THE TWO TOMS TAKE TO PROTOCOLLING--TREATY OF PEACE RATIFIED BETWEEN THE
BELLIGERENT PARTIES--LOTS OF SONGS AND SUPPER--THE LARGEST MESS OF ROAST
MEAT UPON RECORD.
Tom then shoved off the skiff. When half-way between the lighter and
the shore, while his mother stood watching us, he lay on his oars.
"Tom, Tom!" cried his mother, shaking her fist at him, as he stooped
down his head; "if you do, Tom!"
"Tom, Tom!" cried his father, shaking his fist also; "if you dare, Tom!"
But Tom was not within reach of either party; and he dragged a bottle
out of the basket which his mother had entrusted to him, and putting it
to his mouth, took a long swig.
"That's enough, Tom!" screamed his mother, from the shore.
"That's too much, you rascal!" cried his father, from the barge.
Neither admonition was, however, minded by Tom, who took what he
considered his allowance, and then very coolly pulled alongside, and
handed up the basket and bundle of clean clothes on deck. Tom then gave
the boat's painter to his father, who, I perceived, intended to salute
him with the end of it as soon as he came up; but Tom was too knowing--
he surged the boat ahead, and was on deck and forward before his father
could stump up to him. The main hatch was open, and Tom put that
obstacle between his father and himself before he commenced his parley.
"What's the matter, father?" said Tom, smiling, and looking at me.
"Matter, you scamp! How dare you touch the bottle?"
"The bottle--the bottle's there, as good as ever."
"The grog is what I mean--how dare you drink it?"
"I was half-way between my mother and you, and so I drank success and
long life to you both. Ain't that being a very dutiful son?"
"I wish I had my legs back again, you rascal!"
"You wish you had the grog back again, you mean, father."
"You have to choose between--for if you had the grog you'd keep your
legs."
"For the matter of drinking the grog, you scamp, you seem determined to
stand in my shoes."
"Well, shoes are of no use to you now, father--why shouldn't I? Why
don't you trust me? If you hadn't locked the cupboard, I wouldn't have
helped myself." And Tom, whose bootlace was loose, stooped down to make
it fast.
Old Tom, who was still in wrath, thought this a good opportunity, as his
son's head was turned the other way, to step over the bricks, with
which, as I before said, the lighter had been laden level with the main
hatchway, and take his son by surprise. Tom, who had no idea of this
manoeuvre, would certainly have been captured, but, fortunately for him,
one of the upper bricks turned over, and let his father's wooden leg
down between two of the piles, where it was jammed fast. Old Tom
attempted to extricate himself, but could not. "Tom, Tom, come here,"
cried he, "and pull me out."
"Not I," replied Tom.
"Jacob, Jacob, come here; Tom, run and take the helm."
"Not I," replied Tom.
"Jacob, never mind the helm, she'll drift all right for a minute," cried
old Tom; "come and help me."
But I had been so amused with the scene, and having a sort of feeling
for young Tom, that I declared it impossible to leave the helm without
her going on the banks. I therefore remained, wishing to see in what
way the two Toms would get out of their respective scrapes.
"Confound these--! Tom, you scoundrel, am I to stick here all day?"
"No, father, I don't suppose you will. I shall help you directly."
"Well, then, why don't you do it?"
"Because I must come to terms. You don't think I'd help myself to a
thrashing, do you?"
"I won't thrash you, Tom. Shiver my timbers if I do."
"They're in a fair way of being shivered as it is, I think. Now,
father, we're both even."
"How's that?"
"Why you clapped a stopper over all on me this morning, and now you've
got one on yourself."
"Well, then, take off mine, and I'll take off yours."
"If I unlock your leg, you'll unlock the cupboard?"
"Yes."
"And you promise me a _stiff one_ after dinner?"
"Yes, yes, as stiff as I stand here."
"No, that will be too much, for it would _set me fast_. I only like it
about half-and-half, as I took it just now."
Tom, who was aware that his father would adhere to his agreement,
immediately went to his assistance, and throwing out some of the upper
bricks, released him from his confinement. When old Tom was once more
on deck and on his legs, he observed, "It's an ill wind that blows
nobody good. The _loss_ of my leg has been the _saving_ of you many a
time, Mr Tom."
It was now time to anchor, as we were meeting the flood. Tom, who
officiated as cook, served up the dinner, which was ready; and we were
all very pleasant; Tom treating his father with perfect confidence. As
we had not to weigh again for some hours, our repast was prolonged, and
old Tom, having fulfilled his promise to his son of a _stiff one_, took
one or two himself, and became very garrulous.
"Come, spin us a good yarn, father; we've nothing to do, and Jacob will
like to hear you."
"Well, then, so I will," answered he; "what shall it be about?"
"Fire and water, of course," replied Tom.
"Well, then, I'll tell you something about both, since you wish it; how
I came into his Majesty's sarvice, through _fire_, and how the officer
who pressed me went out of it through _water_. I was still 'prentice,
and wanted about three months to sarve my time, when, of course, I
should no longer be protected from sarving the king, when the ship I was
in sailed up the Baltic with a cargo of bullocks. We had at least two
hundred on board, tied up on platforms on every deck, with their heads
close to the sides, and all their sterns looking in-board. They were
fat enough when they were shipped, but soon dwindled away: the weather
was very bad, and the poor creatures rolled against each other, and
slipped about in a way that it pitied you to see them. However, they
were stowed so thick, that they held one another up, which proved of
service to them in the heavy gales which tossed the ship about like a
pea in a rattle. We had joined a large convoy, and were entering the
Sound, when, as usual, it fell calm, and out came the Danish gunboats to
attack us. The men-of-war who had charge of the convoy behaved nobly;
but still they were becalmed, and many of us were a long way astern.
Our ship was pretty well up; but she was too far in-shore; and the Danes
made a dash at us with the hope of making a capture. The men-of-war,
seeing what the enemy were about, sent boats to beat them off; but it
was too late to prevent them boarding, which they did. Not wishing to
peep through the bars of the gaol at Copenhagen, we left the ship in our
boats on one side, just as the Danes boarded on the other, and pulled
towards the men-of-war's armed boats coming to our assistance. The
men-of-war's boats pulled right for the ship to retake her, which they
did, certainly, but not before the enemy had set fire to the vessel, and
had then pulled off towards another. Seeing this, the men-of-war's
boats again gave chase to the Danes, leaving us to extinguish the
flames, which were now bursting out fore and aft, and climbing like
fiery serpents up to the main catharprings. We soon found that it was
impossible; we remained as long as the heat and smoke would permit us,
and then we were obliged to be off, but I shall never forget the roaring
and moaning of the poor animals who were then roasting alive. It was a
cruel thing of the Danes to fire a vessel full of these poor creatures.
Some had broken loose, and were darting up and down the decks goring
others, and tumbling down the hatchways; others remained trembling, or
trying to snuff up a mouthful of fresh air amongst the smoke; but the
struggling and bellowing, as the fire caught the vessel fore and aft,
and was grilling two hundred poor creatures at once, was at last
shocking, and might have been heard for a mile. We did all we could. I
cut the throats of a dozen, but they kicked and struggled so much,
falling down [upon], and treading you under their feet; and one lay upon
me, and I expected to be burnt with them, for it was not until I was
helped that I got clear of the poor animal. So we stayed as long as we
could, and then left them to their fate; and the smell of burnt meat, as
we shoved off, was as horrible as the cries and wailings of the poor
beasts themselves. The men-of-war's boats returned, having chased away
the Danes, and very kindly offered us all a ship, as we had lost our
own, so that you see that by _fire_ I was forced into his Majesty's
sarvice. Now, the boat that took us belonged to one of the frigates who
had charge of the convoy, and the lieutenant who commanded the boat was
a swearing, tearing sort of a chap, who lived as if his life was to last
for ever.
"After I was taken on board, the captain asked me if I would enter, and
I thought that I might as well sarve the king handsomely, so I
volunteered. It's always the best thing to do, when you're taken, and
can't help yourself, for you are more trusted than a pressed man who is
obstinate. I liked the sarvice from the first--the captain was not a
particular man; according to some people's ideas of the sarvice, she
wasn't in quite man-of-war fashion, but she was a happy ship, and the
men would have followed and fought for the captain to the last drop of
their blood. That's the sort of ship for me. I've seen cleaner decks,
but I never saw merrier hearts. The only one of the officers disliked
by the men was the lieutenant who pressed me; he had a foul mouth and no
discretion; and as for swearing, it was really terrible to hear the
words which came out of his mouth. I don't mind an oath rapped out in
the heat of the moment, but he invented his oaths when he was cool, and
let them out in his rage. We were returning home, after having seen the
convoy safe, when we met with a gale of wind in our teeth, one of the
very worst I ever fell in with. It had been blowing hard from the South
West, and then shifted to the North West, and made a cross sea, which
was tremendous. Now, the frigate was a very old vessel, and although
they had often had her into dock and repaired her below, they had taken
no notice of her upper works, which were as rotten as a medlar. I think
it was about three bells in the middle watch, when the wind was howling
through the rigging, for we had no canvas on her 'cept a staysail and
trysail, when the stay-sail sheet went, and she broached-to afore they
could prevent her. The lieutenant I spoke of had the watch, and his
voice was heard through the roaring of the wind swearing at the men to
haul down the staysail, that we might bend on the sheet, and set it
right again; when, she having, I said, broached-to, a wave--ay, a wave
as high as the maintop almost, took the frigate right on her broadside,
and the bulwarks of the quarter-deck being, as I said, quite rotten, cut
them off clean level with the main chains, sweeping them, and guns, and
men, all overboard together. The mizzenmast went, but the mainmast held
on, and I was under its lee at the time, and was saved by clinging on
like a nigger, while for a minute I was under the water, which carried
almost all away with it to leeward. As soon as the water passed over
me, I looked up and around me--it was quite awful; the quarter-deck was
cut off as with a knife--not a soul left there, that I could see; no man
at the wheel--mizzen-mast gone--skylights washed away--waves making a
clear breach, and no defence; boats washed away from the quarters--all
silent on deck, but plenty of noise below and on the main-deck, for the
ship was nearly full of water, and all below were hurrying up in their
shirts, thinking that we were going down. At last the captain crawled
up, and clung by the stancheons, followed by the first lieutenant and
the officers, and by degrees all was quiet, the ship was cleared, and
the hands were turned up to muster under the half-deck. There were
forty-seven men who did not answer to their names--they had been
summoned to answer for their lives, poor fellows! and there was also the
swearing lieutenant not to be found. Well, at last we got the hands on
deck, and put her before the wind, scudding under bare poles. As we
went aft to the taffrail, the bulwark of which still remained, with
about six feet of the quarter-deck bulwark on each side, we observed
something clinging to the stern-ladder, dipping every now and then into
the sea, as it rose under her counter, and assisted the wind in driving
her before the gale. We soon made it out to be a man, and I went down,
slipped a bowling knot over the poor fellow, and with some difficulty we
were both hauled up again. It proved to be the lieutenant, who had been
washed under the counter, and clung to the stern-ladder, and had thus
miraculously been preserved. It was a long while before he came to, and
he never did any duty the whole week we were out, till we got into
Yarmouth Roads; indeed, he hardly ever spoke a word to any one, but
seemed to be always in serious thought. When we arrived, he gave his
commission to the captain, and went on shore; went to school again, they
say, _bore up for a parson_, and, for all I know, he'll preach somewhere
next Sunday. So you see, _water_ drove him out of the sarvice, and
_fire_ forced me in. There's a yarn for you, Jacob."
"I like it very much," replied I.
"And now, father, give us a whole song, and none of your little bits."
Old Tom broke out with the "Death of Nelson," in a style that made the
tune and words ring in my ears for the whole evening.
The moon was up before the tide served, and we weighed our anchor; old
Tom steering, while his son was preparing supper, and I remaining
forward, keeping a sharp look-out that we did not run foul of anything.
It was a beautiful night; and as we passed through the several bridges,
the city appeared as if it were illuminated, from the quantity of gas
throwing a sort of halo of light over the tops of the buildings which
occasionally marked out the main streets from the general dark mass--old
Tom's voice was still occasionally heard, as the scene brought to his
remembrance his variety of song.
"For the murmur of thy lip, love,
Comes sweetly unto me,
As the sound of oars that dip, love,
At moonlight on the sea."
I never was more delighted than when I heard these snatches of different
songs poured forth in such melody from old Tom's lips, the notes
floating along the water during the silence of the night. I turned aft
to look at him; his face was directed upwards, looking on the moon,
which glided majestically through the heavens, silvering the whole of
the landscape. The water was smooth as glass, and the rapid tide had
swept us clear of the ranges of ships in the pool; both banks of the
river were clear, when old Tom again commenced:--
"The moon is up, her silver beam
Shines bower, and grove, and mountain over;
A flood of radiance heaven doth seem
To light thee, maiden, to thy lover."
"Jacob, how does the bluff-nob bear? on the starboard bow?"
"Yes--broad on the bow; you'd better keep up half a point, the tide
sweeps us fast."
"Very true, Jacob; look out, and say when steady it is, boy.
"If o'er her orb a cloud should rest,
'Tis but thy cheek's soft blush to cover.
He waits to clasp thee to his breast;
The moon is up--go, meet thy lover.
"Tom, what have you got for supper, boy? What is that frizzing in your
frying-pan? Smells good, anyhow."
"Yes, and I expect will taste good too. However, you look after the
moon, father, and leave me and the frying-pan to play our parts."
"While I sing mine, I suppose, boy.
"The moon is up, round beauty's shine,
Love's pilgrims bend at vesper hour,
Earth breathes to heaven, and looks divine,
And lovers' hearts confess her power."
Old Tom stopped and the frying-pan frizzled on, sending forth an odour
which, if not grateful to Heaven, was peculiarly so to us mortals,
hungry with the fresh air.
"How do we go now, Jacob?"
"Steady, and all's right; but we shall be met with the wind next reach,
and had better brail up the mainsail."
"Go, then, Tom, and help Jacob."
"I can't leave the _ingons_, [onions] father, not if the lighter tumbled
overboard; it would bring more tears in my eyes to spoil them, now that
they are frying so merrily, than they did when I was cutting them up.
Besides, the liver would be as black as the bends."
"Clap the frying-pan down on deck, Tom, and brail the sail up with
Jacob, there's a good boy. You can give it another shake or two
afterwards.
"Guide on, my bark, how sweet to rove,
With such a beaming eye above!
"That's right, my boys, belay all that; now to our stations; Jacob on
the look-out, Tom to his frying-pan, and I to the helm--
"No sound is heard to break the spell,
Except the water's gentle swell;
While midnight, like a mimic day,
Shines on to guide our moonlight way.
"Well, the moon's a beautiful creature--God bless her! How often have
we longed for her in the dark winter, channel-cruising, when the waves
were flying over the Eddystone, and trying in their malice to put out
the light. I don't wonder at people making songs to the moon, nor at my
singing them. We'll anchor when we get down the next reach."
We swept the next reach with the tide which was now slacking fast. Our
anchor was dropped and we all went to supper, and to bed. I have been
particular in describing the first day of my being on board with my new
shipmates, as it may be taken as a sample of our every day life; Tom and
his father fighting and making friends, cooking, singing, and spinning
yarns. Still, I shall have more scenes to describe. Our voyage was
made, we took in a return cargo, and arrived at the proprietor's wharf,
when I found that I could not proceed with them the next voyage, as the
trial of Fleming and Marables was expected to come on in a few days.
The lighter, therefore, took in another cargo, and sailed without me;
Mr Drummond, as usual, giving me the run of his house.