I had never got the boatswain to commence his history. I told Grey that I was determined to get it out of him, as it was certain to be amusing, though we agreed that we were not bound to believe all he said. He certainly was an extraordinary character. A boaster and a man (I do not like to use a harsh term) who is addicted to saying what is not true, is generally found to be a coward, and often a bully; whereas my worthy friend was as brave as a lion and, gruff as was his voice, as gentle as a lamb, as he used to say of himself, if people would but stroke him the right way; and I can assert a kinder hearted monster never lived. Grey and I, one afternoon when it was our watch below, found him in his cabin. He was taking his after-dinner potation of rum and water, y-clept “grog,” and reading by the light of a purser’s dip.
“Come in, young gentlemen, come in, and be seated,” he sang out; and as we willingly obeyed, he added, “This is what I call enjoyment—food for the mind and moisture for the whistle. We have not many opportunities for mental improvement and the enjoyment of light literature, as you may have discovered by this time; and to a man, like myself, of refined taste, that is one of the greatest drawbacks to our noble profession.”
Grey and I did not understand exactly what he meant; but, after letting him run on for a little time, we told him why we had come, and begged him to indulge us by commencing at once.
“There is, as you sagaciously observe, young gentlemen, no time like the present for doing a thing which is to be done; and so,”—and he cleared his throat with a sound which rang along the decks—“I will begin. But remember, now, I’ll have no doubting—no cavilling. If you don’t choose to believe what I say, you need not listen any more. I will not submit to have my word called in question.”
“Heave ahead!” said a voice outside; I suspected it was Spellman’s. I soon found that there were several other listeners, and was afraid Jonathan would refuse to go on; but, in reality, he liked to have a large audience, and seasoned his descriptions accordingly. Again he cleared his throat, and said—
“I’ll begin—as I remarked. My mother was a wonderful woman. I have a great respect for her memory. Joan of Arc, Queen Dido, or the Roman Daughter could not hold a candle to her. She was up to any thing, and, had opportunities offered, would have been the first woman of her age. As it was, she made herself pretty well-known in the world, as you shall hear. When she was quite a young woman she once on a time became first-lieutenant of a dashing frigate. When the captain was killed, she took the ship into action, fought two line-of-battle ships broadside to broadside, and then, when there was not a stick left standing, carried them by boarding. She would have brought both of them into port, but one went down from the severe hammering she had given them. You doubt what I am telling you, young gentlemen, do you? Well, then, I’ll give you proof which ought to satisfy any candid mind that I am speaking the truth. You must know that there is a song written about her; and, of course, if she hadn’t done what I have been telling you it wouldn’t have been written. It runs thus:—
“Billy Taylor was a smart young sailor,
Full of life and full of glee,
And he went a courting Molly Nailor,
A maiden fair of high degree.
“That maiden fair was my mother. Billy Taylor, do ye see, went a courting her, and swore that he loved her better than the apple of his eye, or a shipload of prize-money, and no end of glasses of grog, and fifty other things, and that her cheeks were like roses from Persia, and her breath sweeter than the essence of all the gales of Araby that ever blew, and all that sort of thing. She believed him, for she was young and tender hearted, and did not know what horrible falsehoods some men can tell. I do hate a fellow who doesn’t speak the truth. Now, do ye see, that scoundrel Taylor was only bamboozling her all the time, for he went away and fell in with another lady who had more of the shiners, though less beauty, and he having brought to bear the whole broadside of false oaths he had been firing away at my respected mother, the other lady struck her flag and became his wife. Like other wid blades of his stamp, he soon ran through all the poor girl’s money, so he wasn’t a bit the better for it, and she was very much the worse. When she had no more left for him to lay his hand on, he had to go to sea again.
“My mother, who was not my mother then, you’ll understand, because I wasn’t born till some years after that,—and I’m proud to say that my father was a very different man to Billy Taylor. He was an honest man; and when Miss Nailor found out all about Billy Taylor’s treachery, she resolved to be avenged on him. He had entered on board the Thunder bomb, and she heard of it. Accordingly she rigged herself out in a suit of seaman’s clothes, and as her father was a seaman,—an officer, of course, (my parentage was respectable on both sides)—and she knew all about seamen’s ways and sayings, she very easily passed for one.
“One fine morning, off she set in her new toggery for Portsmouth, where the Thunder was fitting out. She had provided herself with a loaded pistol, which she kept in her pocket, vowing to revenge herself on the traitor Taylor.