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Updated: September 9, 2025
"He ought to have given that order when the to'gallants were taken in!" "Better late than never, say I," said Mr Jellaby, laughing, as the topmen raced up the ratlines and the weather braces were rounded-in, preparatory to reefing. "Really, Stormcock, you're the most inveterate growler I have come across in the service since first I went to sea, by Jove!"
"Cape smoke?" said I, inquiringly, to Mr Stormcock, who happened to come up the hatchway on to the main deck as the doctor was thus cross-examining the ex-corporal of marines outside the sick bay, where poor Macan was now doing "sentry-go" after his reduction to the ranks, to make his humiliation the more complete. "What is that? It can't be real smoke, I suppose!" The master's mate laughed.
Here Larkyns, who had succeeded poor Mr Stormcock in his office as caterer of the gunroom mess, distinguished himself, quite unwittingly, in a financial operation which gained him the credit of being a very "smart" fellow indeed in the sense in which our American cousins use the term; besides earning for himself the good opinion of all of us in the gunroom, whom he benefited by the exploit.
So Commander Nesbitt now told us, kindly particularising the various points of interest to us two youngsters and explaining all we did not know, which meant pretty nearly everything, as he had served in these waters before; while to Larkyns and myself Singapore and its migratory population, with their prominent characters and characteristics, were all new, as, indeed, they were to most of the fellows in the gunroom, excepting Mr Stormcock and Plumper, the fat senior mate, both of whom, like the commander, had previously been on the station and were acquainted of old with the place and its people.
"Stow that, youngster!" interposed Mr Stormcock, as little Tommy rose up and made towards the cad, who, however, showed no inclination to resent the insult offered him. "I won't allow any quarrelling in the mess! If you want to fight, my boys, you must go into the steerage."
Why, I may lose the number of my mess myself long before I ever reach there!" said Tommy, contemptuously. "A caterer who forgets to provide eggs for the mess ought to be keel-hauled! Who is the caterer, steward?" "Mr Stormcock, sir." "Oh, indeed! Stormcock, eh?" repeated little Mills, making me choke with suppressed laughter.
"I thought we were going to have bad luck," observed Mr Stormcock, who had made his appearance again on the quarter-deck on hearing the boatswain's pipe for all hands. "We haven't seen the worst of it yet, I'm afraid." "Shut up, you old croaker," said Mr Jellaby. "Why, you're a regular Jonah with your prophecies of evil!"
Yes, my joker, you left this cheeky youngster here to go without any in his tea, making him think of home and his mammy! yes, all through your selfishness." "Now, really, Stormcock," expostulated the paymaster, "upon my word I didn't think of that, or I wouldn't have been so greedy. Really, now, upon my honour!"
"Hot work, ain't it, youngster?" observed Mr Stormcock to me, presently, when we came under fire and I had the pleasant sensation of a jinghal ball passing close to my ear, cutting a bit out the collar of my jacket and making me wince, though I can honestly say I was not frightened at this, my first experience of being really in action.
"Ah, then you know what a queer old customer he is?" went on Mr Jones, evidently mollified by the interest I took in his yarn. "It isn't much of a story, as Mr Stormcock appears to think; but, if you care to hear it, I'll tell you all about it." "I do care, sir," I replied, "very much indeed, sir."
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