Though sorry to leave his kind friends, Bill was very glad to be at sea again, and engaged in the active duties of his profession. His messmates treated him with much kindness, and remarked among themselves the improvement in his manners, while two or three fresh members of the mess, when they heard how he had gained his promotion, looked upon him with evident respect. He did not, however, forget his old friends, and Jack was always pleased when he came forward to talk to him, and did not appear at all jealous, which could not be said of Tom, who, though he did not venture to show his feelings, was inclined to keep out of his way, and sometimes answered in rather a surly tone when spoken to, always taking care to bring in the “sir” after every sentence, and touching his hat with mock respect, of which Bill, though he could not fail to observe, took no notice.
The Thisbe had been several weeks at sea, and had during that time captured, without firing a shot, three of the enemy’s merchantmen, which she had sent into Plymouth, the more pugnacious of the crew grumbling at not having encountered an enemy worthy of their prowess, and which would have afforded them a larger amount of prize-money.
Captain Martin was about to return to port to take on board his officers and men when he was joined by the Venus frigate. Her captain told him that he had just before made out two French frigates to the south-east, and the Thisbe bore up with the Venus in chase, with every stitch of canvas they could carry set.
A stern chase is proverbially a long chase, and the French frigates, which had been seen to the eastward, had a considerable start of their pursuers. Still, as they had been under moderate canvas, it was hoped that they would set no more sail, and might thus be overtaken.
A sharp look-out was kept, and the officers were continually going aloft with their glasses, and sweeping the horizon from north to south, in the hopes of espying the enemy.
“I say, Jack, do you think if we come up with those two Frenchmen we are chasing they’ll turn round and fight us?” asked Tom, who thought it much pleasanter to capture unarmed merchant vessels than to have to fight an enemy which sent round shots and bullets on board in return.
“No doubt about that, youngster,” answered Ben Twinch, the boatswain’s mate, who overheard Tom’s remark. “What do you think we come to sea for? If we can take a man-of-war of our own size she’s worth half a dozen merchant craft, though, to be sure, some of us may lose the number of our mess; but we all know that, and make no count of it. Maybe you’ll have your head taken off one of these days, and if you do, you’ll only share the fate of many another fine fellow.”
“I hope not!” cried Tom, mechanically putting up his hand to his head as if to hold it on, and turning from Ben.
“Never fear!” said Jack, wishing to console him; “the chances are that you will escape and live to fight another day.”
If Tom had any fear, it was not the time to show it. He heard all around him speak of fighting as if it were fun, and of death with seeming levity. It is the way of the young and the thoughtless. Old sailors and old soldiers seldom talk thus, and think more of duty than of glory. For young or for old the loss of life is not a matter for light talk, as if death were only the end of it. Those that cause war will have much to reckon for hereafter. But there is no time for such thoughts in sight of the enemy. So we must go on with our story.