Naval Occasions, and Some Traits of the Sailor-manBartimeus
History
Naval Occasions, and Some Traits of the Sailor-man
Bartimeus
Great Britain -- History, Naval -- 20th century -- Fiction; Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Fiction; Sailors -- Fiction; Sea stories, English
Having mastered the queer sea-oaths and jargon of a Gunroom, he learned
to handle an oar and sail a boat without discredit. The Sub. took him on
deck in the dog-watches, and punched into him the rudiments of the art
of self-defence; and, lastly, under the tutorship of a kindly Paymaster,
he came to understand dimly the inner workings of that vast and complex
organisation that has its seat in Whitehall, by whose mouths speak the
Lords of Admiralty.
His twenty-first birthday confronted him with the ordeal of an
examination, which, successfully passed, entitled him to a commission in
His Majesty’s Fleet with the rank of Assistant Paymaster.
For the next four years he continued to live in the Gunroom, where, by
reason of an alleged unholy intimacy with the King’s Regulations and
Admiralty Instructions, his advice was commonly sought on questions
pertaining to the Service. His mode of speech had become precise—as
befitted a wielder of the pen in life’s battle, and one versed in the
mysteries of Naval Correspondence. The ship’s Office was his kingdom,
where he was Lord of the Ledgers, with a lack of tan on face and hands
that told of a sedentary life in confined spaces: not infrequently he
wore glasses.
Some day he will become a Paymaster, warden of the money-chest, and
answerable for the pay, victualling, and clothing of every man on board.
The years will bring three gold rings to his cuff, a Fleet Paymaster’s
grey hairs, and a nice perception between the digestible and otherwise
in matters of diet.
* * * * *
The A.P. leaned back in his chair and threw down his pen: in the glare
of the electric light his face looked white and tired. Beside him the
Chief Writer sat totalling a column of figures: on deck a bell struck
midnight.
"What d’you make it?" asked the A.P. wearily. The Writer named a sum.
"Penny out," replied the A.P. laconically, picking up his pen again.
Outside the Office door, where the hammocks of the guard were slung, a
Marine muttered in his sleep.
The two great ledgers that lay open on the desk contained the names of
every man on board. They were duplicates, worked independently, and by
a comparison of the two mistakes could be detected and rectified.
Opposite the names were noted the credits of pay and allowances,
adjusted for different charges, the period borne, and all particulars
affecting the victualling of each man.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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