CHAPTER II.

HOW TOM BURE JOINED THE SERVICE.

"Let cannons roar loud, burst their sides let the bombs, Let the winds a dread hurricane rattle; The rough and the pleasant, Jack takes as it comes, And laughs at the storm and the battle."--DIBDIN.

The _Yarmouth Belle_ had baffling winds for a few days after this, which considerably delayed her progress to Naples, the port of her destination. But the weather was beautiful on the whole, and the skipper and the mate were both philosophers of the happy-go-lucky school.

"I'm not going to fret my little self," said Mr. Hughes one morning at breakfast, when Tom reported that the _Belle's_ head was not directed to that point of the compass he should wish.

"We're not going to fret our little selves," said the mate. "Pass the ham, skipper. We've plenty to eat, we've plenty to drink, and we have 'baccy, and there's no hurry home."

"You are rich men den?" said the French officer.

"Oh, no, sir. Rich in content, that is all."

"You veel make one profitabeal voyage?"

"I hope to make fifty," said the skipper.

"Ah, dat is not vot I mean. _Dis_ voyage, saar. Here, I veel pay you _tres bien_ if you take me to Tunis."

The Briton shook his head.

"That cock won't fight, sir," he said. "I'm a poor man, but I trust I'm an honourable one; least I hope so."

"Ah, good! I make my respects to you. I honour you, I love you. Good-bye."

He stretched his hand over the table, seized Hughes' rough fist, and shook it heartily.

"Are you off then?" said the mate, laughing

"Ah, saar! I not mean that, my good-bye is not all de same as yours."

At this moment Tom entered once more.

He looked excited.

"Three frigates in sight, Mr. Hughes, sir," he said. "I've been to the mast-head with the glass, and they look like Frenchmen."

It was the officer's turn to laugh now.

"Ah!" he cried, "now it may be 'Good-bye' after all in de Eenglish way. Ha! ha!"

"Don't you whistle till you're out of the wood, Moosoo," said Hughes, nodding to him good-humouredly. "You don't know yet what the _Belle_ can do on a wind."

Stout though he was, the skipper found his way into the top, while the mate stood below looking up.

"Right the boy is!" he shouted down presently. "They are French as sure's I'm Yarmouth. Ready about, mate! We may as well keep out o' the way. But, bless you, mate," he added, when he got down again, "they seem far too busy to bother us."

"May I take the glass and go into the cross-trees, sir?" asked Tom.

"Go on to the truck if ye like, lad. Why, you've got eyes like a lynx."

Away aloft went Tom. No cat could have gone aloft half so neatly. Honest pride was swelling his young heart as he brought the telescope to bear on the Frenchmen.

"On deck!" he shouted presently.

"Ay, ay, lad!" cried Hughes.

"There are three big frigates, a smaller" (? corvette), "and a brig."

Hughes laughed and turned to Moosoo, as he called his prisoner. Hughes was fond of a joke.

"We can't do it, Moosoo," he said. "Had there been only three frigates now, we might have boarded and carried them one after another. But four and a brig to boot--that's just two more 'n we can eat. Ha! ha! ha! See the point?"

If Moosoo didn't see the point he felt it; for in order to emphasise his joke Hughes dug him in the ribs with his red fat forefinger.

"One of the frigates has dropped astern, sir," was the next hail from the cross-trees. "A bigger one than any is coming up on her, hand over hand."

"Is _she_ French?"

"Can't make out. Shall soon, I think."

In twenty minutes' time came another hail.

"British, Mr. Hughes, British! and now she's fired a shot."

"Hoorah!" cried Hughes. "Mr. Moosoo," he added, "here's news. My second mate aloft there tells me there's seventeen French sail o' the line running away from a Britisher. Hoorah!"

"Below there!" shouted Tom.

"Ay, ay!"

"The fight's begun; but they've all borne away on the other tack."

"Ready about!" cried the skipper. "Mate, we'll see the last of this. Nothing to pay, you know."

In less than an hour the saucy Belle was so near to the belligerents--no pun meant, reader, the occasion is too serious for punning--to witness from the deck the running fight between the frigates.

It was hotly contested on both sides for more than two hours, after which the foe was silenced.

"They are going to board," cried Tom.

The boy was dancing with excitement on the cross-trees.

"Hurrah!" cried Hughes again.

But they were all disappointed.

The British ship veered round with her head to the west, and men could be seen in the rigging immediately after making good repairs.

"She means to fight again, I'll wager a barrel of herrings. They're only putting things right a bit to go ahead."

"Now, mate," continued this valiant skipper, "I move we keep her up and join the Britisher. Let us see if we can't be of any assistance to her. Eh?"

"Bravo, sir!" said the mate, "I'm on. The idea's first rate, and we may share the prize money and the glory, you know."

"Oh, bother the glory! We may sell our herrings."

There was another and final hail from the cross-trees.

"The beaten frigate, sir, has hoisted signals, and the others are bearing down towards her."

"Now the fun'll begin," cried the warlike skipper. "That British ship is good enough for the five of them, I know."

But it was soon evident that the French frigates had no desire to renew the combat. Perhaps they had important engagements in some other part of the Levant. At all events, after a time they sheered off.

Then the _Yarmouth Belle_ stood towards the British man-o'-war, and was duly hailed, and finally ran alongside. The man-o'-war, which proved to be the _Agamemnon_--Nelson's own ship--had her mainsail hauled aback, a boat was lowered to board the _Belle_, and in a few minutes returned, bringing the Norfolk skipper and Tom himself.

Both were sent on the poop.

Tom Bure certainly did not look a very picturesque figure just then, for his brow was still bound up with the blood-stained handkerchief, and he wore a sou'-wester and blue jumper.

The glad blood mounted to his face, however, when he saw it was Horatio Nelson himself who advanced towards him.

There were several officers besides on the quarterdeck, but Tom had eyes only for the hero.

Tom saluted, and waited to be questioned.

"Why, my lad," said Nelson kindly, "you are Tom Bure, aren't you? But why this masquerade?"

Tom looked puzzled.

"I received your letter, boy"--Nelson smiled--"and I have it still," he said, "and wrote soon after to the Admiralty requesting your appointment to this very ship. But you must have left England before that appointment came."

"I hope I haven't done wrong, sir; but I had no hopes you would think of me."

"Not think of you, boy? Nonsense."

"So, sir, I sailed with Mr. Hughes here, sir."

"Captain of the saucy _Yarmouth Belle_," put in that worthy. "Finest herrings, sir."

"One minute, Mr.----a----_Captain_ Hughes. Well, Tom Bure, give an account of yourself and that cut on your head."

Tom briefly related all that had occurred, Hughes helping him now and then--putting a spoke in his wheel, as he phrased it.

Nelson laughed heartily, and shook hands now with the skipper.

"You're an honour to England, Mr. Hughes," he said, "and I shall not fail to mention your gallantry in the right quarter. Now I'll relieve you of your prisoners, and if you can spare me this young gentleman I'll have his services here in my ship."

"Delighted, I'm sure," said the skipper. "Any herrings, sir?"

Nelson smiled again.

"See my steward about that," he said, "and you can stay here for twenty minutes and do business forward. Whither are you bound?"

"To Naples, my lord."

"No lord as yet, Captain Hughes; but I'll show my trust in a Norfolk man by giving you a letter to deliver at Naples."

"I'll give it, sir, if it should be to the king himself."

Seeing Captain Nelson engaged talking to the worthy skipper, one of the officers now advanced and laid his hand on Tom's shoulder.

"Well, my hero!" he said.

It was Merryweather himself, and Tom's cup of bliss was full to overflowing.

Mr. Merryweather marched him off to the lee side of the poop after telling a middy to see "this young gentleman's" chest on board the _Agamemnon_.

The middy, who was some years older than Tom, saluted as he said "Ay, ay, sir"; but he surveyed Tom with haughty superciliousness as he descended from the poop.

So Mr. Merryweather had all the last and freshest news from Norfolk.

"Pity," he said at last, "you have not your uniform."

"Oh, I had forgotten!" said Tom in a low voice. "Ruth put that in the bottom of my sea chest."

"Bravo! poor dear, winsome, wee Ruth. Shouldn't wonder if I married her, Tom; but now, lad, bid your skipper good-bye, and come below to my cabin. There you can dress you know. Wait one moment though." He advanced to Captain Nelson.

"May Mr. Bure go below now, sir?"

"Certainly, Mr. Merryweather; and he better see the surgeon and have his face washed."

One of the junior surgeons, who looked more like a butcher's assistant than anything else, was coming up from the cockpit. He took Tom in tow, and speedily dressed his wound for him.

In ten minutes he was washed and arrayed in his midshipman's uniform. And now he reported himself formally to Captain Nelson, who seemed much pleased. "I hope you will make a good and efficient officer," he said. "There are three things you are to bear specially in mind, Mr. Bure. Firstly, you must always obey orders most implicitly, without attempting to form any opinion of your own as to their propriety; secondly, you must consider every man your enemy who speaks ill of your king or your country; and thirdly, you must hate a Frenchman as you do the----."

A spar fell on deck, and Tom didn't hear the last word.

The Agamemnon and _Yarmouth Belle_ now parted company, the crew of the latter with a cheer that was heartily responded to.

Then the skipper turned to his mate.

"Mate," he said, "I've done first-rate. Captain Nelson's a brick. A brick, mate, and a Briton."

"And being a brick and a Briton, let us say a Heart of Oak ----," said the mate.

"That's it, mate, a Heart of Oak. You have it."