The King's Own. Фредерик Марриет

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      Now dash’d upon the billow,

       Our opening timbers creak,

       Each fears a watery pillow.

      …

       To cling to slippery shrouds

       Each breathless seaman crowds,

       As she lay

       Till the day

       In the Bay of Biscay O!

       Sea Song.

      As it will only detain the narrative, without being at all necessary for its development, I shall not dwell upon the results of the engagement, which was soon after decided, with very indifferent success on our side. The soldiers were re-embarked, the ships hauled out of reach of the enemy’s guns, and a council of war summoned—on which it was agreed, nem con, that no more was to be done. The despatches were sent home—they certainly differed a little, but that was of no consequence. The sum total of killed and wounded was excessively gratifying to the nation, as it proved that there had been hard fighting. By-the-bye, John Bull is rather annoying in this respect: he imagines that no action can be well fought unless there is a considerable loss. Having no other method of judging of the merits of an action, he appreciates it according to the list of killed and wounded. A merchant in toto, he computes the value of an object by what it has cost him, and imagines that what is easily and cheaply obtained cannot be of much value. The knowledge of this peculiar mode of reasoning on his part, has very often induced officers to put down very trifling contusions, such as a prize-fighter would despise, to swell up the sum total of the loss to the aggregate of the honest man’s expectations.

      To proceed. As usual in cases of defeat, a small degree of accusation and recrimination took place. The army thought that the navy might have beaten down stone ramparts, ten feet thick; and the navy wondered why the army had not walked up the same ramparts, which were thirty feet perpendicular. Some of the ships accused others of not having had a sufficient number of men killed and wounded; and the boats’ crews, whenever they met on shore, fought each other desperately, as if it were absolutely necessary, for the honour of the country, that more blood should be spilt. But this only lasted three weeks, when a more successful attempt made them all shake hands, and wonder what they had been squabbling about.

      There was, however, one circumstance, which occurred during the action, that had not been forgotten. It had been witnessed by the acting captain of the ship, and had been the theme of much comment and admiration among the officers and men. This was the daring feat of our little hero, in rolling the shell over the side. Captain M—(the new commander), as soon as his more important avocations would permit, made inquiries among the officers (being himself a stranger in the ship), relative to Willy. His short but melancholy history was soon told; and the disconsolate boy was summoned from under the half-deck, where he sat by the body of Adams, which, with many more, lay sewed up in his hammock, and covered over with the union-jack, waiting for the evening, to receive the rites of Christian burial, before being committed to the deep.

      Knowing that Adams had been his only protector, a feeling of compassion for the bereaved and orphan boy, and admiration of his early tokens of bravery, induced Captain M—, who never formed a resolution in haste, or abandoned it if once formed, to take the boy under his own protection, and to place him as an officer on that quarter-deck upon which he had so distinguished himself. Willy, in obedience to orders received, stood by the captain, with his hat in his hand.

      “What is your name, my boy?” said the captain, passing a scrutinising glance over his upright and well-proportioned figure.

      “Willy, sir.”

      “And what’s your other name?”

      “King’s Own, sir.”

      This part of the boy’s history was now explained by the second-lieutenant, who was in command, in consequence of the first-lieutenant being wounded.

      “He must have a name,” replied the captain. “William King’s Own will not do. Is he on the books?”

      “No, sir, he is not; shall I put him down as William Jones, or William Smith?”

      “No, no, those are too common. The boy has neither father, mother, nor name, that we know of: as we may, therefore, have a choice of the latter for him, let it be a good one. I have known a good name make a man’s fortune with a novel reading girl. There is a romance in the boy’s history; let him have a name somewhat romantic also.”

      “Ay, ay, sir,” replied the lieutenant—“here, marine, tell my boy to bring up one of the volumes of the novel in my cabin.”

      The book made its appearance on the quarter-deck. “Perhaps, sir, we may find one here,” said the lieutenant, presenting the book to the captain.

      The captain smiled as he took the book. “Let us see,” said he, turning over the leaves—“ ‘Delamere!’ that’s too puppyish. ‘Fortescue!’ don’t like that. ‘Seymour!’ Yes, that will do. It’s not too fine, yet aristocratic and pretty. Desire Mr. Hinchen, the clerk, to enter him on the books as Mr. William Seymour, midshipman. And now, youngster, I will pay for your outfit, and first year’s mess: after which I hope your pay and prize-money will be sufficient to enable you to support yourself. Be that as it may, as long as you do credit to my patronage, I shall not forget you.”

      Willy, with his straw hat in one hand, and a supererogatory touch of his curly hair with the other, made a scrape with his left leg, after the manner and custom of seafaring people—in short, he made the best bow that he could, observing the receipt that had been given him by his departed friend Adams. D’Egville might have turned up his nose at it; but Captain M—was perfectly satisfied; for, if not an elegant, it certainly was a grateful bow.

      Our young officer was not sent down to mess in the berth of the midshipmen. His kind and considerate captain was aware, that a lad who creeps in at the hawse-holes—i.e., is promoted from before the mast, was not likely to be favourably received in the midshipmen’s mess, especially by that part of the community who, from their obscure parentage, would have had least reason to complain. He was therefore consigned to the charge of the gunner.

      Sincere as were the congratulations of the officers and men, Willy was so much affected with the loss of his fond guardian, that he received them with apathy, and listened to the applause bestowed upon his courage with tears that flowed from the remembrance of the cause which had stimulated him to the deed. At the close of the day, he saw the body of his old friend committed to the deep, with quivering lips and aching brow—and, as it plunged into the clear wave, felt as if he was left alone in the world, and had no one to love and to cling to.

      We do not give children credit for the feelings which they possess, because they have not, at their early age, acquired the power of language to express them correctly. Treat a child as you would an equal, and, in a few months, you will find that the reason of his having until then remained childish, was because he had heretofore been treated as a being of inferior capacity and feelings. True it is, that at an early age, the feelings of children are called forth by what we consider as trifles; but we must recollect, in humility, that our own pursuits are as vain, as trifling, and as selfish—“We are but children of a larger growth.”

      The squadron continued to hover on the French coast, with a view of alarming the enemy, and of making a more fortunate attempt, if opportunity occurred. Early in the morning of the СКАЧАТЬ