"That day I wouldn't have called the Queen my cousin," declared our new
acquaintance enthusiastically.
At that time the Marine Board examinations took place at the St.
Katherine's Dock House on Tower Hill, and he informed us that he had a
special affection for the view of that historic locality, with the
Gardens to the left, the front of the Mint to the right, the miserable
tumble-down little houses farther away, a cabstand, boot-blacks squatting
on the edge of the pavement and a pair of big policemen gazing with an
air of superiority at the doors of the Black Horse public-house across
the road. This was the part of the world, he said, his eyes first took
notice of, on the finest day of his life. He had emerged from the main
entrance of St. Katherine's Dock House a full-fledged second mate after
the hottest time of his life with Captain R-, the most dreaded of the
three seamanship Examiners who at the time were responsible for the
merchant service officers qualifying in the Port of London.
"We all who were preparing to pass," he said, "used to shake in our shoes
at the idea of going before him. He kept me for an hour and a half in
the torture chamber and behaved as though he hated me. He kept his eyes
shaded with one of his hands. Suddenly he let it drop saying, "You will
do!" Before I realised what he meant he was pushing the blue slip across
the table. I jumped up as if my chair had caught fire.
"Thank you, sir," says I, grabbing the paper.
"Good morning, good luck to you," he growls at me.
"The old doorkeeper fussed out of the cloak-room with my hat. They
always do. But he looked very hard at me before he ventured to ask in a
sort of timid whisper: "Got through all right, sir?" For all answer I
dropped a half-crown into his soft broad palm. "Well," says he with a
sudden grin from ear to ear, "I never knew him keep any of you gentlemen
so long. He failed two second mates this morning before your turn came.
Less than twenty minutes each: that's about his usual time."
"I found myself downstairs without being aware of the steps as if I had
floated down the staircase. The finest day in my life. The day you get
your first command is nothing to it. For one thing a man is not so young
then and for another with us, you know, there is nothing much more to
expect. Yes, the finest day of one's life, no doubt, but then it is just
a day and no more. What comes after is about the most unpleasant time
for a youngster, the trying to get an officer's berth with nothing much
to show but a brand-new certificate. It is surprising how useless you
find that piece of ass's skin that you have been putting yourself in such
a state about. It didn't strike me at the time that a Board of Trade
certificate does not make an officer, not by a long long way. But the
slippers of the ships I was haunting with demands for a job knew that
very well. I don't wonder at them now, and I don't blame them either.
But this 'trying to get a ship' is pretty hard on a youngster all the
same . . . "