CHAPTER VI.

THE ARTICLES OF WAR.

OLD Gideon Terlizzeck, as the men all called him, was not really an old man; he did not know his age exactly himself, so that I cannot be expected to do so. There could hardly be a more striking evidence than that afforded by his life, of what the grace of God can do for us, even in very adverse circumstances. His mother had been one of the earliest followers of John Wesley, when he preached in the fields near her native place, which was in Cornwall. She married young, and was early left a widow. She brought up her boys most carefully, and with wonderful success—they all turned out well. If in many respects she was but an ignorant woman, no wiser than others, she had the best learning and the highest wisdom—she could read her Bible, and she loved it; she could pray, and prayer brought her wisdom.

You will find plenty of people in these days to tell you that the Bible can teach you nothing, and that prayer is a superstitious waste of time. But you will generally find that these are people who do not read the Bible, and who do not pray. Those who do will tell you a very different story. And surely common sense teaches us that these last must know more about it than the others. Of religion only, among all the studies pursued by man, does the world believe that those who have only an outside acquaintance with it are better judges of the truth or falsehood of its assertions, than those who know it well and love it better than their lives.

Well, to return to Gideon's mother. Her husband was a Plymouth man and a sailor, and her sons were all sailors. As Gideon said, it ran in the family. They were all dead now, except Gideon, who had been the eldest. He had gone to sea as a boy, and had served afloat, with intervals of a month or two, ever since. He had seen much hard fighting, had endured much hardship; he had witnessed much sin, and heard much swearing and bad language. Yet now, with his hair white, and his strength beginning to be touched by the hand of age, Gideon had still the child's heart, the child's faith, and the child's hope, with which he had left his mother's cottage. I know he called himself a grievous sinner; that is one of the contradictions of which outsiders can make nothing. But though human, and therefore, of course, often going wrong, he was, like the prophet Samuel, one who, having been given to God by a pious mother, walked with God all the days of his life.

Gideon was a shy man, and very humble. He was no great talker when the men were all together, though to one companion he would talk freely. The men liked him—he was always so kind and helpful; to be in trouble was to have Gideon's hand held out to help you. They respected him; his presence restrained the worst of them in the use of bad language, and on Sundays they would often let him read the Bible to them. The "Imogene" being a frigate, did not carry a chaplain, but the captain read the Church service to the men every Sunday. It was the first time that Tom had ever been brought into contact with religion since he left his mother, and he was interested and impressed, in spite of himself. But he did not show it in any way, and Gideon, who had taken a fancy to him, was quite distressed about him.

Tom's discontent was not lessened when he discovered that the "Imogene" had only just come to the station, so that, for three or four years at the least, he would be kept out of England. Though he said he would not go home, yet now that he certainly 'could' not go, he longed to hear something of his people.

The "Imogene" was one of the small fleet employed in defending England's West Indian possessions against being surprised by the French, with whom, at that time, we were at war. Formerly the French had made constant attempts at these surprises, but since the great battle of Trafalgar, France had not so many ships to send to distant stations, and encounters between our ships and those of France were less frequent. Still, an occasional cruiser would appear, and it was in a very tough encounter with a French frigate that Captain Egerton had lost so many men that he had to take some from the merchant ships.

Of course, a good look-out was of the utmost importance. And when Tom had been some time on board, the look-out man, from some unaccountable carelessness, allowed a ship to come near enough to be seen by those on deck, before he gave notice of her approach.

She proved to be English, but this did not alter the fact that a grave offence had been committed; and the man who had offended was condemned to be flogged, according to the Articles of War in that case made and provided.

Captain Egerton seldom flogged, but in this case he thought it necessary. People in those days did not think of such things as we do, but Tom had never seen a man flogged, and the sight made a terrible impression upon him.

All hands were piped on deck; the Article of War dealing with the offence was read aloud by the captain, who looked very stern in his cocked hat, and then John Callcutt, able seaman, received four dozen lashes, and, if the truth must be told, did not think half as much of it as we are apt to fancy. But Tom was like one in a frenzy. He was faint and sick, angry and frightened, and, in fact, did not know what he was about. Gideon, with Dick Carr's assistance, hustled him away and took him below. Carr returned on deck, but Gideon stayed with Tom, and tried to calm him.

"Why, Tom," said he, "what a fellow you are! Here's a pother about a four dozen, well deserved, as we must all own! Why, if you'd served with Sir Lucas Cochrane as I did, you'd have seen six, ay, and seven dozen, given for half that. He'd flog a man for being last up the rigging! Ah, he were a bad-tempered man, but a grand officer. Now, our captain never is severe; and you'll see Callcutt about again in a week or so, not a hair the worse."

"Were you ever flogged?" asked Tom, looking up with white face and gleaming eyes.

"N—no, Tom, I can't say I ever was. I've been always very fortunate; and as to you, it's all in your own hands. You do your duty, and you and the cat will never come together."

"Now, look here," said Tom. "John Callcutt shipped with Captain Egerton of his own free will, and has been a man-o'-war's man all his life, so that he knew what lay before him. Equally, so did you. Maybe you like being treated like slaves or dumb beasts, but I was never asked my consent to being here. And I just tell you, what is no more than the truth, that if the like is ever done to me, I'll end my life the very first time I get the chance. I'll manage better than Dick Carr did, too. Do you think that I'm going back to my people, to tell them I was flogged like a hound? Never! I mean what I say, and—"

"Tom, be quiet; not so loud. No one's going to flog you unless 'you' go and deserve it."

"Deserve it! How can I deserve it, for not keeping rules I never promised to keep? You drag me away from my ship and my captain; you read me a lot of rules and laws that I know nothing about; I'm robbed of my hard-earned money, and—"

"Nonsense, Tom. My lad, you're off your head. Your money went to the bottom, as you yourself told me."

"I told you they all said so. But it's my belief that they grabbed it while I was laying hold of Carr."

"You're beside yourself. Tom, be quiet; here's an officer."

Gideon stood up; Tom jumped up too.

"The captain wants to know what is wrong with Adderley," said Mr. Carteret.

"First punishment he ever saw, sir; that's all," answered Gideon.

"Ay? Mr. Egerton fainted; so, you see, you're not the only one. I hope you're all right again, Adderley?"

"Yes—sir."

"What were you saying about being robbed, as I came in?"

"Nothing, sir," said Tom, sullenly.

"That's no answer; I heard you plainly. It is the first that has been heard of it. Were you robbed?"

"Greg Collier saw the kit go overboard," remarked Gideon.

But Mr. Carteret waited for Tom to reply, and he had to speak at last.

"I had my money in my kit, sir—a good deal of money—and when Carr jumped overboard and I caught hold of him, my kit disappeared. I dropped it at my feet as Carr passed me, and I don't see how it got overboard."

"Terlizzeck, were you with me? I forget."

"No, sir. But Greg Collier sat on the next bench, and he saw the kit go overboard."

"What made it go? No one had any call to touch it," said Tom, doggedly.

"Why did you not speak of this at once?" inquired Mr. Carteret.

"Because I knew 'twould be no use; they'd all stick together."

"The captain must be told of this," said Mr. Carteret.

And the captain was told, and inquired carefully into the matter. Three of the best men in the ship deposed to having seen the bundle go overboard and sink at once, and one said that Carr had kicked it as he made his spring. There was no reason to doubt this testimony, and all that Tom gained by his foolish suspicions was the dislike of Collier and of some others, and a good deal of joking about his "fine fortune that was in Davy Jones's locker."

All this combined to make Tom more miserable every day, until at last he was really in a very desperate humour; and just at this time the ship touched at Jamaica.

Captain Egerton found it necessary to get water, and as the beef and biscuits were getting low, he determined to make for Port Royal, as there he was sure of getting what he wanted.

Often had Tom been in Port Royal before; many a bright kerchief and gay ribbon had he sold there to black damsels, who used to declare that "Massa Add'ley had de lubly taste!"

The "Imogene" was detained for several days, getting in water and shipping stores, but at last she was ready to sail. Tom was one of several who went ashore on the morning of the last day, on the understanding that they would be ready when the boat came up for them in the afternoon. Captain Egerton wished to get them all on board early, as he meant to sail in the morning.

But when the midshipman in command counted his passengers, one was missing. And when he had called over the names, that one proved to be Tom Adderley. Gideon, who had been sent to ensure the discretion and safety of the mid, advised his commanding officer to wait a while. But Tom did not come, and a gun from the frigate warned them that they were delaying too long. It was very unwillingly, and with a foreboding heart, that Gideon heard the orders given, though he knew that there was no help for it.

All that night he kept hoping that the morning would see Tom alongside in a shore-boat, for then, of course, he would escape with a severe reprimand—what Gideon called "a proper wigging."

But the morning came, and Tom did not. Captain Egerton was not going to delay on account of the loss of Tom's not very valuable services. He communicated the fact that one of his men was "absent without leave" to the proper authorities, and sailed a little after daybreak.

This was just what Master Tom wished and expected. He was hidden in the house of an old negro, who was also an old acquaintance of his. He meant to discard his sailor dress and lie quiet until Captain Collins came into port. Then he would get on board the old "Star of the Sea," and be happy again.

Of course Captain Collins would have had nothing to say to him; equally, of course, he would have been arrested the first time he ventured out. But, as it happened, he never had time to experience these disappointments.

The "Imogene" met a French privateer before she was quite out of sight of Port Royal, took her, and came back into port with her, Captain Egerton not caring to spare men and officers to form a prize crew. Mr. Carteret, with a number of the "Imogene's" men, had just marched the few prisoners to the barracks, when Greg Collier caught sight of old Agamemnon, the negro, peeping nervously round a corner. Collier laid hold of him and took him to Mr. Carteret.

"This here knows where Adderley is, I'm pretty certain, sir. I've seen them discoursin' each other. Scouting round the corner, he were; and frightened out of his wits, as all may see!"

"Do you know where Thomas Adderley, able seaman, belonging to his Majesty's ship 'Imogene,' is hiding?" said Mr. Carteret, blandly.

But Agamemnon shook and shivered, and turned from black to a livid grey, so certain did he feel that this gentleness covered fearful designs. Still, Tom had been kind to him; and the poor old fellow was divided between fear for himself and a desire to save Tom. So, not being particular as to truth, he replied—

"Hidin'! Oh no, capta'n, not hidin'. Sick! Oh, he were berry sick—sick 'nuff to die nearly! When de ship sailed he were lyin' dar, most dead."

"Drunk, I suppose?" said Mr. Carteret.

Agamemnon rolled his eyes in a way which might mean yes or no, just as you liked to take it.

"Show me where he is!" Mr. Carteret went on.

And poor Agamemnon, all unworthy to bear the name of the "king of men," obeyed very meekly, so that in a few minutes, Tom was in custody, and was marched down to the landing-place, and conveyed on board the 'Imogene.' He was put in irons, and kept in strict confinement; and it is easy to imagine that he was very miserable. Now that he had tried and failed, he saw plainly enough the utter folly of his attempt to escape. Gideon's warnings came back to him; his entreaties that Tom would submit to what 'must' be, and try to do his duty in his new position. Now, too, that to see it was of no use to him, he saw that he had been leniently treated—that his officers had been very patient with him; and always he saw before him the punishment he had brought upon himself. Oh, if only he could begin again, and be once more the newly pressed man, how differently he would behave!

Even the loss of his money seemed nothing to him now; he felt that he had lost everything that made life worth having. It seemed to him that the only thing to be done was to get rid of his wretched life as soon as he could. I do not know that he would have kept to this resolution, but these were his thoughts as he sat there, alone, in his terrible misery. What! Go home, not only penniless, but disgraced? Go home to see his father ashamed of him, and his mother trying to keep his disgrace a secret? Never! He would die twenty times over, sooner than do that. Why, even to face the men of the "Imogene" after they had been witnesses of his degradation, was more than his proud heart could bear!

There he sat, poor Tom! almost in the dark, with heavy irons on his ankles, his face hidden in his hands. And all the time his imprisonment lasted, he never once looked up when any one spoke to him, or when his meals were brought to him, but just sat without a sound or a movement, and with black despair in his heart.

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