Aboard a British Frigate
"Below there! You can come along up on deck, me hearties!"
An age seemed to have passed since Tom and his six companions were
driven from the deck of the big ship to which they had been brought
by the pressgang, and though the former had slept for many hours--for
he had been exhausted after such a trying experience--yet the few
hours he had been awake had dragged on leaden wheels. Meanwhile
the rattle of blocks and ropes overhead had been replaced by the
gentle surge of water alongside, and by a thousand strange groanings
and squeakings common to all sailing vessels. Indeed, placed where
he was, with his head close to the foot of one of the masts, that
penetrated the deck of the ship and passed through the dark prison in
which he and his comrades were confined, Tom could by the vibrations
and the groanings of the latter tell exactly when the wind freshened
and the sails dragged more strongly. But now, when he had begun to
imagine that he would never again see the light of day, there was a
banging overhead, then a square of light appeared, with faces framed
in it, while a hoarse voice bellowed a command. Tom rose briskly to
his feet, and, seeing the ladder, ran up it.
"Here!" he reported, standing erect and cheerful. For Tom was, in
his youthful way, quite a philosopher. "What can't be cured must
be endured," was one of his maxims. "I'm impressed, by some error
I suppose, and soon will be able to get the matter set right; but
for the moment it's just as well to appear pleasant. Here, sir!" he
reported to a short, stumpy individual with a decided flavour of the
sea about him, and with a nautical appearance that would have passed
him as a sailor in any port in the world.
"And ready fer duty too, eh, me hearty?" asked this bluff fellow,
eyeing him critically, and taking Tom's measure very thoroughly.
Looking back at him our hero could not help but see that this sailor
had a grim expression. His face appeared to say: "Well, now, you
can work if you like. If you don't you'll be hammered." There was a
threat in his eyes, and a jaunty manner about him which told that he
was prepared for the most refractory conduct.
"Ready fer duty, eh?" he repeated gruffly.
"Yes, sir," responded Tom promptly.
"Then jest you don't sir me, young feller-me-lad, else I'll think
you're saucing. But I like yer looks--get up on deck with you. Mr.
Riley, above there," he hailed, throwing his head back and staring
up through an open hatch, "here's a lubber as is willing and ready
fer duty!"
Tom caught a glimpse of an individual dressed in white breeches and
stockings, and a blue tail coat with some gilt braid about it, and,
realizing that this must be an officer, promptly mounted the steps.
In a moment or two he was on deck, standing beneath an expanse of
white canvas, and upon boards which were as white as any tablecloth.
Bluejackets were moving barefoot about the deck, while right aft an
officer stood at the rail of the poop, a speaking-trumpet in one
hand, his eye fixed on a dozen active figures scrambling amongst the
rigging. Tom gave a gasp of pleasure as the sun's rays fell upon
him, braced himself erect, and then looked the officer in the face.
He was a young man of twenty-six, perhaps, with clean-shaven, keen
features, his skin tanned brown by exposure, and the corners of his
eyes wrinkled and puckered as is the case with many sailors. For the
rest, Mr. Riley was decidedly a pleasant, jovial-looking officer, and
won Tom's confidence at once.
"Well, my lad?" he asked pleasantly.
"Ready for duty, sir," reported Tom again, having nothing better to
say. "And hungry, sir," he added, feeling a decided sinking sensation.
That brought a smile to the lips of the officer. He looked our hero
up and down, just as the man down below had done, and then smiled
again.
"What trade before you joined?" he asked, referring to a notebook,
and producing a pencil with which to take notes.
"None, sir; I am the son of Mr. Septimus John Clifford, of London
Bridge, wine merchant. My impressment must be a mistake."
"All impressments are mistakes," came the curt answer. "You are ready
to serve His Majesty?"
"Yes, sir," answered Tom. "Ready for the moment. Later on, when I
am able to prove that a mistake has been made, no doubt I shall be
released. I'm ready for any duty, only I'd like a feed first."
"No trade; says he is the son of a wine merchant at London Bridge.
Obviously a gentleman," Mr. Riley entered in his notebook. "A likely
fellow, and cheerful. Will start duty at once, and willingly. Pass
the call there for the master messman."
He stood before Tom, his neat figure swaying as the ship lurched here
and there, his eyes now fixed on the swelling canvas, now on the
officer at the rail, and often, when Tom's attention was attracted
elsewhere, at that young fellow himself.
"Undoubtedly a gentleman," he told himself. "Of course in the case of
nearly every man who is impressed there is a complaint that the thing
is a mistake, that he ought never to have been impressed. In any case
the whole thing is disgraceful. Better pay and better conditions
would attract the right stamp of man to the navy. But we're here to
carry out regulations, not to frame them. I'll keep my eye on the
lad. Name again?" he asked, making Tom jump.
"Tom Clifford."
"That the full name?" asked the officer, beginning to make another
note.
"Septimus John Esteros Thomas Clifford," responded our hero, with a
grimace. "Rather a lot of 'em, sir, I'm afraid."
"Enough even for an admiral," laughed the officer. "Ah, here's the
messman! Waters, just take this young fellow with you and see that he
gets a good meal. Report here to me, Clifford, when you have eaten."
He swung round to stare down into the depths of the ship, for sounds
were coming from the prison in which Tom and his companions had
been confined. There was the noise of a scuffle, while a glance
below showed the burly, stumpy salt who had hailed the impressed men
swarming down into the depths. Some of the men were, in fact, loath
to come up. Unlike Tom, they were disposed to be sulky, and, lest
trouble should follow, three sailors were swarming down after the old
salt, one bearing a lantern.
"Below there!" called out Mr. Riley, anxious to avoid a struggle.
"You men must understand that you have been impressed into His
Majesty's Navy, and any disobedience of orders now, or violence, will
be treated as mutiny. Send them up, me lad!"
The lamp shining upon the face of the old salt who had led the way
below, and the fierce expression he wore quelled any thought of
mutiny there may have been, and within five minutes the other six men
brought aboard with Tom were ranged on the deck, pale and dishevelled
for the most part, sulky and anything but cheerful in appearance. Mr.
Riley gave them the same searching examination that he had bestowed
on Tom, and then entered their names and notes concerning each one in
his book.
"Take them down to the messman and see that they have a good meal,"
he commanded, when he had finished. "They'll feel better when they've
had it; and, mind this, my lads, a sulky face'll do nothing for you
aboard this frigate. It'll bring kicks and cuffs and short rations;
so look at the matter from the right point of view and take to the
life cheerfully."
He dispatched them with a pleasant smile, for this Mr. Riley was a
kind individual, and one well accustomed to dealing with men. He
had the wisdom to see that hunger may produce easily enough a fit
of sulkiness, and seeing that all the impressed men must be in want
of a meal, and were undoubtedly sulky, he sent them off for that
meal, hoping that with appetites satiated they would take to their
duties with the same readiness as our hero had shown. Nor was he
disappointed. When, half an hour later, the six men ascended to the
deck again, they looked far happier, and from that moment fell into
the ways of the ship with a cheerfulness that was commendable. As for
Tom, he was up before them, and scrambling over the deck as best he
could--for the breeze had freshened, and the big frigate was jumping
about in a lively manner--he drew himself up before the officer.
"Ready, sir!" he said, repeating the old expression.
"Feel seasick?" came the interrogation.
"Not a bit, sir. I've been to sea a few times with my father. We used
to hire a sloop and cruise along the coast in summertime."
"Then you're used to getting aloft?"
"A little, sir, but only aboard a sloop. These masts are terrific."
He cast his eyes aloft, and the officer likewise. There could be no
doubt that the masts did tower to a great height. But then this was
a large frigate, with seventy grinning guns behind her closed ports.
Tom knew that already, for the messman who had conducted him below,
and who was decidedly a pleasant, kindly individual, had given him
much information. The meal, too, had been partaken of on the lower
deck, where the space between it and that above was so cramped that
even Tom could not stand upright, while all along the sides, firmly
cabled to ring-bolts in the deck, were grinning cannon, sponge rods
and all the paraphernalia necessary for loading being hung on racks
close to them, and secured there firmly.
"You'd go aloft without feeling squeamish then?" asked Mr. Riley,
feeling a strange interest in our hero.
"I'd go, sir," came the ready answer. "Whether I'd exactly like it at
first is an altogether different matter."
"Then you'll soon have the opportunity of making the test. You'll be
in my watch, Clifford. Now come along up on the poop. Don't forget to
touch your cap as you come up; ah, wait though! We'll put you into
proper sailor rig first; I'll send you down to be fitted."
It was perhaps half an hour later when a smart-looking young sailor
obeyed the call of the boatswain and came aft to the poop. Dressed in
his new clothing, his hair brushed and his face and hands washed, Tom
looked a really smart young fellow, and Mr. Riley smiled his approval
when he saw him.
"Pass him up, boatswain," he called, and at the order the burly
individual shouted at our hero.
"Mind yer touch yer cap as you get above," he warned him, "just as
Mr. Riley had done." And, obedient to the order, Tom raised his hand
the moment his foot touched the poop or quarterdeck of the frigate.
"Come with me, Clifford," said Mr. Riley, leading the way. "I'm
taking you to the commander. Fair-play is a thing a sailor prizes,
and, as you complain that there has been some mistake about your
impressment, I reported the same to the commander. He will question
you himself."
They passed across a snow-white deck and entered a gallery, outside
which an armed sentry was stationed. The officer tapped at a door,
and passed in, followed by our hero. Tom found himself in a large
cabin, at the back of which two guns were situated, roped and
secured to deck rings as were those others he had seen in the 'tween
decks. An officer, dressed just like Mr. Riley, but evidently older,
sat at a table, with charts spread out before him. He looked up as
the two entered, and then went on writing.
"One of the new men, sir; impressed two nights ago; reports that he
was taken in error. You have the notes of his case before you."
Once more Tom found himself being inspected with that open gaze which
is the right of all officers. He returned the glance of his commander
respectfully and firmly.
"Age?" asked the officer jerkily.
"Nearly eighteen, sir.
"Tell me all about yourself, lad," came from the commander, and with
such kindness that Tom promptly responded. He gave the history of
the family in a few words, and stated how he was about to sail for
Oporto, there to learn the business of the firm and take charge when
proficient.
"Ah! Anyone with a grudge against you?" was asked quickly.
Tom wondered and racked his brains. He could think of no one, unless
it could be the grocer's young man, who was wont to pass along the
river bank every morning. Exactly two months before he had had an
altercation with that young fellow, who stood a trifle higher than
he did, and was at least a year older. He had shown rudeness when
passing Marguerite, and Tom had resented the rudeness. The fight
that followed had been of the fiercest, and the grocer's apprentice
had been handsomely beaten.
"No one, sir," he answered, "unless it could be the fellow I had a
row with some weeks ago," and then explained the occurrence.
"Pooh! Impossible," declared the commander. "Lads who get fighting
don't bear ill will. The letting of a little blood cures a young chap
of that entirely. You shook hands?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Then look elsewhere; someone perhaps was jealous of you,
thought you were a nuisance. Who were the other members of the firm
and the family?"
Tom told him, wondering all the while whether there were one amongst
them capable of getting him impressed so as to remove him. "José?" he
asked himself. "Impossible! He'd never be guilty of such ingratitude
to father, though I suppose, if I were out of the way, he would
succeed to the business one of these fine days."
Little by little the commander ferreted such thoughts out of our
hero, and ended by placing his finger on the name of José.
"Your cousin, you said," he exclaimed. "You were always good friends?"
Tom had to reply in the negative, and give the reasons.
"And he was next in succession to yourself, I think?"
"Yes, sir. But--but it's impossible! My father rescued him and his
sister from poverty."
"Nothing is impossible, my lad. This matter must be looked into.
There seems no doubt that you have been impressed in the hope of
removing you altogether. Or the matter may have been a mistake,
helped by the fact that you were in those parts at a time when you
should have been safely at home. For the moment you are in the
service of His Majesty, and although I could order that you be given
no duty, I've an idea that that would hardly meet with your wishes?"
"I'd rather work, sir," responded Tom eagerly. "I like ship life,
and the experience may be useful. If only you will give me the
opportunity of writing home, I will willingly act as one of the hands
aboard, and work in that way till I am released."
"That's the spirit, my lad," exclaimed the commander. "He's in your
watch, Mr. Riley, and I know you'll look after him. As to writing,
you can do that; Mr. Riley shall see to it. I also will write to your
father and to the authorities. We shall fall in with a boat homeward
bound shortly, and in a week perhaps your people will know what has
become of you. There, my lad, I like your spirit."
The commander shook hands with our hero, an uncommon honour, and then
sent him off with Mr. Riley. And that very night Tom sat down in the
latter's cabin to write his letter, telling his father exactly what
had happened.
Next morning, early daylight, the first streak of dawn in fact, found
him on deck, his feet naked, a deck brush in his hand. He joined the
gang of men engaged in washing down, and, if the truth be known,
thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Meanwhile the fine frigate was
pressing along under easy sail, a fresh wind abeam, ploughing her way
through a sunlit sea that might have belonged to the Mediterranean.
"We're jest cruising on and off watching for a Frenchie, me lad,"
explained one of his messmates, a jovial old salt who had seen many
an action at sea. "There's never no saying when a Frenchie may turn
up, and then we're bound to be at 'em. But they ain't so frequent
nowadays as they was. Yer see, Spain and Portugal being joined to
France, the French has simply to slip over the mountains, and that's
how they're sendin' men in to fill the ranks of their armies. Queer
thing, ain't it, that Boney should want them countries for his own?
He's always a-grabbin'. The earth won't find lands enough for him
by the way he's going on. But he'll get beaten handsome some day. I
ain't so sure as we won't do it for him. Know all about this here
campaign in the Peninsula, as Spain and Portugal's called?"
Tom modestly admitted that he knew something about the fighting.
"It's a long business," he said. "Boney put his own brother on the
throne of Spain, and of course the Spaniards wouldn't have him. At
the same time he had taken Portugal for himself. He's been the
terror of Europe these many years, and as he aims at subjugating
England also, why, we gladly agreed to go in and help the Portuguese
and Spaniards. As for the fighting, there's been such a heap of it
that it is quite bewildering."
"Aye, and it's easy to see as you're a gent as has been used to
better things than the lower deck," said the salt. "What're you here
for? Grabbin' something that wasn't yourn?"
He put out a hand to touch Tom's sleeve the instant after, for he saw
him flush with indignation. "I'm sorry, lad," he said. "It's plain as
it wasn't that."
However, the lower deck in those days was not peopled entirely by
kindly disposed individuals. Bluff and hearty and plucky men there
were in abundance, if their language was not always refined or their
habits too particular. But then, as now perhaps, the coming of a
young fellow of Tom's stamp amidst a rather rough crowd was apt to
draw attention to him, attention not always of the most pleasing. And
it so happened that there was one in the mess to which Tom had been
posted who seemed to resent his coming. Higgins was a bull-necked,
squint-eyed young fellow of some twenty years, and had been sent from
a prison to the navy, as had many another. He was possessed of a
thin, mean face, over which dangled one long forelock. For the rest,
it may be stated that he was accustomed as a general rule to say very
little, having discovered himself unpopular amongst the men; though,
to be sure, whenever there did happen to arrive aboard the ship a
youngster smaller than himself, Higgins was the first to attempt to
bully him. For some reason he had taken a violent dislike to Tom.
Possibly he was jealous of the attention he had gained, or of the way
in which he came to good terms with the men. Whatever the cause, he
was determined to browbeat him, and took this, the first opportunity.
"I dunno as you ain't right, Jim," he sang out coarsely, the instant
the other had spoken. "Why shouldn't he be here for grabbin'? There's
lots comes to the navy on that account, and why shouldn't he? I'll
lay he has, too."
"Then you're mistaken," said Tom firmly. "I was impressed; every fool
knows that."
"Oh, every fool knows it, do they?" was the sharp answer. "You ain't
calling me a fool?"
"Jest you put a stopper on yer tongue and belay," sang out the salt,
seeing all the elements of a quarrel in this discussion, and noticing
Tom's flushed cheeks, and the rising anger of Higgins. "'Sides, I
ain't Jim to you, me lad, and don't you ferget it. I'll take a rope's
end to you afore you're a minute older if you ain't careful."
But Higgins had allowed his temper to rise to the point where it was
uncontrollable. He had expected Tom to accept his remarks meekly, as
became a new hand, and, finding he had not done so, was determined
to pick a quarrel with him. There are always such cantankerous
individuals in the world, and it was Tom's fortune to hit up against
this one. He, too, was roused, for he resented the man's impertinence.
"I'll back as he's a jail bird," declared Higgins, thinking that by
making a firm stand in this altercation he would stimulate his own
popularity amongst the men. "He's a gent that's took the money out of
the till and then been collared. The easiest way to cover the thing
was to hand him over to a crimp. That's how he's here--I know him."
He had probably never set eyes on our hero before, and had he done so
would not have dared to address him in such a manner. But Tom was one
of the deck hands, one of themselves, and, moreover, a newly-joined
recruit, too often destined for a time to be the butt of his fellows.
Higgins counted on his giving way at once. Most recruits are
awe-stricken at first by the strangeness of their surroundings, and
perhaps by the roughness of their companions. Besides, bullying airs
and ways, backed most probably by other individuals, are apt to cause
a young fellow to choose the easier path and swallow his displeasure.
However, Tom was one of the obstinate sort. Fighting was nothing new
to him, and to show his readiness for a contest, and the fact that he
was by no means afraid of an encounter, he promptly began hostilities
by pitching the contents of a jug of water over Higgins.
"I'll ask you to understand that when I say a thing I mean it, and
that I tell a lie for no one," he said, rising from his seat and
undoing the neckerchief which he, like the others, wore about him.
"I don't know what the rules are aboard a king's ship; but this I do
know, I allow no man to suggest that I am a thief or a liar. Take
back what you've said or I'll trounce you."
There was a commotion in the 'tween decks by now. Men crowded about
the long narrow tables stretching from the side of the ship towards
the centre, and which was one of many. Like the rest, too, it was
constructed to lift up to the deck above and be attached there,
leaving the decks free for movement. Jim had meanwhile risen to his
feet, and now held his hand high for silence.
"Mates," he said, "there's trouble brewin' here. This new mate of
ours is a good 'un, and I'll not allow him to be stamped on. Higgins
here has just now called him a thief and a liar, and the young spark
has drenched him with water. If Higgins don't come down handsome with
a 'pology there's only one thing left."
"A set to, and right it'll be," burst in another of the men, one of
the seniors. "Fightin' don't do no great harm, and it's necessary
when one mate calls another names that tastes nasty. You, Higgins,
admit you called him a liar and a thief?"
"Of course," came the coarse answer. "I'm goin' ter thrash him."
"You are, are you?" came the grim reply from the old salt, while he
sized up the two young fellows swiftly, craning his head to one side
as if he were a bird. "I dunno so much; the new mate looks as if he
could use his hands lively. You ain't goin' to 'pologize?"
"Not likely! I'll hammer him till he'll be glad to admit that what
I've said's as true as gospel."
If he imagined that Tom would keep him waiting he was much mistaken,
for that young fellow had already rolled his sleeves to the elbow.
Indeed, as we have intimated, he was no novice. Not that he was by
nature quarrelsome; but those were rough days, and like many another
boy Tom had need now and again to defend his honour. He stood away
from the table, waiting while it and two or three next to it were
swung out of the way. Then, bending low so that his head would not
hit the deck above, he stepped to the centre of the circle which the
men immediately formed.
"Any sort of rules?" he asked coolly. "Anyone keepin' time?"
"Go as you please, mate," came Jim's answer. "A sailor don't ax fer
breathing time if he comes up alongside a Frenchie, and you don't
have no call for it either. It's the same fer both, and as fair and
square as may be. But it'll have to be straight work. We stops the
fight if there's foul hitting."
A fight in the 'tween decks was no unusual occurrence in those
days, and was a source of some interest to the men of the navy.
Hard fellows without an exception, they had been brought up in a
stern school which taught that a man must look to himself alone for
protection. But they could recognize spirit, and Tom took their fancy
wonderfully.
"He's game, he is," declared one of the men, as he doubled his arms
and pressed forward to watch the contest. "And he ain't no weakling.
You can see as he's not used to haulin' and suchlike, and ain't been
a tar over long. But I like his figure-head. It's clean and well-cut,
and he's a beam on him that carries weight, and'll lend strength to
a blow when he gets one home. He ain't no new 'un at the game, I'll
stake my Davy. That boy has been grappled on to a job like this many
a time."
The ten minutes which followed proved that Tom was something also
of a scientist; for he played with his antagonist. It was clear, in
fact, after five minutes that he would be the victor, though at first
he had some ugly rushes to stop and some hard hitting to protect
himself from. But science and generally good condition told, and
while at the end of some ten minutes, during which the two broke away
now and again to pant and glare at one another, only to begin once
more at the shouts of the crew, Higgins was almost in a condition of
exhaustion, Tom was still comparatively fresh. He stopped a furious
and last attempt on the part of Higgins to rush him up against the
side of the ship, and then, darting forward, struck the man full in
the mouth, sending him sprawling.
Higgins lay for a minute without movement, and then his hand went
back towards the knife which, sailor-like, he carried attached to his
belt and well behind him.
"Drop that!" shouted Jim. "Now, Higgins, you as was a-goin' ter whack
this young shaver, say as you 'pologize for callin' him names."
For a second there was defiance on what was still recognizable as
that young man's face. Then he nodded his head in assent. Tom at once
went towards him, his hand outstretched.
"Shake hands, and let's be friends," he said. "I dare say you didn't
understand how I'd take what you said. But where I come from a man
fights and fights again when another calls him thief or liar. There,
shake hands and let's be friends in the future."
There was a cheer at that, while the men gathered round our hero,
patting him on the back with such heartiness that his remaining
breath was almost driven from his body. Some of the more enthusiastic
even began to chair him, and had carried him as far as the deck
ladder, when the sudden shrill piping of whistles and the appearance
of an officer put a stop to the movement. It was Mr. Riley, a long
glass beneath one arm, his other hand on the rail of the ladder.
"My lads," he began, about to give an order, and then, suddenly
catching sight of Tom, ceased abruptly. Casting his eye over the
heads of the men, he soon picked out the somewhat miserable figure of
Higgins.
"Ah," he said, "a fight! My lads, strictly against orders. But I've
news for you--we've rounded up a Frenchman. Clear these decks."
He was gone in a twinkling, his coat tails swinging behind him. But
as he turned he contrived to smile at our hero.
"Licked that young man Higgins. That's good," he was saying as he
raced up the ladder. "Young Clifford has courage. Wonder how he'll
behave when shot and cannon balls come crashing amongst us; he's just
the boy for this service."
When Tom had washed his face and had clambered to the deck he saw a
large vessel some four miles away, bearing up towards the frigate,
while a smaller one sailed behind her.
"Ship o' the line, mate," said Jim, who was leader of the squad of
men of whom our hero was one, who had the working of one gun. "It'll
be tough business, and ef she wasn't so big I doubt as she'd sail up
so cocky towards us. But we'll give her what for; we're fair death on
Frenchies."
A magnificent sight the Frenchman made as the distance between the
two vessels decreased. Tom peeped at her through the wide-open port
and admired the enormous spread of white above her, the seething foam
at her forefoot, and the gleam of her broad decks that came into view
now and again as the ship heaved to the swell of the ocean. Then
a spout of white smoke burst from her fo'castle; a flash severed
it in twain and was followed after a distinct interval by a dull
reverberating report. The shot reached its mark almost at the same
moment. There was a crash within ten feet of Tom. The side of the
vessel at that point burst inward in a hundred splinters, and the
iron messenger struck the very next gun to his, slithered and crashed
across the 'tween decks, and finally brought up short against the
opposite side. It roused a cheer of excitement from the crew.
"That's shootin'!" cried Jim. "She's the sort for our money. In a
jiffy we'll be layin' into her. Just take a sight along the gun, Tom,
and larn now how to pitch a ball into a Frenchie."