepared with an answer, reaching over the sternsheets of the
wherry and dipping the blade of his oar, ready to make a stroke.  "But,
look out, my lad!  I think we'd better be a-going alongside now.  Ain't
that a jolly there, signalling to us from the entry-port o' the old
_Victory_?"

"Aye, father," said I, for I had seen the marine holding up his hand to
summon us before he spoke.  "The court-martial must be over sooner than
was expected."

"Not a bit of it, Tom," he replied, as he and I bent our backs and made
the boat spin along towards the old flagship, fetching the gangway at
the foot of the accommodation ladder on the starboard side in half a
dozen strokes.  "The ship's corporal told me it'd last all day.  It's
only them lawyer chaps wanting to get ashore to their lunch, that's all.
Those landsharks be as hungry arter their vittles as they is for their
fees, Tom; they be rare hands, them lawyers, for keeping their weather
eyes open, and is all on the look-out for whatsomedever they can pick
up.  They be all fur grabbin' an' grabbin', that they be, or I'm a
Dutchman!"

"Really, father?"  I said innocently, as I stood up in the bows of the
wherry and hung on by a boathook to one of the ringbolts in the side of
the old three-decker that towered up above our heads, waiting to help in
a couple of gentlemen who came hurrying down the accommodation ladder to
take passage with us.  "Why, I thought you and mother wanted me to go
into a lawyer's office and become one of those very same sort of chaps!"

"I'd rayther see you an honest sailor, like your father an' grandfather
afore you," he answered, with some heat, unthinkingly; and then,
catching my eye, he grinned, recognising how seriously he had committed
himself by this rash utterance after his previous advice respecting the
unsatisfactory character of the vocation he now extolled, and he
muttered under his breath while lending his arm to assist the gentlemen
to pass astern on their jumping into the boat.  "Ship my rullocks, you
young rascal!  Don't you sit there grinning and winking at me, like a
Cheshire cat eatin' green cheese, thinkin' no doubt you've got to
win'ard of me; though, I'm blest, sonny, if I didn't nearly slip my
painter then!"

The rudder of the wherry being shipped, one of the gentlemen took the
yoke lines as he sat down in the sternsheets facing father, handling
them in a manner that showed he was no novice.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed presently, looking steadily at father, as he
steered us aslant the tide so as not to check the way of the boat, while
making straight for the pontoon across the stream, which was now running
out, like a regular good coxswain.  "Aren't you Tom Bowling?"

"Aye, aye, sir, that's my rating," said father, looking at him in his
turn.  "But I can't say as how I can place your honour;--though, ship my
rullocks, if it ain't young Mister Mordaunt; `Gentleman Jack' we used to
call you on the lower deck aboard the old _Blazer_--beg pardon for
taking the liberty, sir!"

"Yes, I'm that same, Bowling, only grown a bit since then in stature and
likewise in years; for none of us can manage to work a traverse on old
Father Time and grow younger," said the other, laughing lightheartedly
and showing his white teeth as he stretched out his hand to father in
the most cordial way, like a real gentleman, as if he were a friend and
fellow-sailor.  "I'm very glad to see you again--aye, and looking so
hale and hearty, too, old shipmate!"

"So am I to see you, sir," rejoined father, resting on his oar, while
the two exchanged a good grip of their fists; I also stopping pulling,
of course, and grinning in sympathy.  "Why, I were only talking about
you last pension day to Bill Murphy--You remembers Bill; don't you, sir?
He wer' cap'en of the foretop in the _Blazer_ with us, Mr Mordaunt--a
little chap with ginger hair."

"Oh yes, I recollect Murphy well enough.  He was a mad Irishman, always
full of fun