“Ah, well, he can’t run far, and we shall find him soon. Set him ashore, eh? Next shore we shall see will be somewhere on the coast of Portugal or Spain, I expect.”
The officer said the last words to himself as he tramped away, leaving Jack Jeens to stand scratching his head and muttering.
“Pore little chap!” he said. “They’ll make a powder monkey on him? Well, and a fine thing too. Better than being a boy at home with an uncle who gave him the stick for crying after his father and mother who are dead. Here, Phil, messmate, where are yer?” he said softly, and his voice sounded as if somehow he had a soft place in his rough, honest heart. “Where are yer, little un? I want to tell you that you’re going to be powder monkey aboard Admiral Lord Nelson’s ship.”
Chapter Four.
Jack Jeens found himself at last piped down below, swinging his hammock and turning in like the rest, to lie listening to the wash of the waves against the rolling sides of the great man-of-war, whose timbers creaked and groaned, for a stiff breeze had sprung up as the fleet began to run down channel. A rough night at sea did not trouble Jack, but he lay thinking about little Phil and wondering whether he could do any good by getting out of his hammock and trying to find him in the darkness; but he felt nothing but despair as he knew enough about a man-o’-war besides what he had seen during the time he had been on board, to feel sure that if he began to search he would soon be stopped by the marine sentries or by the watch.
“A man can’t do as he likes aboard a King’s ship,” he said to himself dismally, as he lay in the black darkness, “but only let me get this night over, and they may say what they like, I’ll go straight to the captain, or to Lord Nelson himself, and ask him to have that little fellow found. Here, what’s that?”
He said those last three words half aloud, for he had suddenly felt something cold brush across his face.
“That you, Jack?” came in a soft whisper.