Chapter Twenty One.
John Deane turns Sailor, and joins the “Weymouth,” Captain Jumper.
At no time for many years had there been greater activity in the chief naval ports of England than in February, 1696. All the ships in the service were ordered to be brought forward, and as many more as could be obtained were purchased for the Royal Navy. Officers and men eagerly offered their services; indeed the enthusiasm of all ranks and professions was very great. Numerous seamen from the merchant service joined the navy, and there was no lack of volunteers eager to be employed. A squadron lay in the Medway, fitting out as quickly as stores could be brought on board them and the men could be collected. Among them was the “Weymouth,” a ship of forty guns, commanded by the well-known Captain Jumper. Her sails were bent, and she only waited for her powder to be brought on board to go to sea, as soon as she could fill up with her proper complement of men. A boat had just come alongside, and the first lieutenant reported that she contained a number of volunteers.
Among the first who stepped on board was a fine, active-looking young man, though, to the nautical eye, he had not much the look of a sailor.
“Where have you served before, my man?” asked Mr Cammock, the first lieutenant; “and what do you know of seamanship?”
“I have served nowhere, please you, sir,” was the answer, “but I am ready to learn. And I know how to handle a cutlass, and shoot a partridge or pheasant flying.”
“You are the lad for us then,” answered the officer. “What is your name? We will enter you as a landsman; but you will soon make an able seaman.”
“John Deane, at your service, sir,” answered our friend; for he it was who, having put his purpose of joining the navy into execution, had volunteered for the “Weymouth.”
It was the first time he had ever stood on the deck of a ship. No wonder then that he gazed about him with a look of astonishment, at the guns thickly ranged on either side; at the numerous brass swivels and other pieces which graced her quarters and forecastle, and the high lanterns of brass astern; at the numberless ropes which led here and there from the masts and spars, with their ends neatly coiled down on deck; at the seamen, in their loose dresses, shirts, and trousers, with belts round their waists, contrasting with the officers in their three-cornered hats and long coats, laced with gold or silver, large embroidered belts by which hung their rapiers—each dressed rather according to his fancy and means, than to any authorised uniform.
A number of other men were then called up. Among the first was one whose countenance Jack thought he knew. He looked at him several times, till at length it struck him that it must be the very man who had guided him to Pearson’s farm in the fens—Ned Burdale. There was the same sturdy, independent look, bold eye, and manner. What, however, had induced him to enter on board a king’s ship, Jack could not divine. At all events, he felt it would be wise in him not to claim acquaintance with a person of so doubtful a character.