The sailor hero : $b or, The frigate and the luggerArmstrong, F. C. (Francis Claudius)
General
The sailor hero : $b or, The frigate and the lugger
Armstrong, F. C. (Francis Claudius)
First Coalition, War of the, 1792-1797 -- Fiction; Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Fiction
“You cannot take this child away to-night,” said Lieutenant Cooke to
our hero, “you had better place her under the care of the steward; he
is a steady, middle-aged man, and very kind-hearted. He will put her
in his own berth, and to-morrow I will speak to the Admiral about her.
It’s a strange adventure altogether.”
They ascended the side of the ship, Bill Saunders carrying Mabel in his
arms as tenderly as an infant. The next moment the little girl found
herself standing on the deck of the Victory.
The sight of this monstrous ship, her huge masts towering to the sky,
the lights here and there flashing from the battle-lanterns, showed to
the astonished child many incomprehensible things. The groups of hardy
tars hovering round filled the mind of the young girl with awe, and,
trembling and dismayed, she grasped her young protector’s arm, and
gazed up into his face with her large, intelligent eyes, so full of all
her little heart felt, that William Thornton began to feel almost as
much as she did.
Lieutenant Cooke returned with the steward.
“Now, my dear child,” said the officer, “we place you for the night
under the care of the steward, he will show you every attention. He is
a father himself, and will feel for you as for one of his own children
in a like situation.”
“To-morrow,” whispered the midshipman, “you will be placed under the
care of a kind lady and her daughters.”
Poor Mabel, scarcely able to keep from weeping, kissed the midshipman’s
hand, and bade him good-night in a voice that trembled with emotion,
and then Mr. Osborn, the steward, took her under his care.
William Thornton, who never quitted his hold of the casket, proceeded
to his berth, and locked it up carefully in his chest. Several of his
comrades tormented him with inquiries, but hastily swallowing his
supper and a glass of grog, he tumbled into his berth, turning a deaf
ear to all their questions.
Midshipmen always sleep under every variety of disturbance, either of
body or mind; so William Thornton slept in ten minutes as if he had not
had a night’s rest for twelve months.
How long he rested he knew not, but he was awoke by the voice of
Charles Pole shouting in his ear, “You are wanted, William, in the
state room.”
He sprang out of bed, and began dressing as if for a wager.
“Why did you let me sleep so long, Charley, eh?”
“Because Lieutenant Cooke said you wanted a good snooze, as you had
none the night before. Why, Thornton, you are likely to turn out quite
a hero of romance; there’s Saunders been spinning a frightful yarn of
your having shot a lot of Republicans and released two princesses, and
I don’t know how many duchesses, and gained a casket of crown jewels.”
“Stuff and nonsense, Charley. I’m off. I’ll tell you all about it
when I come back. I’ll get Saunders’ grog stopped for spinning such
confounded yarns,” and running up the stairs, he made his way towards
the Admiral’s state room, but O’Loughlin interrupted his course,
shaking him by the hand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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