Oh, poor Dicky! How much easier would it have been to be killed in those sea-fights with Boney's ships! What was he to do? All night long Dicky sat up and walked the floor, and when day broke he was so haggard and miserable that he was ashamed to show himself. All day he sat in his little room; he would wait until nightfall before he took the coach for London. Disgraced men ought to hide themselves from the light of day. Toward evening, just as he was preparing to go out, a furious knocking came at his door. Dicky opened it, and there stood a functionary all in scarlet and gold—a king's messenger, so Dicky knew. The messenger, making a low bow, handed a packet to Dicky. "I was directed to deliver this into Mr. Carew's own hands," he said.
Dicky winced. It was the first time that he had been called "Mr. Carew."
Dicky broke the big red seal, and found two documents inclosed. One was a letter from the Admiralty, and this is what it said:
Richard Carew, Esq.: Sir.—I am directed by the Lords of the Admiralty to inform you that the sentence of the late court-martial, finding you guilty of willfully running into the French frigate Alceste, coming out of Portsmouth Harbor, on the 25th of March, has been submitted to his Majesty in council, and the decision of the court—viz., that you be deprived of your commission as commander—has been approved by his Majesty, without regarding the provocation you were under, or the great skill, daring, and capable seamanship you displayed on the occasion. But his Majesty herewith incloses you a commission under the royal seal as post-captain, and directs you to take command of his majesty's ship Hornet, now lying in Portsmouth Harbor; and may all impudent Frenchmen be served like the Alceste, as long as British hearts of oak endure!"
And then followed signatures and seals. But Dicky could read no more; and although he was as brave a fellow as ever stepped, he fell down on his knees and cried like a woman or a baby.
Within a month Dicky and Polly were married. The day was beautiful and bright, and the little Hornet was dressed with bunting from rail to main-truck, and the wedding bells clashed so merrily that they were heard half across the water to Cherbourg.
Note.—In Thackeray's Roundabout Papers he says: "In George II's time there was a turbulent young lieutenant, Tom Smith by name, who was broke on complaint of the French ambassador for obliging a French ship of war to lower her topsails to his ship at Spithead. But by the king's orders, Tom was next day made a captain." Tom's picture is at Greenwich. He was called "Handsome Smith," but his portrait is by no means so handsome as his conduct.