Jacob Faithful Part 10

"Jacob, Jacob, come here; Tom, run and take the helm."

"Not I," replied Tom.

"Jacob, never mind the helm, she'll drift all right for a minute," cried old Tom; "come and help me."

But I had been so amused with the scene, and having a sort of feeling for young Tom, that I declared it impossible to leave the helm without her going on the banks. I therefore remained, wishing to see in what way the two Toms would get out of their respective sc.r.a.pes.

"Confound these--! Tom, you scoundrel, am I to stick here all day?"

"No, father, I don't suppose you will. I shall help you directly."

"Well, then, why don't you do it?"

"Because I must come to terms. You don't think I'd help myself to a thrashing, do you?"

"I won't thrash you, Tom. Shiver my timbers if I do."

"They're in a fair way of being shivered as it is, I think. Now, father, we're both even."

"How's that?"

"Why you clapped a stopper over all on me this morning, and now you've got one on yourself."

"Well, then, take off mine, and I'll take off yours."

"If I unlock your leg, you'll unlock the cupboard?"

"Yes."

"And you promise me a _stiff one_ after dinner?"

"Yes, yes, as stiff as I stand here."

"No, that will be too much, for it would _set me fast_. I only like it about half-and-half, as I took it just now."

Tom, who was aware that his father would adhere to his agreement, immediately went to his a.s.sistance, and throwing out some of the upper bricks, released him from his confinement. When old Tom was once more on deck and on his legs, he observed, "It's an ill wind that blows n.o.body good. The _loss_ of my leg has been the _saving_ of you many a time, Mr Tom."

It was now time to anchor, as we were meeting the flood. Tom, who officiated as cook, served up the dinner, which was ready; and we were all very pleasant; Tom treating his father with perfect confidence. As we had not to weigh again for some hours, our repast was prolonged, and old Tom, having fulfilled his promise to his son of a _stiff one_, took one or two himself, and became very garrulous.

"Come, spin us a good yarn, father; we've nothing to do, and Jacob will like to hear you."

"Well, then, so I will," answered he; "what shall it be about?"

"Fire and water, of course," replied Tom.

"Well, then, I'll tell you something about both, since you wish it; how I came into his Majesty's sarvice, through _fire_, and how the officer who pressed me went out of it through _water_. I was still 'prentice, and wanted about three months to sarve my time, when, of course, I should no longer be protected from sarving the king, when the ship I was in sailed up the Baltic with a cargo of bullocks. We had at least two hundred on board, tied up on platforms on every deck, with their heads close to the sides, and all their sterns looking in-board. They were fat enough when they were shipped, but soon dwindled away: the weather was very bad, and the poor creatures rolled against each other, and slipped about in a way that it pitied you to see them. However, they were stowed so thick, that they held one another up, which proved of service to them in the heavy gales which tossed the ship about like a pea in a rattle. We had joined a large convoy, and were entering the Sound, when, as usual, it fell calm, and out came the Danish gunboats to attack us. The men-of-war who had charge of the convoy behaved n.o.bly; but still they were becalmed, and many of us were a long way astern.

Our ship was pretty well up; but she was too far in-sh.o.r.e; and the Danes made a dash at us with the hope of making a capture. The men-of-war, seeing what the enemy were about, sent boats to beat them off; but it was too late to prevent them boarding, which they did. Not wishing to peep through the bars of the gaol at Copenhagen, we left the ship in our boats on one side, just as the Danes boarded on the other, and pulled towards the men-of-war's armed boats coming to our a.s.sistance. The men-of-war's boats pulled right for the ship to retake her, which they did, certainly, but not before the enemy had set fire to the vessel, and had then pulled off towards another. Seeing this, the men-of-war's boats again gave chase to the Danes, leaving us to extinguish the flames, which were now bursting out fore and aft, and climbing like fiery serpents up to the main catharprings. We soon found that it was impossible; we remained as long as the heat and smoke would permit us, and then we were obliged to be off, but I shall never forget the roaring and moaning of the poor animals who were then roasting alive. It was a cruel thing of the Danes to fire a vessel full of these poor creatures.

Some had broken loose, and were darting up and down the decks goring others, and tumbling down the hatchways; others remained trembling, or trying to snuff up a mouthful of fresh air amongst the smoke; but the struggling and bellowing, as the fire caught the vessel fore and aft, and was grilling two hundred poor creatures at once, was at last shocking, and might have been heard for a mile. We did all we could. I cut the throats of a dozen, but they kicked and struggled so much, falling down [upon], and treading you under their feet; and one lay upon me, and I expected to be burnt with them, for it was not until I was helped that I got clear of the poor animal. So we stayed as long as we could, and then left them to their fate; and the smell of burnt meat, as we shoved off, was as horrible as the cries and wailings of the poor beasts themselves. The men-of-war's boats returned, having chased away the Danes, and very kindly offered us all a ship, as we had lost our own, so that you see that by _fire_ I was forced into his Majesty's sarvice. Now, the boat that took us belonged to one of the frigates who had charge of the convoy, and the lieutenant who commanded the boat was a swearing, tearing sort of a chap, who lived as if his life was to last for ever.

"After I was taken on board, the captain asked me if I would enter, and I thought that I might as well sarve the king handsomely, so I volunteered. It's always the best thing to do, when you're taken, and can't help yourself, for you are more trusted than a pressed man who is obstinate. I liked the sarvice from the first--the captain was not a particular man; according to some people's ideas of the sarvice, she wasn't in quite man-of-war fashion, but she was a happy ship, and the men would have followed and fought for the captain to the last drop of their blood. That's the sort of ship for me. I've seen cleaner decks, but I never saw merrier hearts. The only one of the officers disliked by the men was the lieutenant who pressed me; he had a foul mouth and no discretion; and as for swearing, it was really terrible to hear the words which came out of his mouth. I don't mind an oath rapped out in the heat of the moment, but he invented his oaths when he was cool, and let them out in his rage. We were returning home, after having seen the convoy safe, when we met with a gale of wind in our teeth, one of the very worst I ever fell in with. It had been blowing hard from the South West, and then shifted to the North West, and made a cross sea, which was tremendous. Now, the frigate was a very old vessel, and although they had often had her into dock and repaired her below, they had taken no notice of her upper works, which were as rotten as a medlar. I think it was about three bells in the middle watch, when the wind was howling through the rigging, for we had no canvas on her 'cept a staysail and trysail, when the stay-sail sheet went, and she broached-to afore they could prevent her. The lieutenant I spoke of had the watch, and his voice was heard through the roaring of the wind swearing at the men to haul down the staysail, that we might bend on the sheet, and set it right again; when, she having, I said, broached-to, a wave--ay, a wave as high as the maintop almost, took the frigate right on her broadside, and the bulwarks of the quarter-deck being, as I said, quite rotten, cut them off clean level with the main chains, sweeping them, and guns, and men, all overboard together. The mizzenmast went, but the mainmast held on, and I was under its lee at the time, and was saved by clinging on like a n.i.g.g.e.r, while for a minute I was under the water, which carried almost all away with it to leeward. As soon as the water pa.s.sed over me, I looked up and around me--it was quite awful; the quarter-deck was cut off as with a knife--not a soul left there, that I could see; no man at the wheel--mizzen-mast gone--skylights washed away--waves making a clear breach, and no defence; boats washed away from the quarters--all silent on deck, but plenty of noise below and on the main-deck, for the ship was nearly full of water, and all below were hurrying up in their shirts, thinking that we were going down. At last the captain crawled up, and clung by the stancheons, followed by the first lieutenant and the officers, and by degrees all was quiet, the ship was cleared, and the hands were turned up to muster under the half-deck. There were forty-seven men who did not answer to their names--they had been summoned to answer for their lives, poor fellows! and there was also the swearing lieutenant not to be found. Well, at last we got the hands on deck, and put her before the wind, scudding under bare poles. As we went aft to the taffrail, the bulwark of which still remained, with about six feet of the quarter-deck bulwark on each side, we observed something clinging to the stern-ladder, dipping every now and then into the sea, as it rose under her counter, and a.s.sisted the wind in driving her before the gale. We soon made it out to be a man, and I went down, slipped a bowling knot over the poor fellow, and with some difficulty we were both hauled up again. It proved to be the lieutenant, who had been washed under the counter, and clung to the stern-ladder, and had thus miraculously been preserved. It was a long while before he came to, and he never did any duty the whole week we were out, till we got into Yarmouth Roads; indeed, he hardly ever spoke a word to any one, but seemed to be always in serious thought. When we arrived, he gave his commission to the captain, and went on sh.o.r.e; went to school again, they say, _bore up for a parson_, and, for all I know, he'll preach somewhere next Sunday. So you see, _water_ drove him out of the sarvice, and _fire_ forced me in. There's a yarn for you, Jacob."

"I like it very much," replied I.

"And now, father, give us a whole song, and none of your little bits."

Old Tom broke out with the "Death of Nelson," in a style that made the tune and words ring in my ears for the whole evening.

The moon was up before the tide served, and we weighed our anchor; old Tom steering, while his son was preparing supper, and I remaining forward, keeping a sharp look-out that we did not run foul of anything.

It was a beautiful night; and as we pa.s.sed through the several bridges, the city appeared as if it were illuminated, from the quant.i.ty of gas throwing a sort of halo of light over the tops of the buildings which occasionally marked out the main streets from the general dark ma.s.s--old Tom's voice was still occasionally heard, as the scene brought to his remembrance his variety of song.

"For the murmur of thy lip, love, Comes sweetly unto me, As the sound of oars that dip, love, At moonlight on the sea."

I never was more delighted than when I heard these s.n.a.t.c.hes of different songs poured forth in such melody from old Tom's lips, the notes floating along the water during the silence of the night. I turned aft to look at him; his face was directed upwards, looking on the moon, which glided majestically through the heavens, silvering the whole of the landscape. The water was smooth as gla.s.s, and the rapid tide had swept us clear of the ranges of ships in the pool; both banks of the river were clear, when old Tom again commenced:--

"The moon is up, her silver beam Shines bower, and grove, and mountain over; A flood of radiance heaven doth seem To light thee, maiden, to thy lover."

"Jacob, how does the bluff-n.o.b bear? on the starboard bow?"

"Yes--broad on the bow; you'd better keep up half a point, the tide sweeps us fast."

"Very true, Jacob; look out, and say when steady it is, boy.

"If o'er her orb a cloud should rest, 'Tis but thy cheek's soft blush to cover.

He waits to clasp thee to his breast; The moon is up--go, meet thy lover.

"Tom, what have you got for supper, boy? What is that frizzing in your frying-pan? Smells good, anyhow."

"Yes, and I expect will taste good too. However, you look after the moon, father, and leave me and the frying-pan to play our parts."

"While I sing mine, I suppose, boy.

"The moon is up, round beauty's shine, Love's pilgrims bend at vesper hour, Earth breathes to heaven, and looks divine, And lovers' hearts confess her power."

Old Tom stopped and the frying-pan frizzled on, sending forth an odour which, if not grateful to Heaven, was peculiarly so to us mortals, hungry with the fresh air.

"How do we go now, Jacob?"

"Steady, and all's right; but we shall be met with the wind next reach, and had better brail up the mainsail."

"Go, then, Tom, and help Jacob."

"I can't leave the _ingons_, [onions] father, not if the lighter tumbled overboard; it would bring more tears in my eyes to spoil them, now that they are frying so merrily, than they did when I was cutting them up.

Besides, the liver would be as black as the bends."

"Clap the frying-pan down on deck, Tom, and brail the sail up with Jacob, there's a good boy. You can give it another shake or two afterwards.

"Guide on, my bark, how sweet to rove, With such a beaming eye above!

"That's right, my boys, belay all that; now to our stations; Jacob on the look-out, Tom to his frying-pan, and I to the helm--