PAID OFF.
SPACE, or rather the want of it, forbids me to give you any more of
Tom's adventures in the West Indies. Suffice it to say that he laid
up materials enough for the entertainment of Burdeck for many years,
should he ever return there to tell his story.
And to return no longer seemed impossible to him. He had redeemed
his character, and had begun to understand his position and to love
his profession. He knew now that he would receive all arrears of pay
and a good little sum of prize-money when the "Imogene" went out of
commission. You see, Tom still loved to lay by his money for his
mother, but when Captain Egerton wanted to make him a handsome present
for his good service to his son, Tom refused to receive it.
"Let me do it for nothin' but—because I owe you more than my life,
sir," he said.
At last three years had passed away since the day when Tom became
one of the "Imogene's" crew, and the "Imogene" was on her way home.
Captain Egerton had, of course, long since handed over the command of
the station to an admiral, and since that time the frigate had been in
action several times. Once, indeed, she had been all but captured by
two American frigates, and was only saved by a sudden storm, in which
Captain Egerton, by his splendid seamanship, escaped from both the
enemy's ships. Generally, the "Imogene" was successful, but she had
been a good deal knocked about, and repairs were absolutely necessary.
For these repairs she was going home, and it seemed likely that she
would be paid off. For, in the interval, peace had been made with the
United States, and Napoleon had been conquered and sent to Elba, so
that for the future it would not be necessary to keep so many ships in
commission.
They were nearly at home. They had met with rough weather, and had been
forced out of their intended course, so that they were very near the
coast of France, though they did not actually enter the Bay of Biscay.
Tom was on duty as look-out man, and Gideon Terlizzeck had joined him
in his airy quarters, just for the pleasure of being with him. Gideon
had become very fond of Tom, and Tom returned his affection.
"A sail!" shouted Tom.
And when he had answered all the questions of the officer on duty as to
the whereabouts of the said sail, Gideon said—
"See what 'tis to have young eyes! 'I' see no sail yet. Ah, well, it do
not matter now, as it would have mattered last year, when she might be
an American or a Frenchman, layin' wait for us here."
Presently the ship Tom has espied afar off came much nearer. Captain
Egerton came on deck with his telescope, and he looked at the stranger,
whose movements puzzled him. Why was she bearing down upon him in
this way? Had England been still at war, he would have understood the
matter perfectly. But the war was over. However, the ship, a great
three-decker, kept on her course, and Captain Egerton wondered more
and more. When, to complete his amazement, she fired a shot across the
"Imogene's" bows, and at the same time ran up the imperial colours of
France.
"What on earth does the fellow mean?" cried Captain Egerton, angrily.
"I'm afraid there's something wrong that we haven't heard of," said Mr.
Duncan, anxiously. "Can that fiend have escaped and taken the field
again? I always said we ought to have shot him!"
Captain Egerton laughed, for he had argued that question with Mr.
Duncan many and many a time.
"Shorten sail, Duncan; we'll stand off and on a bit. She's lowering
a boat, so we shall know all about it soon. Carteret, you understand
French—don't let them board us; just find out what they are at."
The boat drew near. A French officer stood up and made a polite bow,
begging to know what ship this was.
"'Imogene,' Captain Egerton," Mr. Carteret replied. Then in French,
"What do you mean by flying the imperial flag?"
"His Imperial Majesty the Emperor Napoleon has returned to France,"
was the reply. "This is the 'Monarque,' 130 guns. May I hope that your
captain will see the necessity of surrendering to such superior force,
thereby sparing useless bloodshed?"
The force was even more superior than the speaker supposed it to be.
For the "Imogene" was known to be in a bad way, for want of a thorough
overhauling, one of her masts was spliced, and she was somewhat
short-handed, several of her men having consented to be transferred to
other ships when she was ordered home. For all that, there was but one
opinion on board the "Imogene."
"Surrender," said Captain Egerton, quietly, "without a gun fired?
What does the fellow take us for? Send him about his business,
Carteret.—Duncan, beat to quarters."
The Frenchman made a flourishing bow, and said, "Au revoir," which
meant, "You will all be prisoners on board the 'Monarque' by-and-by, if
we don't sink you."
But the "Imogene's" drums were beating to quarters before his fine bow
was quite finished.
"I'd like to send a shot after that fellow," growled Mr. Carteret.
All was now activity on board the "Imogene;" activity, but not
confusion. It is in a case of this kind that one sees what discipline
is worth. Every man knew exactly what he had to do, and did it. Cheer
after cheer was heard as the men ran to their stations.
"Duncan," said Captain Egerton, "if we get her broadside, we are done
for. We'll board her, now—at once. Get the boarders ready as fast as
you can. I'll lay her alongside, yardarm to yardarm; we have the wind,
and we'll carry her before she has well gone to quarters. There, that's
her drum now."
"Who shall lead the boarders?" said Mr. Duncan.
"You," said the captain. "Shake hands, Duncan. God bless you!"
Well, if those Frenchmen never knew before what British sailors can do
and will do, they found it out that day. Before the last tap of the
"Monarque's" drums, beating to quarters, had ceased to echo "'tween
decks;" before the men were all in their stations, the little "Imogene"
was upon them.
"Boarders, away!"
To his dying day, Tom was proud to say, "And I was one of them."
Tom had seen a good deal of fighting, but such a fight as this never
before. The Frenchmen, surprised as they were, fought like brave
men—fought desperately and furiously. The Englishmen fought as if each
had at least six lives, and was prepared to lose them all. To be made
prisoners almost in sight of home? Never!
The "Monarque" fired one broadside, but the greater number of her guns
were too high above the "Imogene" to injure her, and the frigate's fire
silenced the lower deck. After a fearful struggle, the upper deck was
cleared and the Frenchmen driven below. Charlie Egerton pulled down the
imperial flag, and this practically ended the fight. The French captain
lay dead upon his own deck, and in neither ship was there an officer
unwounded. Mr. Duncan was hurt, but not very seriously; Mr. Carteret
was badly wounded; Captain Egerton lost an arm; and even gallant young
Charlie had a cut over his right eye, of which, if the truth must be
told, he was exceedingly proud. Tom Adderley escaped untouched, though
he had been in the thickest of the fight from first to last. Old
Gideon, too, was safe, but they had lost many a comrade, both among the
boarders and the men who had served the guns.
A victory is not all pleasure, as many a man has acknowledged as well
as poor Tom Adderley, as he helped to clear the decks that afternoon.
This engagement, which lasted for less than an hour, took place on the
10th of May, 1815, and on the 13th of May the "Imogene" and her big
prize sailed into Cawsand Bay, near Plymouth.
The "Imogene" was paid off as soon as possible, the men receiving their
arrears of pay and all their prize-money, except, of course, what they
had won by taking the "Monarque."
And then Tom saw some comical scenes—comical in one way, but sad enough
in another. For instance, he saw a dozen sailors, not quite as sober as
they ought to have been, driving about in and on a hearse, which they
had hired for the day. There was great struggling for seats on the top,
the tars saying that they preferred to be on deck. They drove about the
streets, visiting all the public-houses, where they not only got very
drunk themselves, but insisted upon "treating" every one they could lay
hold of. He saw a man, whom he had believed to be a quiet, sensible
fellow, but who actually bought four watches, melted them down in a
frying-pan, and wanted to try to eat them, but was prevented by old
Gideon at considerable personal risk.
Tom was utterly surprised and shocked at these and similar scenes, but
Gideon said that this kind of thing always went on when men were paid
off, and that he had witnessed worse doings than these. There were no
"Sailors' Homes" or "Sailors' Reading-rooms" in those days, and, little
as either Gideon or Tom liked the life, they could not quite keep out
of the way of their old comrades.
"Why," said Tom, "they won't have a guinea left out of all their money,
at this rate."
"Not a silver shilling," said Gideon; "and then they'll all go to sea
again."
"Well, if I hadn't seen it, I could never have believed that men could
be such fools. What's the good of working hard to earn money, only to
fling it away like this?"
"Worse than no good, Tom, if so be the poor souls could only see it.
Soul and body they do injure. Why, already you'd hardly know Greg
Collier; and as to your old shipmate, Dick Carr, 'twill be months
before he is himself again."
"Dick has some excuse. You know he found out accidental, from a man he
met in the dockyard, that his girl is married. But the rest—such a set
of fools!"
"Well, Tom, no one ever taught 'em better, poor dear souls. Such
rioting is not your temptation, and I'm thankful for that. Indeed, I
think you're a good lad, Tom, and wish to do what's right, but don't
ye be proud and despise your neighbours. It leads to no good. It's not
only because it's in the Bible that I say that pride goes before a
fall; it is likeways my own experience. We're all poor creatures, and
each one has his own temptation. Tom, I do suppose you're going home
for a sight of your good father and mother—when and how do you think to
go?"
"I'm not going, Gideon. I mean to go to sea again. I met an old friend
yesterday—a man by the name of Robins, who was aboard the 'Star of the
Sea' with me. This fellow has a boat of his own now, and is making
a heap of money. He says if I'll trust him with my savings, he'll
double them for me. I have only twenty-five guineas—you know my share
was a good bit less than those that served the whole time with the
'Imogene.' And I won't go home till I can do so with credit—pay my
mother threefold, or even four. What I'd like would be to find some
ship that's been a couple of years in commission, so that I could be
free again, say, in two years. Then I could go home."
"Take my advice and go now," said Gideon. "You've been brought to see
that you did very wrong to take that money from your mother. Go home
and tell her so; for, you may believe me, those words will be more to
her than all the gold in Solomon's temple—and you'll mind, Tom, there
was a lot of gold in that there. Do now, my boy. Something tells me
that if you don't, you'll be sorry for it."
"I don't like to go against your advice, Gideon. But you see, I've
promised Robins. He used to talk of my being his partner long ago, but
I shouldn't care for that now. And what ill can come of it? My father
and mother are not to say old—I've heard her say she was seventeen
when they were married, and he very little more. My poor sister that
died was the oldest of us. Let me see; she was eighteen when she
died, and little Dolly was three when I ran away—that's twenty-one
years. Twenty-one and seventeen—" Tom paused and knit his brow—"that's
thirty-eight. And four years aboard the old 'Star'—that's forty-two;
and three in the 'Imogene'—that's forty-five; and that ain't old.
Neither father nor mother can be much more than that."
"It's not to say old, but that's not the question. You owe it to them
to go as soon as you can, and tell them you're sorry you disobeyed them
and took what you'd no right to take. It's the principle of the thing,
Tom; it's because you ought."
"I don't see it as you do, Gideon. I want to make amends to them, and
what's twenty-five guineas? Now, if Robins goes on being as lucky as he
has been, I'll soon have what would stock a small farm, and that would
be worth talking about. And indeed, I may as well tell you, there's no
use in talking, because I never thought you'd see things so different,
and—I gave Robins the money."
"If you'd told me that at once, my lad, I'd have saved my breath to
whistle for a wind. Well, I hope Robins is an honest man. I do declare,
Tom, you're very risky."
"Why, I've known Robins this long time! 'Twas he first taught me to
trade a little on my own account, and taught me to add up, and reckon,
and all that. See, he gave me a reg'lar receipt, as he called it. Oh,
the money is safe enough. And I was telling him of you, Gideon, and all
your goodness to me. And he said if you'd trust him with a few guineas,
he'll do as well for you as for me."
"Ay, ay; all that sounds very well, but before I do anything of the
kind, I'd like to know something about the kind of trade he carries on.
'Twas that I mean, not that your money isn't safe; though I'm not so
sure it be safe either. We'll see this Robins and make inquiry. I wish
you'd 'a gone home, Tom; I wish you'd go even now."
"I couldn't do that. Don't ask it, Gideon."
"Well, come along, and let's see if we can get sight of this Robins."
But, curious to relate, this was what they could not do! They could by
no means find Mr. Robins. Tom met him once again, when he was alone,
and received an earnest assurance that his trade was "all fair and
above-board." But when Gideon was with him, Tom was very unlucky in
always missing his friend Robins.
The chance of meeting him was soon over, for happening to meet Mr.
Duncan, now a commander, he told them that he had been appointed
to the "Juno" (Captain Parkhurst), going out with Lord A—, the new
Governor-General of India, to Calcutta. The ship was to come home and
be paid off as soon as this duty was performed, and it would take a
year or fourteen months.
This seemed to be the very thing Tom wanted, so both he and Gideon
offered themselves, and were accepted. The "Juno" sailed in June, and
the last thing Tom heard from his native land was the thunder of the
guns firing for the great victory over Napoleon at Waterloo.
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