and secure them,” replied the lieutenant. “Overhaul the boat’s falls, and bring to with the windlass.”
Newton thought this a good opportunity to state that he was the master of a vessel, and, as such, protected from the impress; he therefore walked over to the lieutenant, addressing him, “I beg your pardon, sir—”
“Who are you?” interrupted the lieutenant, gruffly.
“I was impressed last night, sir;—may I speak to you?”
“No sir, you may not.”
“It might save you some trouble, sir.”
“It will save me more to send you down below. Mr. Vincent, shove this man down forward; why is he at large?”
“He was under the doctor’s hands, I believe, sir. Come this way, my hearty—stir your stumps.”
Newton would have expostulated, but he was collared by two of the press-gang, and very unceremoniously handed forward to the hatchway; the grating was taken off, and he was lowered down to the deck below, where he found himself cooped up with more than forty others, almost suffocated for the want of air and space. The conversation (if conversation it could be called) was nothing but one continued string of curses and execrations, and vows of deep revenge.
The jolly-boat returned, pulling only two oars; the remainder of her crew, with Thompson and Merton, having taken this opportunity of deserting from their forced servitude. With some hearty execrations upon the heads of the offending parties, and swearing that by God there was no such thing as gratitude in a sailor, the commander of the cutter weighed his anchor, and proceeded to sea.
The orders received by the lieutenant of the cutter, although not precisely specifying, still implying that he was to bring back his cargo alive, as soon as his Majesty’s cutter, Lively, was fairly out at sea, the hatches were taken off, and the impressed men allowed to go on deck in the proportion of about one half at a time, two sailors, with drawn cutlasses, still remaining sentry at the coombings of the hatchway, in case of any discontented fellow presuming to dispute such lawful authority.
Newton Forster was happy to be once more on deck; so much had he suffered during his few hours of confinement, that he really felt grateful for the indulgence. The sky was bright, and the cutter was dashing along the coast with the wind, two points free, at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour. She was what sailors term rather a wet one, and as she plunged through the short waves the sea broke continually over her bows and chesstree, so that there was no occasion to draw water for purification. Newton washed his face and head, and felt quite revived as he inhaled the fresh breeze, and watched the coast as the vessel rapidly passed each head-land in her course. All around him were strangers, and no one appeared inclined to be communicative; even the most indifferent, the most stoical, expressed their ideas in disjointed sentences; they could not but feel that their project and speculations had been overthrown by a captivity so anomalous with their boasted birthright.
“Where are we going?” inquired Newton of a man who stood next him, silently watching the passing foam created by the rapid course of the vessel.
“To hell I hope, with those who brought us here!” replied the man, grinding his teeth with a scowl of deep revenge.
At this moment Judy Malony came pattering along the wet deck with a kid of potato-peelings to throw over the bows. Newton recognised her, and thanked her for her kindness.
“It’s a nice boy that you are, sure enough, now that you’re swate and clean,” replied Judy. “Bad luck to the rapparee who gave you the blow! I axed my husband if it was he; but he swears upon his salvation that it was no one if it wasn’t Tim O’Connor, the baste!”
“Where are we going?” inquired Newton.
“A’nt we going to dinner in a minute or two?”
“I mean where is the cutter bound to?”
“Oh! the cutter you mane! If she can only find her way it’s to Plymouth, sure;—they’re waiting for ye.”
“Who is waiting for us?”
“Why, three fine frigates as can’t go to sea without hands. You never heard of a ship sailing without hands; the poor dumb craturs can’t do nothing by themselves.”
“Do you know where the frigates are going?”
“Going to say, I lay my life on’t,” replied Judy, who then walked forward, and broke up the conversation.
The next morning the cutter ran into Hamoaze, and boats were sent on board to remove the impressed men to the guard-ship. There, much to his annoyance and mortification, Newton found, that with the others, he was treated as a close prisoner. The afternoon of the same day another vessel arrived from the eastward with a collection of offenders, who for a variety of crimes and misdemeanors had been sentenced to serve on board of a man-of-war. No distinction was made; all were huddled together, and treated alike, until summoned on the quarterdeck, when their names were called out for distribution to the several men-of-war. Each ship having a quota of seamen and pickpockets allotted to her in due proportion, the men were ordered down into the boats; and in less than an hour Newton found himself on board of a fine frigate lying in the Sound, with her fore-topsail losse, as a signal of her immediate departure.
Volume One--Chapter Eleven.
’Tis man’s bold task the gen’rous strife to try,
But in the hands of God is victory.
Iliad.
Newton, and the other men who had been selected for the frigate, on board of which they had been despatched (victualled the day discharged), were mustered on the quarter-deck by the first lieutenant, who asked them the questions, whether they were bred to the sea, and could take the helm and lead. Having noted down their answers, he stationed them accordingly, and they were dismissed. Newton would again have appealed, but on reflection thought it advisable to await the arrival of the captain. Beds and blankets were not supplied that evening: the boats were hoisted up, sentries on the gang ways supplied with ball-cartridges to prevent desertion, and permission granted to the impressed men to “prick for the softest plank” which they could find for their night’s repose.
At daylight the hands were turned up, the capstern manned, the frigate unmoored, and hove “short stay a-peak” on her anchor remaining down. The gig was sent on shore with two midshipmen, one to watch the men and prevent their desertion, while the other went up to the captain’s lodgings to report her arrival: the topsails were loosed, sheeted home, and hoisted, the yards braced by, and Newton to his sorrow perceived that the captain’s arrival would be the signal for immediate departure. The signalman, on the look-out with his glass, reported the gig coming off with the captain; and in obedience to the orders he had received, the first-lieutenant immediately hove up, and the anchor having been “catted and fished,” the frigate lay-to in the Sound. As soon as the boat came alongside, and the captain had been received with the customary honours, he desired sail to be made on her as soon as the boat was hoisted up, and then descended to his cabin. In three minutes Newton perceived that all chance of release for the present was over; the courses and topgallant sails were set, and the frigate darted past the Ram Head at the rate of ten miles per hour.
In about twenty minutes, after the messenger had been stowed away, the cables coiled in the tiers, and the ropes flemished down on deck, the captain made his appearance, and directed the first-lieutenant to send aft the newly impressed men. In few words he pointed out to them the necessity of their servitude; and concluded by recommending them to enter his majesty’s service, and receive the bounty to which they would become entitled; observing, that the men who did so would raise themselves in his good opinion, and as far as he had the power, would not be forgotten by him, provided that their general good conduct merited his favour. Some few accepted