have by-and-bye, all for the honour and glory of ould England.”
Newton, who during these remarks was thinking of his father’s situation, and the distress he would suffer without his assistance, and then of the state in which he had left his mother, again sank on the deck.
“Why he’s off again!” muttered Judy Malony; “he’s no countryman of mine, that’s clear as the mud in the Shannon, or he’d never fuss about a rap with a shillelah;” and Judy, lifting up her petticoats first, gained her feet, and walked away forward.
Newton remained in a state of uneasy slumber until daylight, when he was awakened by the noise of boats coming alongside, and loud talking on deck. All that had passed did not immediately rush into his mind; but his arm tied up with the bandage, and his hair matted, and his face stiff with the coagulated blood, soon brought to his recollection the communication of Judy Malony, that he had been impressed. The ’tween decks of the cutter appeared deserted, unless indeed there were people in the hammocks slung over his head; and Newton, anxious to obtain farther information, crawled under the hammocks to the ladder, and went up on deck.
About twenty sailors, well armed, were busy handing out of the boats several men whom they had brought on board, who were ordered aft by the officer in command. Newton perceived that most of them had not received much better treatment than he had on the preceding evening; some were shockingly disfigured, and were still bleeding profusely.
“How many have you altogether, Mr. Vincent?” said the lieutenant to a stout master’s mate with a tremendous pair of whiskers, which his loose handkerchief discovered to join together at his throat.
“Seventeen, sir.”
“And how many had we before?—twenty-six, I think.”
“Twenty-seven, sir, with the young chap I sent on board last night.”
“Well, that will do; it’s quite as many as we can stow away, or take care of:—pass them all down below, forward; take up the ladder, and put on the grating until we are out of the harbour. As soon as the jolly-boat comes on board we’ll up anchor.”
“She’ll be off directly, sir; I ordered her to wait for Johnson and Merton, who did not come down with us.”
“Do you think they have given you the slip?”
“I should think not, sir. Here is the jolly-boat coming off.”
“Well, pass the men forward, 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
