Chapter Forty Two
South West and by West three-quarters West
Jack Littlebrain was, physically considered, as fine grown, and moreover as handsome a boy as ever was seen, but it must be acknowledged that he was not very clever. Nature is, in most instances, very impartial; she has given plumage to the peacock, but, as every one knows, not the slightest ear for music. Throughout the feathered race it is almost invariably the same; the homeliest clad are the finest songsters. Among animals the elephant is certainly the most intelligent, but, at the same time he cannot be considered as a beauty. Acting upon this well ascertained principle, nature imagined, that she had done quite enough for Jack when she endowed him with such personal perfection; and did not consider it was at all necessary that he should be very clever; indeed, it must be admitted, not only that he was not very clever, but (as the truth must be told) remarkably dull and stupid. However, the Littlebrains have been for a long while a well-known, numerous, and influential family, so that, if it were possible that Jack could have been taught anything, the means were forthcoming: he was sent to every school in the country; but it was in vain. At every following vacation, he was handed over from the one pedagogue to the other, of those whose names were renowned for the Busbian system of teaching by stimulating both ends: he was horsed every day and still remained an ass, and at the end of six months, if he did not run away before that period was over, he was invariably sent back to his parents as incorrigible and unteachable. What was to be done with him? The Littlebrains had always got on in the world, somehow or another, by their interest and connections; but here was one who might be said to have no brains at all. After many pros and cons, and after a variety of consulting letters had passed between the various members of his family, it was decided that, as his maternal uncle, Sir Theophilus Blazers, GCB, was at that time second in command in the Mediterranean, he should be sent to sea under his command; the Admiral, having in reply to a letter on the subject, answered that it was hard indeed if he did not lick him into some shape or another; and that, at all events, he’d warrant that Jack should be able to box the compass before he had been three months nibbling the ship’s biscuit; further, that it was very easy to get over the examination necessary to qualify him for lieutenant, as a turkey and a dozen of brown stout in the boat with him on the passing day, as a present to each of the passing captains, would pass him, even if he were as incompetent as a camel (or, as they say at sea, a cable), to pass through the eye of a needle; that having once passed, he would soon have him in command of a fine frigate, with a good nursing first lieutenant; and that if he did not behave himself properly, he would make his signal to come on board of the flag-ship, take him into the cabin, and give him a sound horsewhipping, as other admirals have been known to inflict upon their own sons under similar circumstances. The reader must be aware that, from the tenour of Sir Theophilus’s letter, the circumstances which we are narrating must have occurred some fifty years ago.
When Jack was informed that he was to be a midshipman, he looked up in the most innocent way in the world, (and innocent he was, sure enough,) turned on his heels, and whistled as he went for want of thought. For the last three months he had been at home, and his chief employment was kissing and romping with the maids, who declared him to be the handsomest Littlebrain that the country had ever produced. Our hero viewed the preparations made for his departure with perfect indifference, and wished everybody good bye with the utmost composure. He was a happy, good-tempered fellow, who never calculated, because he could not; never decided, for he had not wit enough to choose; never foresaw, although he could look straight before him; and never remembered, because he had no memory. The line, “If ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise,” was certainly made especially for Jack; nevertheless he was not totally deficient: he knew what was good to eat or drink, for his taste was perfect, his eyes were very sharp, and he could discover in a moment if a peach was ripe on the wall; his hearing was quick, for he was the first in the school to detect the footsteps of his pedagogue; and he could smell anything savoury nearly a mile off, if the wind lay the right way. Moreover, he knew that if he put his fingers in the fire that he would burn himself; that knives cut severely; that birch tickled, and several other little axioms of this sort which are generally ascertained by children at an early age, but which Jack’s capacity had not received until at a much later date. Such as he was, our hero went to sea: his stock in his sea-chest being very abundant, while his stock of ideas was proportionably small.
We will pass over all the trans-shipments of Jack until he was eventually shipped on board the Mendacious, then lying at Malta with the flag of Sir Theophilus Blazers at the fore—a splendid ship, carrying 120 guns, and nearly 120 midshipmen of different calibres. (I pass over captain, lieutenant, and ship’s company, having made mention of her most valuable qualifications.) Jack was received with a hearty welcome by his uncle, for he came in pudding-time, and was invited to dinner; and the Admiral made the important discovery, that if his nephew was a fool in other points, he was certainly no fool at his knife and fork. In a short time his messmates found out that he was no fool at his fists, and his knock-down arguments ended each disputation. Indeed, as the French would say, Jack was perfection in the physique, although so very deficient in the morale.
But if Pandora’s box proved a plague to the whole world. Jack had his individual portion of it, when he was summoned to box the compass by his worthy uncle Sir Theophilus Blazers; who in the course of six months discovered that he could not make his nephew box it in the three, which he had warranted in his letter; every day our hero’s ears were boxed, but the compass never. It required all the cardinal virtues to teach him the cardinal points during the forenoon, and he made a point of forgetting them before the sun went down. They attempted it (and various were the teachers employed to drive the compass into Jack’s head) his head drove round the compass; and try all he could, Jack never could compass it. It appeared, as some people are said only to have one idea, as if Jack could only have one point in his head at a time, and to that point he would stand like a well-broken pointer. With him the wind never changed till the next day. His uncle pronounced him to be a fool, but that did not hurt his nephew’s feelings; he had been told so too often already.
I have said that Jack had a great respect for good eating and drinking, and, moreover, was blessed with a good appetite: every person has his peculiar fancies, and if there was anything which more titillated the palate and olfactory nerves of our hero, it was a roast goose with sage and onions. Now it so happened, that having been about seven months on board of the Mendacious, Jack had one day received a summons to dine with the Admiral, for the steward had ordered a roast goose for dinner, and knew not only that Jack was partial to it, but also that Jack was the Admiral’s nephew, which always goes for something on board of a flag-ship. Just before they were sitting down to table, the Admiral wishing to know how the wind was, and having been not a little vexed with the slow progress of his nephew’s nautical acquirements, said, “Now, Mr Littlebrain, go up, and bring me down word how the wind is; and mark me, as, when you are sent, nine times out of ten you make a mistake, I shall now bet you five guineas against your dinner, that you make a mistake this time: so now be off and we will soon ascertain whether you lose your dinner or I lose my money. Sit down, gentlemen, we will not wait for Mr Littlebrain.”
Jack did not much admire this bet on the part of his uncle, but still less did he like the want of good manners in not waiting for him. He had just time to see the covers removed, to scent a whiff of the goose, and was off.
“The Admiral wants to know how the wind is, sir,” said Jack to the officer of the watch.
The officer of the watch went to the binnacle, and setting the wind as nearly as he could, replied, “Tell Sir Theophilus that it is South West and by West three-quarters West.”
“That’s one of those confounded long points that I never can remember,” cried Jack, in despair.
“Then you’ll ‘get goose,’ as the saying is,” observed one of the midshipmen.
“No; I’m afraid that I sha’n’t get any,” replied Jack, despondingly. “What did he say, South West and by North three-quarters East?”
“Not exactly,” replied his messmate, who was a good-natured lad, and laughed heartily at Jack’s version. “South West and by West three-quarters West.”
“I never can remember it,” cried Jack. “I’m to have five guineas if I do, and no dinner if I don’t: and if I stay here much longer, I shall get no dinner at all events, for they are all terribly peckish, and there will be none left.”
“Well, if you’ll give me one of the guineas, I’ll show you how to manage it,” said the midshipman.
“I’ll give you two, if you’ll only be quick and the goose a’nt all gone,” replied Jack.
The midshipman wrote down the point from which the wind blew, at full length, upon a bit of paper, and pinned it to the rim of Jack’s hat. “Now,” said he, “when you go into the cabin, you can hold your hat so as to read it, without their perceiving you.”
“Well, so I can; I never should have thought of that,” said Jack.
“You hav’n’t wit enough,” replied the midshipman.
“Well I see no wit in the compass,” replied Jack.
“Nevertheless, it’s full of point,” replied the midshipman: “now be quick.”
Our hero’s eyes served him well, if his memory was treacherous and as he entered the cabin door he bowed over his hat very politely and said, as he read it off, “South West and by West three-quarters West,” and then he added, without reading at all, “if you please, Sir Theophilus.”
“Steward,” said the Admiral, “tell the officer of the watch to step down.”
“How’s the wind, Mr Growler?”
“South West and by West three-quarters West,” replied the officer.
“Then, Mr Littlebrain, you have won your five guineas, and may now sit down and enjoy your dinner.”
Our hero was not slow in obeying the order, and ventured, upon the strength of his success, to send his plate twice for goose. Having eaten their dinner, drunk their wine, and taken their coffee, the officers, at the same time, took the hint which invariably accompanies the latter beverage, made their bows and retreated. As Jack was following his seniors out of the cabin, the Admiral put the sum which he had staked into his hands, observing, that “it was an ill wind that blew nobody good.”
So thought Jack, who, having faithfully paid the midshipman the two guineas for his assistance, was now on the poop keeping his watch, as midshipmen usually do; that is, stretched out on the signal lockers, and composing himself to sleep after the most approved fashion, answering the winks of the stars by blinks of his eyes, until at last he shut them to keep them warm. But, before he had quite composed himself, he thought of the goose and the five guineas. The wind was from the same quarter, blowing soft and mild; Jack laid in a sort of reverie, as it fanned his cheek, for the weather was close and sultry.
“Well,” muttered Jack to himself, “I do love that point of the compass, at all events, and I think that I never shall forget South West and by West three-quarters West. No I never—never liked one before, though—”
“Is that true?” whispered a gentle voice in his ear; “do you love ‘South West and by West three-quarters West,’ and will you, as you say, never forget her?”
“Why, what’s that?” said Jack, opening his eyes, and turning half round on his side.
“It’s me—‘South West and by West three-quarters West,’ that you say you love.”
Littlebrain raised himself and looked round;—there was no one on the poop except himself and two or three of the after-guard, who were lying down between the guns.
“Why, who was it that spoke?” said Jack, much astonished.
“It was the wind you love, and who has long loved you,” replied the same voice; “do you wish to see me?”
“See you,—see the wind?—I’ve been already sent on that message by the midshipmen,” thought Jack.
“Do you love me as you say, and as I love you?” continued the voice.
“Well, I like you better than any other point of the compass, and I’m sure I never thought I should like one of them,” replied Jack.
“That will not do for me; will you love only me?”
“I’m not likely to love the others,” replied Jack, shutting his eyes again; “I hate them all.”
“And love me?”
“Well, I do love you, that’s a fact,” replied Jack, as he thought of the goose and the five guineas.
“Then look round, and you shall see me,” said the soft voice.
Jack, who hardly knew whether he was asleep or awake, did at this summons once more take the trouble to open his eyes, and beheld a fairy female figure, pellucid as water, yet apparently possessing substance; her features were beautifully soft and mild, and her outline trembled and shifted as it were, waving gently to and fro. It smiled sweetly, hung over him, played with his chestnut curls, softly touched his hips with her own, passed her trembling fingers over his cheeks, and its warm breath appeared as if it melted into his. Then it grew more bold,—embraced his person, searched into his neck and collar, as if curious to examine him.
Jack felt a pleasure and gratification which he could not well comprehend: once more the charmer’s lips trembled upon his own, now remaining for a moment, now withdrawing, again returning to kiss and kiss again, and once more did the soft voice put the question,—“Do you love me?”
“Better than goose,” replied Jack.
“I don’t know who goose may be,” replied the fairy form, as she tossed about Jack’s waving locks; “you must love only me; promise me that before I am relieved.”
“What, have you got the first watch, as well as me?” replied Jack.
“I am on duty just now, but I shall not be so long. We southerly winds are never kept long in one place; some of my sisters will probably be sent here soon.”
“I don’t understand what you talk about,” replied Jack. “Suppose you tell me who you are, and what you are, and I’ll do all I can to keep awake; I don’t know how it is, but I’ve felt more inclined to go to sleep since you have been fanning me about, than I did before.”
“Then I will remain by your side while you listen to me. I am, as I told you, a wind—”
“That’s puzzling,” said Jack, interrupting her.
“My name is ‘South West and by West three-quarters West.’”
“Yes, and a very long name it is. If you wish me to remember you, you should have had a shorter one.”
This ruffled the wind a little, and she blew rather sharp into the corner of Jack’s eye,—however, she proceeded,—
“You are a sailor, and of course you know all the winds on the compass by name.”
“I wish I did; but I don’t,” replied Littlebrain, “I can recollect you, and not one other.”
Again the wind trembled with delight on his lips, and she proceeded:– “You know that there are thirty-two points on the compass, and these points are divided into quarters; so that there are, in fact, 128 different winds.”
“There are more than I could ever remember; I know that,” said Jack.
“Well, we are in all 128. All the winds which have northerly in them, are coarse and ugly; all the southern winds are pretty.”
“You don’t say so?” replied our hero.
“We are summoned to blow, as required, but the hardest duty generally falls to the northerly winds, as it should do, for they are the strongest; although we southerly winds can—blow hard enough when we choose. Our characters are somewhat different. The most unhappy in disposition, and I may say, the most malevolent, are the north and easterly winds; the North West winds are powerful, but not unkind; the South East winds vary, but, at all events, we of the South West are considered the mildest and most beneficent. Do you understand me?”
“Not altogether. You’re going right round the compass, and I never could make it out, that’s a fact. I hear what you say, but I cannot promise to recollect it; I can only recollect South West and by West three-quarters West.”
“I care only for your recollecting me; if you do that, you may forget all the rest. Now you see we South Wests are summer winds, and are seldom required but in this season; I have often blown over your ship these last three months, and I always have lingered near you, for I loved you.”
“Thank you—now go on, for seven bells have struck sometime, and I shall be going to turn in. Is your watch out?”
“No, I shall blow for some hours longer. Why will you leave me—why wo’n’t you stay on deck with me?”
“What, stay on deck after my watch is out! No, if I do, blow me! We midshipmen never do that—but I say, why can’t you come down with me, and turn in my hammock; it’s close to the hatchway, and you can easily do it.”
“Well, I will, upon one promise. You say that you love me, now I’m very jealous, for we winds are always supplanting one another. Promise me that you will never mention any other wind in the compass but me, for if you do, they may come to you, and if I hear of it I’ll blow the masts out of your ship, that I will.”
“You don’t say so?” replied Jack, surveying her fragile, trembling form.
“Yes, I will, and on a lee shore too; so that the ship shall go to pieces on the rocks, and the Admiral and every soul on board her be drowned.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” said our hero, astonished.
“Not if you promise me. Then I’ll come to you and pour down your windsails, and dry your washed clothes as they hang on the rigging, and just ripple the waves as you glide along, and hang upon the lips of my dear love, and press him in my arms. Promise me, then, on no account ever to recollect or mention any other wind but me.”
“Well, I think I may promise that,” replied Jack, “I’m very clever at forgetting; and then you’ll come to my hammock, won’t you, and sleep with me? you’ll be a nice cool bedfellow these warm nights.”
“I can’t sleep on my watch as midshipmen do; but I’ll watch you while you sleep, and I’ll fan your cheeks, and keep you cool and comfortable, till I’m relieved.”
“And when you go, when will you come again?”
“That I cannot tell—when I’m summoned; and I shall wait with impatience, that you may be sure of.”
“There’s eight bells,” said Jack, starting up; “I must go down and call the officer of the middle watch; but I’ll soon turn in, for my relief is not so big as myself, and I can thrash him.”
Littlebrain was as good as his word; he cut down his relief; and then thrashed him for venturing to expostulate. The consequence was, that in ten minutes he was in his hammock, and “South West and by West three-quarters West” came gently down the hatchway, and rested in his arms. Jack soon fell fast asleep, and when he was wakened up the next morning by the quarter-master, his bedfellow was no longer there. A mate inquiring how the wind was, was answered by the quartermaster that they had a fresh breeze from the North North West, by which Jack understood that his sweetheart was no longer on duty.
Our hero had passed such a happy night with his soft and kind companion, that he could think of nothing else; he longed for her to come again, and, to the surprise of everybody, was now perpetually making inquiries as to the wind which blew. He thought of her continually; and in fact was as much in love with “South West and by West three-quarters West” as he possibly could be. She came again—once more did he enjoy her delightful company; again she slept with him in his hammock, and then, after a short stay, she was relieved by another.
We do not intend to accuse the wind of inconstancy, as that was not her fault; nor of treachery, for she loved dearly; nor of violence, for she was all softness and mildness; but we do say, that “South West and by West three-quarters West” was the occasion of Jack being very often in a scrape, for our hero kept his word; he forgot all other winds, and, with him, there was no other except his dear “South West and by West three-quarters West.” It must be admitted of Jack, that, at all events, he showed great perseverance, for he stuck to his point.
Our hero would argue with his messmates, for it is not those who are most capable of arguing who are most fond of it; and, like all arguers not very brilliant, he would flounder and diverge away right and left, just as the flaws of ideas came into his head.
“What nonsense it is your talking that way,” would his opponent say; “why don’t you come to the point?”
“And so I do,” cried Jack.
“Well, then, what is your point?”
“South West and by West three-quarters West,” replied our hero.
Who could reply to this? But in every instance, and through every difficulty, our hero kept his promise, until his uncle Sir Theophilus was very undecided, whether he should send him home to be locked up in a Lunatic Asylum, or bring him on in the service to the rank of post-captain. Upon mature consideration, however, as a man in Bedlam is a very useless member of society, and a tee-total non-productive, whereas a captain in the navy is a responsible agent, the Admiral came to the conclusion, that Littlebrain must follow up his destiny.
At last, Jack was set down as the greatest fool in the ship, and was pointed out as such. The ladies observed, that such might possibly be the case, but at all events he was the handsomest young man in the Mediterranean fleet. We believe that both parties were correct in their assertions.
Time flies—even a midshipman’s time, which does not fly quite so fast as his money—and the time came for Mr Littlebrain’s examination. Sir Theophilus, who now commanded the whole fleet, was almost in despair. How was it possible that a man could navigate a ship, with only one quarter point of the compass in his head?
Sir Theophilus scratched his wig; and the disposition of the Mediterranean fleet, so important to the country, was altered according to the dispositions of the captains who commanded the ships. In those days, there were martinets in the service; officers who never overlooked an offence, or permitted the least deviation from strict duty; who were generally hated, but at the same time were most valuable to the service. As for his nephew passing his examination before any of those of the first or second, or even of the third degree, the Admiral knew that it was impossible. The consequence was, that one was sent away on a mission to Genoa, about nothing; another to watch for vessels never expected, off Sardinia; two more to cruise after a French frigate which had never been built: and thus, by degrees, did the Admiral arrange, so as obtain a set of officers sufficiently pliant to allow his nephew to creep under the gate which barred his promotion, and which he never could have vaulted over. So the signal was made—our hero went on board—his uncle had not forgotten the propriety of a little douceur on the occasion; and, as the turkeys were all gone, three couple of geese were sent in the same boat, as a present to each of the three passing captains. Littlebrain’s heart failed him as he pulled to the ship; even the geese hissed at him, as much as to say, “If you were not such a stupid ass, we might have been left alive in our coops.” There was a great deal of truth in that remark, if they did say so.
Nothing could have been made more easy for Littlebrain than his examination. The questions had all been arranged beforehand; and some kind friend had given him all the answers written down. The passing captains apparently suffered from the heat of the weather, and each had his hand on his brow, looking down on the table at the time that Littlebrain gave his answers, so that of course they did not observe that he was reading them off. As soon as Littlebrain had given his answer, and had had sufficient time to drop his paper under the table, the captains felt better and looked up again.
There were but eight questions for our hero to answer. Seven had been satisfactorily got through; then came the eighth, a very simple one:– “What is your course and distance from Ushant to the Start?” This question having been duly put, the captains were again in deep meditation, shrouding their eyes with the palms of their hands.
Littlebrain had his answer—he looked at the paper. What could be more simple than to reply?—and then the captains would have all risen up, shaken him by the hand, complimented him upon the talent he had displayed, sent their compliments to the commander-in-chief, and their thanks for the geese. Jack was just answering, “North—”
“Recollect your promise!” cried a soft voice, which Jack well recollected.
Jack stammered—the captains were mute—and waited patiently.
“I must say it,” muttered Jack.
“You shan’t,” replied the little Wind.
“Indeed I must,” said Jack, “or I shall be turned back.”
The captains, surprised at this delay and the muttering of Jack, looked up, and one of them gently inquired if Mr Littlebrain had not dropped his handkerchief or something under the table! And then they again fixed their eyes upon the green cloth.
“If you dare, I’ll never see you again,” cried “South West and by West three-quarters West,”—“never come to your hammock,—but I’ll blow the ship on shore, every soul shall be lost, Admiral and all; recollect your promise!”
“Then I shall never pass,” replied Jack.
“Do you think that any other point in the compass shall pass you except me?—never! I am too jealous for that. Come now, dearest!” and the Wind again deliciously trembled upon the lips of our hero, who could no longer resist.
“South West and by West three-quarters West,” exclaimed Jack firmly.
“You have made a slight mistake, Mr Littlebrain,” said one of the captains. “Look again—I meant to say, think again.”
“South West and by West three-quarters West,” again repeated Jack.
“Dearest, how I love you!” whispered the soft Wind.
“Why, Mr Littlebrain,” said one of the captains—for Jack had actually laid the paper down on the table—“what’s in the wind now?”
“She’s obstinate,” replied Jack.
“You appear to be so, at all events,” replied the captain. “Pray try once more.”
“I have it!” thought Jack, who tore off the last answer from his paper. “I gained five guineas by that plan once before.” He then handed the bit of paper to the passing captain: “I believe that’s right, sir,” said our hero.
“Yes, that is right; but could you not have said it instead of writing it, Mr Littlebrain?”
Jack made no reply; his little sweetheart pouted a little, but said nothing; it was an evasion which she did not like. A few seconds of consultation then took place, as a matter of form. Each captain asked of the other if he was perfectly satisfied as to Mr Littlebrain’s capabilities, and the reply was in the affirmative; and they were perfectly satisfied, that he was either a fool or a madman. However, as we have had both in the service by way of precedent, Jack was added to the list, and the next day was appointed lieutenant.
Our hero did his duty as lieutenant of the forecastle; and as all the duty of that officer is, when hailed from the quarterdeck, to answer, “Ay, ay, sir,” he got on without making many mistakes. And now he was very happy; no one dared to call him a fool except his uncle; he had his own cabin, and many was the time, that his dear little “South West and by West three-quarters West” would come in by the scuttle, and nestle by his side.
“You won’t see so much of me soon, dearest,” said she one morning, gravely.
“Why not, my soft one?” replied Jack.
“Don’t you recollect that the winter months are coming on?”
“So they are,” replied Jack. “Well, I shall long for you back.”
And Jack did long, and long very much, for he loved his dear wind and the fine weather which accompanied her. Winter came on and heavy gales and rain, and thunder and lightning; nothing but double-reefed top-sails, and wearing in succession; and our hero walked the forecastle, and thought of his favourite wind. The North East winds came down furiously, and the weather was bitter cold. The officers shook the rain and spray off their garments when their watch was over, and called for grog.
“Steward, a glass of grog,” cried one; “and let it be strong.”
“The same for me,” said Jack; “only, I’ll mix it myself.”
Jack poured out the rum till the tumbler was half full.
“Why, Littlebrain,” said his messmate, “that is a dose; that’s what we call a regular Nor-wester.”
“Is it?” replied Jack. “Well then, Nor-westers suit me exactly, and I shall stick to them like cobblers’ wax.”
And during the whole of the winter months our hero showed a great predilection for Nor-westers.
It was in the latter end of February that there was a heavy gale; it had blown furiously from the northward for three days, and then it paused and panted as if out of breath—no wonder! And then the wind shifted, and shifted again, with squalls and heavy rain, until it blew from every quarter of the compass.
Our hero’s watch was over, and he came down and called for a “Nor-wester” as usual.
“How is the wind now?” asked the first lieutenant the master, who came down dripping wet.
“South South West, but drawing now fast to the Westward,” said old Spunyarn.
And so it was; and it veered round until “South West and by West three-quarters West,” with an angry gust, came down the sky-light, and blowing strongly into our hero’s ear, cried,—
“Oh, you false one!”
“False!” exclaimed Jack. “What! you here, and so angry too? What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter!—do you think I don’t know? What have you been doing over since I was away, comforting yourself during my absence with Nor-westers?”