The King's Own

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

  And with a flowing sail Went a bounding for the island of the free, Towards which the impatient wind blew half a gale; High dash'd the spray, the bows dipp'd in the sea. BYRON.

  After a run of six weeks, the _Aspasia_ entered the Channel. Theweather, which had been clear during the passage home, now altered itsappearance; and a dark sky, thick fog, and mizzling, cold rain,intimated their approach to the English shore. But, relaxed as they hadbeen by three years' endurance of a tropical sun, it was nevertheless asource of congratulation, rather than complaint; for it was "regularNovember Channel weather," and was associated with their propinquity tothose homes and firesides, which would be enhanced in value from theordeal to be passed before they could be enjoyed.

  "Hah!" exclaimed an old quarter-master, who had served the earlier partof his life in a coaster, as he buttoned his pea-jacket up to thethroat; "this is what I calls something like; none of your damned blueskies here."

  Such is the power of affection, whether of person or of things, thateven faults become a source of endearment.

  As the short day closed, the _Aspasia_, who was running before the windand slanting rain, which seemed to assist her speed with its gravity,hove to, and tried for soundings.

  "Well, Stewart, what's the news?" said one of the midshipmen, as heentered the berth; the drops of rain, which hung upon the rough exteriorof his great coat, glittering like small diamonds, from the reflectionof the solitary candle, which made darkness but just visible.

  "News," replied Stewart, taking off his hat with a jerk, so as tobesprinkle the face of Prose with the water that had accumulated on thetop of it, and laughing at his sudden start from the unexpected shower;"why, as the fellows roar out with the second edition of an eveningpaper, `Great news, glorious news!'--and all comprised in a shortsentence:--Soundings in seventy four fathoms; grey sand and shells."

  "Huzza!" answered the old master's mate.

  "Now for three cheers--and then for the song."

  The three cheers having been given with due emphasis, if not discretion,they all stood up round the table. "Now, my boys, keep time. MrProse, if you attempt to chime in with your confounded nasal twang, I'llgive you a squeeze."

  For England, when, with favouring gale, Our gallant ship up channel steer'd, And, scudding under easy sail, The high blue western land appear'd, To heave the lead the seaman sprung, And to the watchful pilot sung, By the deep _nine_.

  The song, roared out in grand chorus by the midshipmen, was caught up,after the first verse, by the marines in their berth, close to them; andfrom them passed along the lower deck as it continued, so that the laststanzas were sung by nearly two hundred voices, sending forth a volumeof sound, that penetrated into every recess of the vessel, and enteredinto the responsive bosoms of all on board, not excepting the captainhimself, who smiled, as he bent over the break of the gangway, at whathe would have considered a breach of subordination in the ship'scompany, had not he felt that it arose from that warm attachment totheir country which had created our naval pre-eminence.

  The song ended with tumultuous cheering fore and aft, and not until thendid the captain send down to request that the noise might bediscontinued. As soon as it was over, the grog was loudly called for inthe midshipmen's berth, and made its appearance.

  "Here's to the white cliffs of England," cried one, drinking off histumbler, and turning it upside down on the table.

  "Here's to the Land of Beauty."

  "Here's to the Emerald Isle."

  "And here's to the Land of Cakes," cried Stewart, drinking off histumbler, and throwing it over his shoulder.

  "Six for one for skylarking," cried Prose.

  "A hundred for one, you damned cockney, for all I care."

  "No--no--no," cried all the berth; "not _one_ for _one_."

  "You shall have a song for it, my boys," cried Stewart, who immediatelycommenced, with great taste and execution, the beautiful air--

  Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?

  "Well, I've not had my toast yet," said Jerry, when the applause at theend of the song had discontinued:--"Here's to the shady side ofPall-mall."

  "And I suppose," said Stewart, giving Prose a slap on the back, whichtook his breath away, "that you are thinking of Wapping, blow you."

  "I think I have had enough of whopping since I've been in this ship,"answered Prose.

  "Why, Prose, you're quite brilliant, I do declare," observed Jerry."Like a flint, you only require a blow from Stewart's iron fist to emitsparks. Try him again, Stewart. He's like one of the dancingdervishes, in the Arabian Nights: you must thrash him to get a fewfarthings of wit out of him."

  "I do wish that you would keep your advice to yourself, Jerry."

  "My dear Prose, it's all for the honour of Middlesex that I wish you toshine. I'm convinced that there's a great deal of wit in that head ofyours; but it's confined, like the kernel in a nut: there's no obtainingit without breaking the shell. Try him again, Stewart."

  "Come, Prose, I'll take your part, and try his own receipt upon himself.I'll thrash him till he says something witty."

  "I do like that, amazingly," replied Jerry. "Why, if I do say a goodthing, you'll never find out. I shall be thrashed to all eternity.Besides, I'm at too great a distance from you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why, I'm like some cows; I don't give down my milk without the calf isalongside of me. Now, if you were on this side of the table--"

  "Which I am," replied Stewart, as he sprang over it, and seizing Jerryby the neck--"Now, Mr Jerry, say a good thing directly."

  "Well, promise me to understand it. We are just in the reversesituation of England and Scotland, after the battle of Culloden."

  "What do you mean by that, you wretch?" cried Stewart, whose wrath waskindled by the reference.

  "Why, I'm in your clutches, just like Scotland was--a conqueredcountry."

  "You lie, you little blackguard," cried Stewart, pinching Jerry's necktill he forced his mouth open: "Scotland was never conquered."

  "Well, then," continued Jerry, whose bile was up, as soon as Stewartrelaxed his hold; "I'm like King Charles in the hands of the Scotch.How much was it that you sold him for?"

  Jerry's shrivelled carcase sounded like a drum, from the blow which hereceived for this second insult to Stewart's idolised native land. Assoon as he could recover his speech, "Well, haven't I been very witty?Are you content, or will you have some more? or will you try Prose, andsee whether you can draw blood out of a turnip?"

  Stewart, who seemed disinclined to have any more elegant extracts fromJerry, resumed his former seat by Prose, who appeared to be in deepreflection.

  "Well, Prose, are you thinking of your friends in Cheap-side?"

  "And suppose I am, Stewart? We have the same feelings in the city thatyou have in the heather; and although I do not, like you, pretend to beallied to former kings, yet one may love one's father and mother,brothers and sisters, without being able to trace back to one'sgreat-great-grand-father. I never disputed your high pretensions; why,then, interfere with my humble claims to the common feelings ofhumanity?"

  "I am rebuked, Prose," replied Stewart; "you shall have my glass of grogfor that speech, for you never made a better. Give me your hand, mygood fellow."

  "I am glad that you, at last, show some symptoms of reason," observedthe still indignant Jerry, standing close to the door. "I have somehopes of your Majesty yet, after such an extraordinary concession onyour part. You must have great reason to be proud that you are able totrace your pedigree up to a border chieftain, who sallied forth on theforay, when the spurs were dished up for his dinner: or, in plain words,went a cattle stealing, and robbing those who could not resist. Itmight then be considered a mark of prowess; but times are altered now;and if your celebrated ancestor lived in the present time, why,"continued Jerry, pointing his finger under his left ear, "he wouldreceive what he well deserved, that'
s all."

  "By Him that made me, get out of my reach, if you do not wish me tomurder you!" cried Stewart, pale with rage.

  "I took care of that," replied Jerry, "before I ventured to give myopinion; and now that I'm ready for a start, I'll give you a piece ofadvice. Trace your ancestors as far back as you can, as long as theyhave continued to be honest men,--if you don't stop there you are a_fool_"--and Jerry very prudently made his escape at the conclusion ofhis sentence.

  "The hour of retribution will come," cried Stewart after Jerry, as thelatter sprang up the ladder; but it did not, for when they met nextmorning, it was to feast their eyes upon the chalky cliffs of the Isleof Wight, as the _Aspasia_ steered for the Needles. There are twoevents on board of a man-of-war, after which injuries are forgotten,apologies are offered and received, intended duels are suppressed, handsare exchanged in friendship, and good-will drives away long-cherishedanimosity. One is, after an action--another, upon the sight of nativeland, after a protracted absence.

  Jerry fearlessly ranged up alongside of Stewart, as he looked over thegangway.

  "We shall be at anchor by twelve o'clock."

  "You may bless your stars for it," replied Stewart, with a significantsmile.

  The _Aspasia_ now ran through the Needles, and having successivelypassed by Hurst Castle, Cowes, and the entrance to Southampton Water,brought up at Spithead, in seven fathoms. The sails were furled, theship was moored, the boat was manned, and Captain M--- went on shore toreport himself to the port admiral, and deliver his despatches. Whenthe boat returned, it brought off letters which had been waiting thearrival of the ship. One informed Jerry of the death of his father, andof his being in possession of a fortune which enabled him to retire fromthe service. Another, from the Admiralty, announced the promotion ofStewart to the rank of lieutenant; and one from McElvina to our hero,inviting him to take up his quarters at his house, as long as theservice would permit, stating that Captain M--- had been written to, torequest that he might be allowed leave of absence.

  As soon as Captain M--- had received an answer from the Admiralty, hereturned on board, and acquainted his officers that he had obtainedleave to remain on shore for some time, for the re-establishment of hishealth, and that another captain would be appointed to the ship. Heturned the hands up, and addressed the ship's company, thanking them fortheir good behaviour while under his command, and expressing his hopes,that upon his reappointment he should find them all alive and well. Thefirst-lieutenant, to his great surprise and delight, was presented withhis rank as commander, which Captain M--- had solicited from theAdmiralty. The men were dismissed, and Captain M---, bidding farewellto his officers, descended the side and shoved off. As soon as the boatwas clear of the frigate, the men, without orders, ran up, and manningthe shrouds, saluted him with three farewell cheers. Captain M--- tookoff his hat to the compliment, and, muffling up his face with hisboat-cloak to conceal his emotion, the boat pulled for the shore.

  Seymour, who was in the boat, followed his captain to the inn: whoinformed him, that he had obtained his discharge into a guard-ship, thathis time might go on, and leave of absence for two months, which hemight spend with his friend McElvina. Captain M--- then dismissed himwith a friendly shake of the hand, desiring him to write frequently, andto draw upon his agent if he required any pecuniary assistance.

  Seymour's heart was full, and he could not answer his kind protector.He returned on board, and bidding farewell to his messmates, the nextevening he had arrived at the cottage of McElvina. That his receptionwas cordial, it is hardly necessary to state. McElvina, whose marriagehad not been blessed with a family, felt towards our hero as if he washis own child; and Susan was delighted with the handsome exterior andwinning manners of the lad, whose boyish days had often been the themeof her husband's conversation.

  If the reader will take the trouble to reckon with his fingers, he willfind that William Seymour is now sixteen years old. If he will not, hemust take my word for it; and it may also be as well to inform him thatMiss Rainscourt is more than fourteen. I am the more particular inmentioning these chronological facts, because in the next chapter Iintend to introduce the parties to each other.