TALES OF THE SEA: 12 Maritime Adventure Novels in One Volume (Illustrated)
man may remain with me, or, I can do altogether without assistance.”
“Ah! you are what I call a well-made man, my dear friend!” exclaimed Borroughcliffe; “no weak points about your fortress! Such a man is worthy to be the head of a whole corps, instead of a solitary company.—Gently, Drill, gently; handle me as if I were made of potter’s clay.—I will not detain you longer, my friend Manual, for I hear signal after signal; they must be in want of some of your astonishing reasoning faculties to set them afloat.”
Manual might have been offended at the palpable allusions that his new friend made to the firmness of his occiput, had not his perception of things been a little confused by a humming sound that seemed to abide near the region of thought. As it was, he reciprocated the good wishes of the other, whom he shook most cordially by the hand, and once more renewed his offers of service, after exchanging sundry friendly speeches.
“I thank you quite as much as if I were not at all indebted to you for letting blood, thereby saving me a fit of apoplexy; but Drill has already dispatched a messenger to B—— for a leech, and the lad may bring the whole depot down upon you.—Adieu, once more, and remember that if you ever visit England again as a friend, you are to let me see you.”
“I shall do it without fail; and I shall keep you to your promise if you once more put foot in America.”
“Trust me for that: I shall stand in need of your excellent head to guide me safely among those rude foresters. Adieu; cease not to bear me in your thoughts.”
“I shall never cease to remember you, my good friend,” returned Manual, again scratching the member which was snapping in a manner that caused him to fancy he heard it. Once more these worthies shook each other by the hand, and again they renewed their promises of future intercourse; after which they separated like two reluctant lovers—parting in a manner that would have put to shame the friendship of Orestes and Pylades.
Chapter XXXII
“Nay, answer me: stand and unfold yourself.”
—Hamlet
During the time occupied by the incidents that occurred after the Pilot had made his descent on the land, the Alacrity, now under the orders of Mr. Boltrope, the master of the frigate, lay off and on, in readiness to receive the successful mariners. The direction of the wind had been gradually changing from the northeast to the south, during the close of the day; and long before the middle watches of the night, the wary old seaman, who, it may be remembered, had expressed, in the council of war, such a determined reluctance to trust his person within the realm of Britain, ordered the man who steered the cutter to stand in boldly for the land. Whenever the lead told them that it was prudent to tack, the course of the vessel was changed: and in this manner the seamen continued to employ the hours in patient attendance on the adventurers. The sailing-master, who had spent the early years of his life as the commander of divers vessels employed in trading, was apt, like many men of his vocation and origin, to mistake the absence of refinement for the surest evidence of seamanship; and, consequently, he held the little courtesies and punctilios of a man-of-war in high disdain. His peculiar duties of superintending the expenditure of the ship’s stores, in their several departments; of keeping the frigate’s log-book; and of making his daily examinations into the state of her sails and rigging—brought him so little in collision with the gay, laughing, reckless young lieutenants, who superintended the ordinary management of the vessel, that he might be said to have formed a distinct species of the animal, though certainly of the same genus with his more polished messmates. Whenever circumstances, however, required that he should depart from the dull routine of his duty, he made it a rule, as far as possible, to associate himself with such of the crew as possessed habits and opinions the least at variance with his own.
By a singular fatality, the chaplain of the frigate was, as respects associates, in a condition nearly assimilated to that of this veteran tar.
An earnest desire to ameliorate the situation of those who were doomed to meet death on the great deep had induced an experienced and simple-hearted divine to accept this station, in the fond hope that he might be made the favored instrument of salvation to many, who were then existing in a state of the most abandoned self-forgetfulness. Neither our limits, nor our present object, will permit the relation of the many causes that led, not only to an entire frustration of all his visionary expectations, but to an issue which rendered the struggle of the good divine with himself both arduous and ominous, in order to maintain his own claims to the merited distinctions of his sacred office. The consciousness of his backsliding had so far lessened the earthly, if not the spiritual, pride of the chaplain, as to induce him to relish the society of the rude master, whose years had brought him, at times, to take certain views of futurity that were singularly affected by the peculiar character of the individual. It might have been that both found themselves out of their places—but it was owing to some such secret sympathy, let its origin be what it would, that the two came to be fond of each other’s company. On the night in question, Mr. Boltrope had invited the chaplain to accompany him in the Alacrity; adding, in his broad, rough language, that as there was to be fighting on shore, “his hand might come in play with some poor fellow or other.” This singular invitation had been accepted, as well from a desire to relieve the monotony of a sea-life by any change, as perhaps with a secret yearning in the breast of the troubled divine to get as nigh to terra firma as possible. Accordingly, after the Pilot had landed with his boisterous party, the sailing-master and the chaplain, together with a boatswain’s mate and some ten or twelve seamen, were left in quiet possession of the cutter. The first few hours of this peaceable intercourse had been spent by the worthy messmates, in the little cabin of the vessel, over a can of grog; the savory relish of which was much increased by a characteristic disquisition on polemical subjects, which our readers have great reason to regret it is not our present humor to record. When, however, the winds invited the near approach to the hostile shores already mentioned, the prudent sailing-master adjourned the discussion to another and more suitable time, removing himself and the can, by the same operation, to the quarter-deck.
“There,” cried the honest tar, placing the wooden vessel, with great self-contentment, by his side on the deck, “this is ship’s comfort! There is a good deal of what I call a lubber’s fuss, parson, kept up on board a ship that shall be nameless, but which bears, about three leagues distant, broad off in the ocean, and which is lying to under a close-reefed maintopsail, a foretopmast-staysail, and foresail—I call my hand a true one in mixing a can—take another pull at the halyards!—‘twill make your eye twinkle like a lighthouse, this dark morning! You won’t? well, we must give no offence to the Englishman’s rum.”—After a potent draught had succeeded this considerate declaration, he added: “You are a little like our first lieutenant, parson, who drinks, as I call it, nothing but the elements—which is, water stiffened with air.”
“Mr. Griffith may indeed be said to set a wholesome example to the crew,” returned the chaplain, perhaps with a slight consciousness that it had not altogether possessed its due weight with himself.
“Wholesome!” cried Boltrope; “let me tell you, my worthy leaf-turner, that if you call such a light diet wholesome, you know but little of salt water and sea-fogs! However, Mr. Griffith is a seaman; and if he gave his mind less to trifles and gimcracks, he would be, by the time he got to about our years, a very rational sort of a companion.—But you see, parson, just now, he thinks too much of small follies; such as man-of-war discipline.—Now there is rationality in giving a fresh nip to a rope, or in looking well at your mats, or even in crowning a cable; but damme, priest, if I see the use—luff, luff, you lubber; don’t ye see, sir, you are steering for Garmany!—If I see the use, as I was saying, of making a rumpus about the time when a man changes his shirt; whether it be this week, or next week, or, for that matter, the week after, provided it be bad weather. I sometimes am mawkish about attending muster (and I believe I have as little to fear on the score of behavior as any man), lest it should be found I carried my tobacco in the wrong cheek!”
“I have indeed