Soon after this the captain came on board, and Tom, greatly to his disappointment, was not sent for. Just, however, as the ship was going out into the Sound, the mail-bag arrived, and a letter addressed, “Thomas Fletcher, H.M.S. Thisbe,” was handed him. He eagerly broke the seal. As he was no great hand at reading writing, he was obliged to ask Bill to assist him in deciphering the contents. He had, however, to rub his eyes several times before he could make them out, even with his messmate’s help.
“It’s not from father at all,” he observed, after looking at the paper all over. “S. Fletcher must be my biggest brother, and he always gave me more kicks than ha’pence.”
The letter began:—
“Dear Tom,—Our father received yours of the third instant, as the first intimation of your being alive since your unaccountable disappearance. You have caused us by your wicked proceeding no end of grief and trouble, and, as far as we can make out by your wretchedly written epistle, you do not seem to be at all ashamed of yourself, or sorry for what you have done; and our father bids me to say, that as you have made your bed, you must lie in it. As to making you an allowance of thirty or forty pounds a year, and getting you placed on the quarter-deck, the notion is too ridiculous to be entertained. I must tell you, too, our father has failed, smashed up completely, won’t pay sixpence in the pound. As we find it a hard matter to live, he is not likely to make you an allowance of thirty pounds, or thirty pence a year, or to trouble himself by going to the Admiralty with the certainty of being sent away with a flea in his ear; so you see, Tom, you must just grin and bear it. If you don’t get killed, I would advise you—should you ever wish to come home—to make your appearance with your pockets full of the prize-money you talk of, and you will then perhaps receive a welcome, and be well entertained as long as it lasts by the rest of the family, as also by—
“Your affectionate brother—
“S. Fletcher.
“P.S. Until then I would advise you not to show your nose in this neighbourhood.”
“He always was an ill-natured fellow, was my brother Sam,” exclaimed Tom, not seeming concerned at the news of his father’s ruin, while, crumpling up the letter, he thrust it into his pocket. “I feel inclined to hang myself or jump overboard.”
“Don’t think of doing anything so bad,” said Bill. “You are no worse off than you were before. All you’ve got to do is to attend to your duty, and try to please those above you.”
“The cook and the cook’s mate,” growled poor Tom. “It isn’t a pleasant task to have to scrub saucepans and clean out the galley.”