Chapter [20]: The King's Commission.
I have had many happy moments in my life, but none happier, I do think, than when Admiral Benbow clapped me on the shoulder and cried, in his big quarterdeck voice:
"Why, my lad, we must have you a middy, and you shall serve the King."
I was in the admiral's own cabin on the Gloucester, whither I had been taken when my wound was dressed. Mr. Benbow and the captain were both there, and to them I had to tell my story, from the time of my setting forth from Shrewsbury to the late fight with Duguay-Trouin. Some little concernments of my own (the fight with Topper in the barn, and my rescue of Mistress Lucy on the highroad) I kept to myself, but the rest of my adventures I related as I have set them down here, though, to be sure, more shortly. The officers found much entertainment in my narrative, and in particular they were mightily tickled at the notion of escaped prisoners capturing themselves. The admiral was good enough to speak in high praise of my doings (far beyond my deserts), and then he told me that though he could not himself make a midshipman without a warrant from a higher power, he would use his interest in my behoof, and had no doubt that all would fall out as I most ardently desired.
I had to wear my leg in a sling for a week or more, but then I got about as nimbly as ever. In all but name I was a junior midshipman, for the admiral said I must learn betimes the duties of the rank which was to be mine as soon as he could compass it. And I set about doing so with zest, for I was now turned eighteen, and there were boys in my mess four years younger who were veterans in seamanship and ship drill compared with me.
My messmates welcomed me with much kindness; while I was laid up of my wound they had heard of my adventures from Joe Punchard, who was a prime favorite aboard; and they all declared they wished they had had my luck, though they agreed with me when I reminded them that a nine months' imprisonment was after all a long price to pay. They told me I should certainly get a good share of prize money for the recapture of the Polly of Southampton, and probably also for the other prize of Duguay-Trouin's that was retaken. The two frigates sent in chase of the privateer had failed to come up with her, but they had seized the prize lying off the point, which proved to be an Indiaman richly laden.
The knowledge that I should soon have some money of my own was very grateful to me, and I felt a natural elation of spirits at the wonderful change that had come over my fortunes.
I hoped that while I was on the admiral's ship I should see and take my part in a good set battle between our squadron and the French; but in this I was disappointed. Admiral Benbow was on his way to Dunkirk, to lie in wait for the French admiral Du Bart and pursue him if he should put to sea. We cruised off the port for upwards of a month without any encounter with the enemy; and when at last, towards the end of August, we gave chase to some of their vessels which had slipped out, we failed to overtake any of them save a small privateer of ten guns, which struck her colors on the first demand we made.
And then in September we learned that peace was proclaimed. The treaty about whose terms the diplomatists had been wrangling for seven or eight months had at last been signed at Ryswick, and the war was at an end. But none of the officers believed that the peace would endure. 'Twas impossible, they said, that Dutch William would ever be a friend of French Lewis, and they prognosticated that the lifelong struggle between the two kings would yet be fought out to a bitter end.
Regarding war, as did all lads of my age, rather as a stage for the display of gallantry and prowess than as the dreadful scourge it really is, I wished for nothing better than that I should soon have an opportunity of serving under the brave admiral. He was already a hero to me, and not to me only. All the world knows of his courage and daring and skill, but only those who were closely connected with him know the full worth of that great-hearted man. The sailors loved him. He would go and sit down with them in the foc'sle, chatting with them rather like a brother than a high officer, yet without loss of dignity or respect. Bravery and seamanship he rated at their true value, whether in peer or peasant; but he never could abide the fops and fine gentlemen who thought they became officers merely by donning epaulets. With them he had no patience, and in consequence he was as much hated as loved. The tars were his to a man: but the officers were either his dear friends or his bitter foes.