of the enterprise.”
Two days later Martyn told Horace that Dacent had introduced him to one of the surgeons, who knew a young doctor who would, he thought, suit. “His name is Macfarlane; he is, of course, a Scotchman – most of the naval doctors are either Irish or Scotch. He sailed with him as surgeon’s-mate in a large frigate, where they had a good deal of experience in wounds, and he has a high idea of his skill. He is a very quiet sort of fellow, but a pleasant messmate. He has been full surgeon for some time now. His ship was paid off a fortnight ago, and the man who told me of him had a letter from him a few days since, saying that, as he had no interest he thought that he had but little chance of getting afloat again, and asking him to let him know if he heard of any opening, either ashore or in an Indiaman. He thought he would suit us very well, so I said that I would speak to you about it.”
“I should think that will be just the thing, Martyn.”
“Very well, then, I will see the surgeon to-morrow, and get him to write and offer him the berth at the regular naval rate of pay. Of course we sha’n’t want him to join till we are ready to sail.”
Some days later a reply was received, accepting the berth.
For the next fortnight work proceeded rapidly. Stores of all kinds for the voyage were brought on board and stowed away. Sixty cannon were stowed down in the hold, with thirty carriages for them, the latter taking up too much room to be carried for the whole of the guns. Eight twelve-pounders, in place of the eight-pounders before carried by her, and a long eighteen-pounder were placed in the hold in readiness to mount on deck when they reached the Levant. The riggers and painters had finished their work, the decks had been planed and holy-stoned until they were spotlessly white, and the tall spars and gear were all in their place. The guns had cost only about as much as Miller had said, and they could have obtained any number at the same price. The agent had made a contract with the ship’s chandlers for five thousand muskets complete with bayonets, in good order, and delivered on board, at ten shillings each. Some five hundred of these had been collected, and – after passing muster, by an armourer sergeant Martyn engaged for the purpose – put on board. The rest were to be sent by canal from Birmingham to Liverpool, and thence shipped round to Plymouth. Five tons of gunpowder in barrels, twenty tons of shot for the cannon, and two hundred thousand rounds of ammunition for the muskets were also arranged for. These were to be shipped at the last moment from magazines at the mouth of the Sound.
Below, everything had been done to make the cabins as comfortable as possible, and Dacent declared that she was altogether too neat and comfortable for anything but an admiral’s yacht. Tom Burdett had picked up at Plymouth twenty-five smart sailors, all of whom had served in king’s ships; and then, going to Bristol, had brought as many more from there. Uniforms, closely resembling those of men-of-war sailors, had been served out to them, but instead of the straw hat they wore red woollen caps. The officers had only to exchange their navy buttons for others with an anchor to be complete; Horace had donned similar attire.
It was just three weeks after Horace left home that he wrote to his father saying that all was now in readiness, and that they could sail within an hour of his arrival. They were at once going out to take their powder on board, and would remain at anchor off the magazines, and that he himself should be at the Falcon when it was time for the first coach to arrive after the receipt of his letter, and should remain there until his father came. Mr. Macfarlane, the surgeon, arrived by the coach that evening, and was put down at the Falcon. Martyn and Horace went out when they heard the coach stop.
“That is the doctor, for a guinea,” Martyn said, as a tall bony man climbed down from the roof, and began very carefully to look after his luggage.
“I think you must be Doctor Macfarlane?” he said, going up to him. “My name is Martyn.”
“I am very glad to see you, Captain Martyn,” the doctor said; “I take it as a sign that I shall have a pleasant time that my commander should meet me as I get off the coach.”
“I am captain only by courtesy, and shall hardly consider that I have got my brevet rank till we hoist the flag to-morrow. This is Mr. Beveridge, the owner’s son, he will sail with us as third officer. I have ordered a room for you, doctor. Boots will carry your things up.”
“Thank you; I will see to them myself, and join you in the coffee-room. I am not fond of trusting to other folk;” and he followed the servant upstairs with his baggage.
Martyn laughed as he went into the coffee-room with Horace. “Cautious you see, Horace, and right enough to be so; I think we shall like him. There is a pleasant tone in his voice, and I have no doubt he will turn out a good fellow, though, perhaps, rather a character.”
The doctor soon came down.
“Eh, man,” he said, “but it is weary work sitting with your legs doubled up all those hours on a coach. Four-and-twenty hours it is since I got up at Salisbury. And so, Mr. Beveridge, we are going out to fight for the Greeks. I misdoubt, sir, if they will do much fighting for themselves. I was three years east of Malta. There is good in them, we may take it that there is good in them, but it is very difficult to get at; at least that was my experience.”
“They have not had much chance, I think, doctor, so far.”
“And how large is your ship, Captain Martyn?” the doctor said, changing the subject suddenly.
“They call her a hundred and fifty, but she has a light draft of water and would not carry that, yet she has excellent accommodation below, as you will say when you see her to-morrow.”
The conversation then turned on naval matters, and the stations and ships that both Martyn and the doctor knew; and when they separated for the evening Martyn and Horace agreed that the doctor was likely to be a pleasant acquisition to their party.
Marco had been intrusted with the entire charge of laying in stores for the cabin, and these had arrived in such profusion that Will Martyn had demanded whether he was victualling the ship with cabin stores for a voyage round the world.
It had been given out that the ship was bound for Lisbon, but the news of her destination had gradually leaked out, although pains had been taken to get the military stores on board as quietly as possible. Sympathy with Greece was general, however, and although the young officers were quietly joked by their naval acquaintances as to their cargo for Portugal, no official inquiries were made on the subject.
“I sha’n’t be sorry, Horace,” Will Martyn said, as they were rowed off in the gig for the last time before getting up anchor, “when we get some of our heavy stuff out of her. One way or another she will have a hundred and twenty tons of stuff on board when we have taken in our powder, and though I don’t at all say that she will be overladen she will be a foot too low in the water to please me, and she wouldn’t be able to do her best if she were chased in her present trim.”
“The little difference in speed won’t matter much on our way out,” Horace said.
“No, not as to time, of course, a day more or less is no matter; still, one always likes to get all one can out of one’s ship, Horace, and it is a triumph to slip past other craft. If you have a slow craft you don’t mind whether other things leave you behind in an hour or two hours; you jog along and you don’t worry about it; you are like a man driving a heavy cart. But when you are in a crack schooner you are like a man on the road with a fast horse and a light gig, you expect to go past other things, and you like to do it in good style.”
“Well, nothing will beat her in looks, I think, Will.”
“No, that is quite certain. She is a picture.”
Everything was done on board
