As a boy he had enlisted in the British navy, and for two score years and more served faithfully and well.Names, dates, commanders, ports, ships, engagements, and battles, rolled from his lips in a steady stream, but it is beyond me to remember them all, for it is not quite in keeping to take notes at the poorhouse door.He had been through the 'First War in China,' as he termed it; had enlisted in the East India Company and served ten years in India; was back in India again, in the English navy, at the time of the Mutiny; had served in the Burmese War and in the Crimea; and all this in addition to having fought and toiled for the English flag pretty well over the rest of the globe.
Then the thing happened.A little thing, if it could only be traced back to first causes: perhaps the lieutenant's breakfast had not agreed with him; or he had been up late the night before; or his debts were pressing; or the commander had spoken brusquely to him.The point is, that on this particular day the lieutenant was irritable.
The sailor, with others, was 'setting up' the fore rigging.
Now, mark you, the sailor had been over forty years in the navy, had three good conduct stripes, and possessed the Victoria Cross for distinguished service in battle; so he could not have been such an altogether bad sort of a sailorman.The lieutenant was irritable;the lieutenant called him a name- well, not a nice sort of name.It referred to his mother.When I was a boy it was our boys' code to fight like little demons should such an insult be given our mothers;and many men have died in my part of the world for calling other men this name.
However, the lieutenant called the sailor this name.At that moment it chanced the sailor had an iron lever or bar in his hands.He promptly struck the lieutenant over the head with it, knocking him out of the rigging and overboard.
And then, in the man's own words: 'I saw what I had done.I knew the Regulations, and I said to myself, 'It's all up with you, Jack, my boy; so here goes.' An' I jumped over after him, my mind made up to drown us both.An' I'd ha' done it, too, only the pinnace from the flagship was just comin' alongside.Up we came to the top, me a hold of him an' punchin' him.This was what settled for me.If I hadn't ben strikin' him, I could have claimed that, seein' what I had done, Ijumped over to save him.'
Then came the court-martial, or whatever name a sea trial goes by.
He recited his sentence, word for word, as though memorized and gone over in bitterness many times.And here it is, for the sake of discipline and respect to officers not always gentlemen, the punishment of a man who was guilty of manhood.To be reduced to the rank of ordinary seaman; to be debarred all prize money due him; to forfeit all rights to pension; to resign the Victoria Cross; to be discharged from the navy with a good character (this being his first offence); to receive fifty lashes; and to serve two years in prison.
'I wish I had drowned that day, I wish to God I had,' he concluded, as the line moved up and we passed around the corner.
At last the door came in sight, through which the paupers were being admitted in bunches.And here I learned a surprising thing: this being Wednesday, none of us would be released till Friday morning.
Furthermore, and oh, you tobacco users, take heed: we would not be permitted to take in any tobacco.This we would have to surrender as we entered.Sometimes, I was told, it was returned on leaving, and sometimes it was destroyed.
The old man-of-war's man gave me a lesson.Opening his pouch, he emptied the tobacco (a pitiful quantity) into a piece of paper.
This, snugly and flatly wrapped, went down his sock inside his shoe.
Down went my piece of tobacco inside my sock, for forty hours without tobacco is a hardship all tobacco users will understand.
Again and again the line moved up, and we were slowly but surely approaching the wicket.At the moment we happened to be standing on an iron grating, and a man appearing underneath, the old sailor called down to him:
'How many more do they want?'
'Twenty-four,' came the answer.
We looked ahead anxiously and counted.Thirty-four were ahead of us.
Disappointment and consternation dawned upon the faces about me.It is not a nice thing, hungry and penniless, to face a sleepless night in the streets.But we hoped against hope, till, when ten stood outside the wicket, the porter turned us away.
'Full up,' was what he said, as he banged the door.
Like a flash, for all his eighty-seven years, the old sailor was speeding away on the desperate chance of finding shelter elsewhere.
I stood and debated with two other men, wise in the knowledge of casual wards, as to where we should go.They decided on the Poplar Workhouse, three miles away, and we started off.
As we rounded the corner, one of them said, 'I could a' got in 'ere to-day.I come by at one o'clock, an' the line was beginnin' to form then- pets, that's what they are.They let 'm in, the same ones, night upon night.'
