“Oh, by St. Peter’s toe! and that’s a brass one,” exclaimed a loud, manly voice, the speaker at the moment entering the midshipmen’s berth, “give us your hand, William; I’ll be your father and mother, and, faith, your grand-mother too, if you’re in want of one; you’re a broth of a boy, and have shown us what pluck and heart can do. Now, if any of these sky-larking lubbers bother you again with their balderdash, by the powers of Moll Kelly, I’ll tache them better manners. Hark ye, my lads! my name, as you all know, is Patrick O’Loughlin, and, as far as I know, I never had a father or mother; but look at this (and clenching his hand, he tucked up his sleeve, and stretched out an arm capable of felling an ox); there, this has been my father and mother, and, faith, a whole host of relations beside; it has made me third lieutenant of the Victory; and that’s what I call being a father and mother. Now if any of you want to be better acquainted with William Thornton’s father and mother, he can show you just such another fist and arm, and is quite willing to give you a taste of it, to establish his parentage; and now, William, come with me; I want to have half-an-hour’s chat with you.”
Most of the mids burst into a hearty laugh, taking the Lieutenant’s words good-humouredly, for he was greatly loved by all the officers and crew of the ship. Howard Etherton and two others, his special cronies, sneered, though they evidently did not admire Lieutenant O’Loughlin’s father and mother.
William Thornton and Lieutenant O’Loughlin sat down in the latter’s berth, with a bottle of light wine and some biscuits before them.
“Now tell me, William,” said the kind-hearted Lieutenant, “all you know about yourself. You promised to tell me. We have an idle hour now—to-morrow may see us in action.”
“Most willingly, dear friend,” replied our hero. “I have no desire to conceal any part of my history, and least of all from you; so now listen to a very short yarn, and then you will know as much as I do myself.
“I was reared in a cottage at Deal, by one of the kindest and most generous of men, and whom I honour and love as a fond father. He was once coxswain to Lord Hood, but, having lost a leg and an arm in the service, now lives upon a pension. Shortly after his retirement, he was left a comfortable annuity, and persuaded a sister of his—a widow in poor circumstances—to live with him, purchased a pretty cottage on the sea-coast near Walmer, where I grew up till I was eight years old.
“I was then sent to one of the best seminaries in the county, where I first met Howard Etherton. I remained at school till I was fourteen years old, when I returned to my supposed father’s cottage. He told me I was going to serve His Majesty as a midshipman. I was delighted. One evening the old tar, who was never so happy as when relating sea-yarns, said, ‘Bill, my lad, I’ll spin you a yarn; mix my grog—there, you’re bountiful with the water—sit quiet and listen, for it consarns you.
“‘I was aboard the Quebec, 36-gun frigate,’ began the old tar, ‘commanded by as brave a fellow as ever trod a deck. We were cruising off Ushant, with the Rambler cutter in company. It was the month of October, in the year 177—, we fell in with a large frigate to the sou-west of Ushant, and she had a smart cutter cruising in company. Well, we were soon hammering away at it, and kept it up for three mortal hours. Our decks were slippery with blood, our masts all gone, and our sails, lying over the guns, caught fire, and soon after we blew up, with our colours flying, and—the Lord be merciful to us!—our captain, and most of our crew were hurled into the air.
“‘I can’t say how I got out of her; all I remember is that I found myself struggling in the water amid a mass of rigging and spars. I was finally picked up and carried on board the French frigate Surveillante, where I found several of my shipmates. We were treated with the greatest kindness, by order of the dying commander, who also desired that we should be put aboard the first neutral vessel they came across, for we had fought gallantly and nobly, and it was not our fault that the ship blew up.
“‘The French frigate had suffered awfully; her masts, sails, and rigging were cut to pieces, and her crew half killed and wounded. We were permitted to walk about the deck. I could speak a little of their lingo, and some of them spoke ours.