PRESSED.
FOUR years have passed since Tom Adderley began his new career. He has
made four voyages with Captain Collins, and has risen from being ship's
boy to being coxswain of the captain's boat. This gave him plenty of
opportunities of landing and carrying on his own little trade; and Tom
had made thirty pounds, which he kept tied up in a little canvas bag.
He could pay his mother three times over, and she would be proud of her
sailor son.
The Tom Adderley who was coming back to England with what seemed to
him a large sum of money, intending at last to visit his home and
repay the ten guineas (faithful to his resolution, he always thought
of them as ten) threefold, was a very different person from the slip
of a boy who had popped out so easily through the little window in his
father's cottage. He had grown a good deal, he was strong and brown
and sturdy, he walked with a little roll or swagger, call it which you
like, as sailors do; and he was more changed in mind and ideas than
in person. He could not read nor write, but he could keep accounts by
means of nicks in a stick, and never make a mistake in them. He had
learned to be a good sailor, for a merchant sailor; and he loved his
profession, and had not a wish beyond it. So that he was now as steady
and painstaking as he had once been idle and troublesome, he was well
thought of by others, and exceedingly well pleased with himself.
As to being ashamed of having taken his mother's money, he was nothing
of the kind. The guineas had increased under his care. Whereas his
mother would probably have kept them locked up, laid up rather (Tom
laughed to himself as he remembered the old iron pot), idle and
useless, waiting for a "rainy day" that might never come. As to the
actual arrival of that rainy day, the idea never troubled his head.
Nothing ever happened in Burdeck, and nothing ever would happen. Father
and mother would live on, just as they had always lived, until he had
made enough to buy a farm and stock it. And for this, he would begin to
work and save as soon as he had been home and paid mother threefold.
Yet Tom could remember the deaths of poor Harry Sands and his own
pretty sister Dolly. The remembrance might have been a warning to him,
but it was not.
Tom was picturing to himself his return—his mother's delight, Sam's
half-envious admiration, his father's surprise—as he stood one day in
the top, holding lightly by the rigging, doing duty as "look-out man."
The merchant fleet, about forty ships of varying tonnage, some of them
carrying a couple of guns for self-defence, was sweeping along with a
favouring breeze; the four ships of war forming the convoy sailed two
on one side and two on the other of the fleet. They had had a splendid
voyage, and would, if the weather continued to favour them, soon see
England again. Some of them could have sailed much faster, had they
dared to leave the convoy, but this they could not do.
Suddenly Tom's quick eye caught sight of an unexpected movement on
board the "Dauntless," the three-decker commanded by the senior captain
present. Presently up ran little coloured balls, which soon shook
themselves out into little flags. They were signalling, and not to the
fleet. Therefore Tom knew that the signals were intended to reach some
vessel seen from the tall mast of the great line-of-battle ship, but
not as yet visible to him.
"'Dauntless' signalling!" he called out.
And Mr. Boland, first mate, after a look through his glass, sent for
the captain.
Tom saw that the captain was uneasy. Something seemed to worry him a
good deal.
Presently Tom called again, "A sail!"
"Where away?" called Captain Collins.
"Coming up with 'Dauntless.' Starboard quarter, sir. 'Dauntless'
signalling!"
The captain raised his long glasses, looked steadily, and then grunted
as if vexed. "Orders to lay to," said he; "and that means that the
stranger is a Frenchman, and that there are others at her heels. I
thought we were getting off without a fight this time."
He then gave the necessary orders, and in ten minutes every ship had
furled sails and lay as nearly motionless as could be managed.
"I don't understand this," Captain Collins presently remarked, "The
ships are not getting ready for action; they are remaining in their
stations. Aloft there! Any more sail?"
"No, sir, none."
"I don't like this; I don't like it at all," muttered Captain Collins.
Meantime the stranger had overtaken the "Dauntless," and a boat was
seen to leave her and row towards the big ship. The new-comer was a
frigate, and Captain Collins pronounced her English.
"Oh, then we're all right, sir," said Boland.
"I hope so," replied the more experienced captain.
Presently Tom gave notice that several boats were leaving the
"Dauntless." Captain Collins stood watching them as they swept over
the frisky little waves, steadily impelled by the skilful arms of
men-o'-war's men. The boats separated, each going towards one of the
merchant ships. The boat from the stranger steered straight for the
"Star of the Sea."
"Yes," said Captain Collins; "I thought so! Robins, go aloft and send
Adderley down. You're safe; you're too old for them, if they can get
younger. Adderley, go below and stay there, if you're let. Brown, Carr,
Jones, and Seacombe, you go too. I must not overdo it; the rest must
remain and take their chance."
The wary captain, shrewdly suspecting the errand on which the boat
came, had now sent the pick of his crew below. One of these men
enlightened Tom.
"It's a press-gang, that's what 'tis. Yon frigate has lost some men,
and some of us will have to go."
"Oh," cried young Carr, "and me that is to be married the week after I
get home. Poor Kitty, she has waited for me so faithful. Look ye, boys;
I'll hide here behind this barrel, and maybe they won't see me."
"Whatever you do," said Seacombe, the eldest among them, "make no sort
o' resistance if you're took. For there's captains in the navy that
would flog ye for it at once."
Tom felt very angry. He could hear, when this conversation ceased,
what was going on, on deck, and he stood listening with a miserable
conviction in his heart that he would be one of those selected.
He heard the boat touch the ship's side. The next sounds proved that
several men had boarded the "Star."
"Captain George Collins, I suppose?" said the young officer in command.
"At your service," replied Captain Collins in a somewhat sulky voice.
"I am Lieutenant Carteret, of his Majesty's ship 'Imogene.' We've been
in action and lost some of our men. We cannot leave the station, and we
cannot be short-handed. Captain Egerton regrets very much being obliged
to take such a step, but we must ask you to give us three men. Captain
Strayn, of the 'Dauntless,' says you can spare three. We mean to take
some from several ships, so as not to distress any."
"What must be, must," said Captain Collins, "and I won't deny there's
justice in it. You defend us, and—My men, you heard what this gentleman
said?"
"Will any of you volunteer?" said Mr. Carteret, who liked his present
duty as little as did Captain Collins.
"Yes, sir; I may as well go willing," said that sly old fox, Robins,
knowing very well that the officer would take younger men.
"No one else volunteers? Well, then, I must choose. But first, Mr.
Collins, do I see all your crew?"
"Are ye all on deck, boys?" inquired Collins.
"We're here," answered several voices. But Mr. Carteret, after looking
at the men for a moment, said to a little pink-and-white midshipman who
stood by his side—
"Mr. Egerton, take two men and go below. Bring up any men you find
there."
Mr. Egerton, aged twelve, thought it all great fun. He ran gleefully
down the ladder, and presently the sound of a scuffle was heard.
At a word from Mr. Carteret, three more sailors went below, and very
soon the five young men were brought on deck, Dick Carr in custody, as
he had resisted when dragged out of his hiding-place.
"Five skulkers, Mr. Carteret; and this fellow resisted."
"Ah, well, we'll overlook that. Let him go, Collier. These are the men
for us. I'll take you—" pointing at Tom—"and you—" Dick Carr—"and you—"
the last being Jones. "Now, my lads, I'm sorry this duty fell to me,
for I hate having to do it. But I must do my duty, and you must submit.
You'll find yourselves better off in many ways than you are here;
plenty of fighting—every Englishman likes that—plenty of prize-money,
and a very comfortable ship. If I give you five minutes to get your
kits, will you keep faith with me, and give me no further trouble?"
Tom stepped forward and said, "Captain Collins, must we go?"
"No help for it, Adderley. Go below and get your kit."
Tom lingered for a moment, but catching little Egerton grinning at him,
he walked off in sulky silence. Carr followed him. In a few minutes
they all reappeared, each man carrying a bundle. Tom had his precious
canvas bag tied up in his bundle, for as a sailor from the stranger's
boat had gone below with the "Star's" men, apparently to keep an eye on
them, Tom had not cared to be seen concealing it about his person.
Captain Collins shook hands with each man as he went over the side.
Carr asked him to give a message to his Kitty, and Jones gave him some
money to carry to his old mother. Tom for a moment thought of doing
the same. He knew that Captain Collins would spare no trouble about
it. But then, how terribly the honour and glory of his return would be
impaired—to go home with no store of golden guineas, and causing no
surprise in Burdeck! No, a year or two could make no real difference to
mother, so he merely shook hands and went over the side.
As Mr. Carteret was about to follow, Robins came up to him. "What about
me, sir? I volunteered."
"I have a great mind to take you, you old humbug!" said the young
officer, laughing.
The men laughed too—all except the three pressed men. And Robins
retreated very hastily.
As they rowed to the frigate, Dick Carr, who was sitting beside Tom,
suddenly cried out, "I can't bear it, and I won't. Good-bye, Tom." And,
quick as light, he flung himself overboard.
Tom grasped at him as he sprang, caught him by the leg, and held on.
Help was promptly given, and Carr was dragged into the boat again, and
handcuffed, but the plunge seemed to have brought him to his senses,
for he sat quite quiet. Tom now stooped to pick up his precious bundle,
which he had dropped at his feet when he saw what Carr was about. It
was gone!
"My kit—my money!" he cried.
"Your kit!" said Mr. Carteret. "What is the matter about it?"
"It is gone!" said Tom.
"It went overboard in the scuffle, sir," said one of the rowers.
"Summat heavy it seemed, too, for it went down like lead."
"Are you 'sure' it went overboard?" cried Tom despairingly.
"Never mind, my man," Mr. Carteret said kindly. "We'll rig you out on
board the 'Imogene.'"
"But maybe you took it," Tom said to the rower who had spoken. "You're
the man that followed me below, and maybe you saw—"
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, youngster," said the man, "or you'll
find the mess a little too hot for you. 'I' take your kit, forsooth! A
lubberly merchant sailor!"
Tom sank down, utterly wretched. What followed, he did not know. When
he recovered himself a little, he was one of a long row of men, all
like himself taken from the merchant ships, and now standing before
a naval officer in the undress uniform of a post captain. A man of
middle height, with dark hair, grizzled here and there, and very curly;
handsome clear features, bronzed by many a burning sun, and strangely
light grey eyes.
He looked at his new men kindly and gravely, and after a few minutes
spoke to them.
"My lieutenants have done well; you are all fine fellows, and look
sailor-like and ship-shape. Nov, my lads, listen to me for a moment.
Necessity knows no law, and this was a plain case of necessity. I could
not leave the station; no ship on the station could spare me a single
man, and I can't have the old 'Imogene' short-handed, and see her towed
into a French port some fine day. I'm sorry for you, lads, and yet I'm
a little ashamed of you, too. Ashamed to find that Englishmen pull a
long face over having to serve their king and their country, to do
which is the bounden duty of every able-bodied man in times like these.
You'll live, I hope, to be proud of being king's men. And I'll see that
you have fair play, and share and share alike with the rest, of work
and of play, of grog and of prize-money, and—what some of you will
think best of all—the chances of winning honour and glory for your king
and Old England. Come now, three cheers for the king—King George and
Old England! And if you do your duty by me, you shall find that I'll do
mine by you."
Three cheers, tolerably hearty ones, were raised. The little mite of a
middy who had been with Mr. Carteret was standing close to the captain,
whose son he was.
"That fellow did not cheer," said he, pointing at Tom, "all because he
lost his kit!"
"Mr. Egerton, go below," said the captain, shortly enough. "When you
are a little older and a little wiser, you will know that sometimes it
is well to be blind and deaf."
Little Mr. Egerton coloured all over his pretty little impudent face,
and made off as fast as he could go.
"What is your name?" Captain Egerton asked of Tom.
"Adderley—Tom Adderley."
"Say 'sir;' we must have no merchant ship manners here. Touch your cap
and say 'sir.' You lost your hit in saving this half-drowned lad here?"
"Yes."
Captain Egerton waited. Something in his cool, quiet eyes made Tom's
hand find its way to his cap, and forced him to add "sir," after a very
perceptible pause.
"Well, go to the purser and tell him to rig you out comfortably. You
look a sailor, every inch of you, but don't ruin your chances by
showing temper.—You are Richard Carr, I think?"
"Yes, sir."
"If I overlook your silly conduct in the boat, will you promise better
behaviour for the future? I can make allowance for the surprise."
"Yes, sir; I won't do the like no more."
"That's right. Now go below and get dry."
The captain turned away, and as soon as he was out of hearing, Tom
Adderley uttered a few words in a low, hissing tone—if his good mother
could have seen his face and heard those words, she would have cried
out in fear and amazement. An old sailor who stood near turned round
and said gently—
"Don't thee use words like that, my lad. It's clear against the law of
God and the rules of the service. Come along, both of ye, and I'll show
you where to go. You'll like the life after a bit. I wouldn't change,
not to be a bishop!"
Now, Gideon Terlizzeck was a fine-looking old salt, and a very good
man, but he was not exactly one's idea of a bishop, as he stood before
the two young men, hitching up his trousers and shaking his head
amiably at them, so that his stiff pigtail flew about, describing a
half-circle in the air. Many sailors of the Royal Navy still wore
pigtails, and Gideon had a splendid one—long and thick and nearly
white. Tom did not know what a bishop was, and replied roughly—
"What's that to me? I say it's a shame, a cruel shame; it's unjust—it's
not to be put up with. I'll never do a stroke of work aboard this
prison of a frigate."
"My lad," said old Terlizzeck, after a glance all round, "be you
thankful as none heard that but me. You've served aboard a trader all
your life, but maybe you know what I mean when I makes mention of the
boatswain's mate and the cat?"
Tom started. "Let me see the man that will lay a hand on me!" said he,
with a flash in his eyes.
"There's three hundred odd on board this here frigate would do it as
soon as look at you, if the captain gave the word. Now, don't you
be a fool, my lad. I'm sorry, for you—you seem to have some private
reason for being angry, but you'll only knock your own head against a
bulkhead, if you set yourself against discipline."
Tom was silent, but his heart was very full, more of anger than of
sorrow.
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