Jack Jeens found himself at last piped down below, swinging his hammock
and turning in like the rest, to lie listening to the wash of the waves
against the rolling sides of the great man-of-war, whose timbers creaked
and groaned, for a stiff breeze had sprung up as the fleet began to run
down channel. A rough night at sea did not trouble Jack, but he lay
thinking about little Phil and wondering whether he could do any good by
getting out of his hammock and trying to find him in the darkness; but
he felt nothing but despair as he knew enough about a man-o'-war besides
what he had seen during the time he had been on board, to feel sure that
if he began to search he would soon be stopped by the marine sentries or
by the watch.
"A man can't do as he likes aboard a King's ship," he said to himself
dismally, as he lay in the black darkness, "but only let me get this
night over, and they may say what they like, I'll go straight to the
captain, or to Lord Nelson himself, and ask him to have that little
fellow found. Here, what's that?"
He said those last three words half aloud, for he had suddenly felt
something cold brush across his face.
"That you, Jack?" came in a soft whisper.
"Yes. That you, little messmet? Hooroar! Give's your fin."
"Promise me you won't send me home, Jack, and I will."
"Send you home, messmet!" growled the rough sailor, whose voice trembled
with emotion. "Why, o' course I won't! You're to stay aboard, and be a
powder monkey. My word! Your hands are like ice! Where have you been
all day?"
"Down in the dark, and it was so cold," said the little fellow,
shivering. "But you won't send me back, Jack? I can't--I can't go."
"Send yer back? Not me!" growled the sailor. "On'y too glad to get yer
again. Don't I tell yer that you're one o' the King's men now, and are
going to stop? My word, you are cold! Here, heave ho! That's got you!
You snuggle up here alongside me. King's man! Why, you're not much
bigger than a frog, and just as cold. My hammock feel warm?"
"Oh, so warm--so warm, Jack!" came in a whisper, as two little hands
were passed round the rough fellow's neck.
"That's right, little un. But are you hungry?"
"No, not very; only cold and tired, Jack. But I don't mind now you're
not going to send me home. Oh, Jack, I do feel so happy and
comfortable!"
"That's right, but I say, little un, it's making you cry again. That
don't seem so very happy, do it?"
"Yes, it's because I'm so very, very happy, Jack; but don't speak to me
for a bit."
"Right, but what's the matter? You're not going to get out again, are
you?"
"No, but don't speak, please," whispered the little follow. "I'm afraid
some of the other men will hear."
Jack Jeens, the rough sailor, drew a deep breath, as he held on to
Phil's jacket to make sure that he did not fall out, as he struggled up
at the side of the hammock; and then for some little time he did not
stir, while the huge vessel rolled and creaked and groaned, through
which sounds came the heavy breathing of the men swinging in their
hammocks.
But at last the future powder monkey crept softly back into his old
place and passed his arms round the rough sailor's neck, and a curious
thrill of satisfaction ran straight to Jack Jeens' heart as he felt two
little lips press his cheek, and heard a pleasant, soft voice whisper:
"Good-night, Jack. God bless you!"
It was not many minutes afterwards, and while the light from the
swinging lanthorn close up to the companion ladder by the marine sentry
had turned so dim that the man had opened the half transparent door to
snuff the candle within, that Jack Jeens, whose eyes in the gloom felt a
little moist, muttered to himself.
"He said `good-night. God bless you, Jack!' he did. And on'y think of
it--him amongst all these rough chaps a-sleeping here in the dark--
kneels up in my hammock, he did, poor little chap, and says his
prayers!"