THE ARTICLES OF WAR.
OLD Gideon Terlizzeck, as the men all called him, was not really an
old man; he did not know his age exactly himself, so that I cannot
be expected to do so. There could hardly be a more striking evidence
than that afforded by his life, of what the grace of God can do for
us, even in very adverse circumstances. His mother had been one of the
earliest followers of John Wesley, when he preached in the fields near
her native place, which was in Cornwall. She married young, and was
early left a widow. She brought up her boys most carefully, and with
wonderful success—they all turned out well. If in many respects she was
but an ignorant woman, no wiser than others, she had the best learning
and the highest wisdom—she could read her Bible, and she loved it; she
could pray, and prayer brought her wisdom.
You will find plenty of people in these days to tell you that the
Bible can teach you nothing, and that prayer is a superstitious waste
of time. But you will generally find that these are people who do not
read the Bible, and who do not pray. Those who do will tell you a very
different story. And surely common sense teaches us that these last
must know more about it than the others. Of religion only, among all
the studies pursued by man, does the world believe that those who have
only an outside acquaintance with it are better judges of the truth or
falsehood of its assertions, than those who know it well and love it
better than their lives.
Well, to return to Gideon's mother. Her husband was a Plymouth man and
a sailor, and her sons were all sailors. As Gideon said, it ran in the
family. They were all dead now, except Gideon, who had been the eldest.
He had gone to sea as a boy, and had served afloat, with intervals of a
month or two, ever since. He had seen much hard fighting, had endured
much hardship; he had witnessed much sin, and heard much swearing and
bad language. Yet now, with his hair white, and his strength beginning
to be touched by the hand of age, Gideon had still the child's heart,
the child's faith, and the child's hope, with which he had left his
mother's cottage. I know he called himself a grievous sinner; that is
one of the contradictions of which outsiders can make nothing. But
though human, and therefore, of course, often going wrong, he was,
like the prophet Samuel, one who, having been given to God by a pious
mother, walked with God all the days of his life.
Gideon was a shy man, and very humble. He was no great talker when the
men were all together, though to one companion he would talk freely.
The men liked him—he was always so kind and helpful; to be in trouble
was to have Gideon's hand held out to help you. They respected him;
his presence restrained the worst of them in the use of bad language,
and on Sundays they would often let him read the Bible to them. The
"Imogene" being a frigate, did not carry a chaplain, but the captain
read the Church service to the men every Sunday. It was the first time
that Tom had ever been brought into contact with religion since he left
his mother, and he was interested and impressed, in spite of himself.
But he did not show it in any way, and Gideon, who had taken a fancy to
him, was quite distressed about him.
Tom's discontent was not lessened when he discovered that the "Imogene"
had only just come to the station, so that, for three or four years at
the least, he would be kept out of England. Though he said he would not
go home, yet now that he certainly 'could' not go, he longed to hear
something of his people.
The "Imogene" was one of the small fleet employed in defending
England's West Indian possessions against being surprised by the
French, with whom, at that time, we were at war. Formerly the French
had made constant attempts at these surprises, but since the great
battle of Trafalgar, France had not so many ships to send to distant
stations, and encounters between our ships and those of France were
less frequent. Still, an occasional cruiser would appear, and it was in
a very tough encounter with a French frigate that Captain Egerton had
lost so many men that he had to take some from the merchant ships.
Of course, a good look-out was of the utmost importance. And when Tom
had been some time on board, the look-out man, from some unaccountable
carelessness, allowed a ship to come near enough to be seen by those on
deck, before he gave notice of her approach.
She proved to be English, but this did not alter the fact that a grave
offence had been committed; and the man who had offended was condemned
to be flogged, according to the Articles of War in that case made and
provided.
Captain Egerton seldom flogged, but in this case he thought it
necessary. People in those days did not think of such things as we do,
but Tom had never seen a man flogged, and the sight made a terrible
impression upon him.
All hands were piped on deck; the Article of War dealing with the
offence was read aloud by the captain, who looked very stern in his
cocked hat, and then John Callcutt, able seaman, received four dozen
lashes, and, if the truth must be told, did not think half as much of
it as we are apt to fancy. But Tom was like one in a frenzy. He was
faint and sick, angry and frightened, and, in fact, did not know what
he was about. Gideon, with Dick Carr's assistance, hustled him away and
took him below. Carr returned on deck, but Gideon stayed with Tom, and
tried to calm him.
"Why, Tom," said he, "what a fellow you are! Here's a pother about a
four dozen, well deserved, as we must all own! Why, if you'd served
with Sir Lucas Cochrane as I did, you'd have seen six, ay, and seven
dozen, given for half that. He'd flog a man for being last up the
rigging! Ah, he were a bad-tempered man, but a grand officer. Now, our
captain never is severe; and you'll see Callcutt about again in a week
or so, not a hair the worse."
"Were you ever flogged?" asked Tom, looking up with white face and
gleaming eyes.
"N—no, Tom, I can't say I ever was. I've been always very fortunate;
and as to you, it's all in your own hands. You do your duty, and you
and the cat will never come together."
"Now, look here," said Tom. "John Callcutt shipped with Captain Egerton
of his own free will, and has been a man-o'-war's man all his life, so
that he knew what lay before him. Equally, so did you. Maybe you like
being treated like slaves or dumb beasts, but I was never asked my
consent to being here. And I just tell you, what is no more than the
truth, that if the like is ever done to me, I'll end my life the very
first time I get the chance. I'll manage better than Dick Carr did,
too. Do you think that I'm going back to my people, to tell them I was
flogged like a hound? Never! I mean what I say, and—"
"Tom, be quiet; not so loud. No one's going to flog you unless 'you' go
and deserve it."
"Deserve it! How can I deserve it, for not keeping rules I never
promised to keep? You drag me away from my ship and my captain; you
read me a lot of rules and laws that I know nothing about; I'm robbed
of my hard-earned money, and—"
"Nonsense, Tom. My lad, you're off your head. Your money went to the
bottom, as you yourself told me."
"I told you they all said so. But it's my belief that they grabbed it
while I was laying hold of Carr."
"You're beside yourself. Tom, be quiet; here's an officer."
Gideon stood up; Tom jumped up too.
"The captain wants to know what is wrong with Adderley," said Mr.
Carteret.
"First punishment he ever saw, sir; that's all," answered Gideon.
"Ay? Mr. Egerton fainted; so, you see, you're not the only one. I hope
you're all right again, Adderley?"
"Yes—sir."
"What were you saying about being robbed, as I came in?"
"Nothing, sir," said Tom, sullenly.
"That's no answer; I heard you plainly. It is the first that has been
heard of it. Were you robbed?"
"Greg Collier saw the kit go overboard," remarked Gideon.
But Mr. Carteret waited for Tom to reply, and he had to speak at last.
"I had my money in my kit, sir—a good deal of money—and when Carr
jumped overboard and I caught hold of him, my kit disappeared. I
dropped it at my feet as Carr passed me, and I don't see how it got
overboard."
"Terlizzeck, were you with me? I forget."
"No, sir. But Greg Collier sat on the next bench, and he saw the kit go
overboard."
"What made it go? No one had any call to touch it," said Tom, doggedly.
"Why did you not speak of this at once?" inquired Mr. Carteret.
"Because I knew 'twould be no use; they'd all stick together."
"The captain must be told of this," said Mr. Carteret.
And the captain was told, and inquired carefully into the matter.
Three of the best men in the ship deposed to having seen the bundle go
overboard and sink at once, and one said that Carr had kicked it as he
made his spring. There was no reason to doubt this testimony, and all
that Tom gained by his foolish suspicions was the dislike of Collier
and of some others, and a good deal of joking about his "fine fortune
that was in Davy Jones's locker."
All this combined to make Tom more miserable every day, until at last
he was really in a very desperate humour; and just at this time the
ship touched at Jamaica.
Captain Egerton found it necessary to get water, and as the beef and
biscuits were getting low, he determined to make for Port Royal, as
there he was sure of getting what he wanted.
Often had Tom been in Port Royal before; many a bright kerchief and gay
ribbon had he sold there to black damsels, who used to declare that
"Massa Add'ley had de lubly taste!"
The "Imogene" was detained for several days, getting in water and
shipping stores, but at last she was ready to sail. Tom was one
of several who went ashore on the morning of the last day, on the
understanding that they would be ready when the boat came up for them
in the afternoon. Captain Egerton wished to get them all on board
early, as he meant to sail in the morning.
But when the midshipman in command counted his passengers, one was
missing. And when he had called over the names, that one proved to be
Tom Adderley. Gideon, who had been sent to ensure the discretion and
safety of the mid, advised his commanding officer to wait a while. But
Tom did not come, and a gun from the frigate warned them that they
were delaying too long. It was very unwillingly, and with a foreboding
heart, that Gideon heard the orders given, though he knew that there
was no help for it.
All that night he kept hoping that the morning would see Tom alongside
in a shore-boat, for then, of course, he would escape with a severe
reprimand—what Gideon called "a proper wigging."
But the morning came, and Tom did not. Captain Egerton was not going to
delay on account of the loss of Tom's not very valuable services. He
communicated the fact that one of his men was "absent without leave" to
the proper authorities, and sailed a little after daybreak.
This was just what Master Tom wished and expected. He was hidden in
the house of an old negro, who was also an old acquaintance of his. He
meant to discard his sailor dress and lie quiet until Captain Collins
came into port. Then he would get on board the old "Star of the Sea,"
and be happy again.
Of course Captain Collins would have had nothing to say to him;
equally, of course, he would have been arrested the first time he
ventured out. But, as it happened, he never had time to experience
these disappointments.
The "Imogene" met a French privateer before she was quite out of sight
of Port Royal, took her, and came back into port with her, Captain
Egerton not caring to spare men and officers to form a prize crew. Mr.
Carteret, with a number of the "Imogene's" men, had just marched the
few prisoners to the barracks, when Greg Collier caught sight of old
Agamemnon, the negro, peeping nervously round a corner. Collier laid
hold of him and took him to Mr. Carteret.
"This here knows where Adderley is, I'm pretty certain, sir. I've seen
them discoursin' each other. Scouting round the corner, he were; and
frightened out of his wits, as all may see!"
"Do you know where Thomas Adderley, able seaman, belonging to his
Majesty's ship 'Imogene,' is hiding?" said Mr. Carteret, blandly.
But Agamemnon shook and shivered, and turned from black to a livid
grey, so certain did he feel that this gentleness covered fearful
designs. Still, Tom had been kind to him; and the poor old fellow was
divided between fear for himself and a desire to save Tom. So, not
being particular as to truth, he replied—
"Hidin'! Oh no, capta'n, not hidin'. Sick! Oh, he were berry sick—sick
'nuff to die nearly! When de ship sailed he were lyin' dar, most dead."
"Drunk, I suppose?" said Mr. Carteret.
Agamemnon rolled his eyes in a way which might mean yes or no, just as
you liked to take it.
"Show me where he is!" Mr. Carteret went on.
And poor Agamemnon, all unworthy to bear the name of the "king of men,"
obeyed very meekly, so that in a few minutes, Tom was in custody,
and was marched down to the landing-place, and conveyed on board the
'Imogene.' He was put in irons, and kept in strict confinement; and it
is easy to imagine that he was very miserable. Now that he had tried
and failed, he saw plainly enough the utter folly of his attempt to
escape. Gideon's warnings came back to him; his entreaties that Tom
would submit to what 'must' be, and try to do his duty in his new
position. Now, too, that to see it was of no use to him, he saw that he
had been leniently treated—that his officers had been very patient with
him; and always he saw before him the punishment he had brought upon
himself. Oh, if only he could begin again, and be once more the newly
pressed man, how differently he would behave!
Even the loss of his money seemed nothing to him now; he felt that he
had lost everything that made life worth having. It seemed to him that
the only thing to be done was to get rid of his wretched life as soon
as he could. I do not know that he would have kept to this resolution,
but these were his thoughts as he sat there, alone, in his terrible
misery. What! Go home, not only penniless, but disgraced? Go home
to see his father ashamed of him, and his mother trying to keep his
disgrace a secret? Never! He would die twenty times over, sooner than
do that. Why, even to face the men of the "Imogene" after they had been
witnesses of his degradation, was more than his proud heart could bear!
There he sat, poor Tom! almost in the dark, with heavy irons on his
ankles, his face hidden in his hands. And all the time his imprisonment
lasted, he never once looked up when any one spoke to him, or when his
meals were brought to him, but just sat without a sound or a movement,
and with black despair in his heart.
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