Ronald Morton; or, the Fire Ships: A Story of the Last Naval War

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Once more he was on board his old ship, the “Thisbe.” When he first joined he was a ship’s boy; he was now her second lieutenant. The first was Rawson—he was a totally changed man. He had performed a very gallant action under the eye of the admiral, had been highly spoken of in the “Gazette,” had in consequence at once received his promotion, and had been an active, enterprising officer ever since. He seldom or never grumbled now, or talked of his bad luck; indeed he seemed to think that the world was a very good sort of place for some men to live in, and that the British navy was not a bad profession after all for a fellow to belong to. He and Ronald Morton had not met for some years. They were glad to find themselves once again shipmates.

The “Thisbe” was commanded by one they both loved and respected—honest, gallant, fighting Tom Calder. Tom had won his upward way by courage and zeal, rarely surpassed. The Lords of the Admiralty could not refuse him his promotion, had they wished it. The whole navy would have cried out at the injustice. Happily, honest Tom had no one to whisper evil against him. He had not an enemy in the world—so, to be sure, it is sometimes said of a goose, but then the goose is his own enemy. Tom, on the contrary, had proved true to himself, and that, in fact, lay at the bottom of his success.

Of the old “Thisbes,” as they were pleased to call themselves, Dicky Glover was the only officer. He was, however, still a mate. He was senior mate, though he could not help now and then just thinking that it would not be so very unfortunate—only a merciful dispensation of Providence—should they go into action, seeing that somebody must be killed, should a shot happen to knock over the third lieutenant, and give him a chance of promotion—not but what Dicky had a very kind feeling for the said third lieutenant. He was always ready to do him any service, to lend him his books or money; the latter the lieutenant was most fond of borrowing: still Dicky and he were very good friends; Dicky had plenty of money, and Peter Sims, the third lieutenant, had none. How he had got his promotion was surprising to those who knew him, till it was whispered about that he had a very near relative in a high position, who had no difficulty in obtaining it for him. Sims was, however, generally liked; he was very inoffensive, he never talked about himself or his friends, seemed to wish to be let alone, and to let others alone. He was always ready to do a good-natured action, to take a brother officer’s watch, or to give up his own leave to accommodate another.

Before the mast there were several hands who had served in the “Thisbe,” when commanded by Captain Courtney. Two had attached themselves especially to Ronald—one was Job Truefitt, and the other Bobby Doull. No men could have been more faithful or attached than they were to him—Job regarded him as his son, and constituted himself his guardian, while Bobby looked up to him as to a superior being whom it was an honour to follow and obey.

The frigate was bound out to the land so famed for tigers, and curry, palanquins, pagodas, and prize-money—the East Indies; she had a quick run down Channel, when a northerly breeze carried her almost to the tropics.

Rio was visited; the frigate touched at the Cape, and finally anchored at the mouth of the Hooghly, near the flag-ship of the admiral on the station.

The usual compliments passed, the sails were furled, and shore-boats, manned by strange-looking natives, with stranger-looking fruits and vegetables, chattering unknown tongues intended to be English, came alongside. The admiral himself was up at Calcutta, and everybody on board the “Thisbe” was anxious to pay a visit to the city of palaces. Sims offered to stop, but Rawson bluntly told him that he could not trust the ship to his charge; so he, pocketing the compliment, accompanied the captain and Morton, with two or three more of the gun-room officers, and Glover and several of the midshipmen, up to the city. They luckily took their full-dress uniforms with them; and having lionised the city in palanquins all the day, they found themselves in the evening at a magnificent ball, given by one of the principal officers of the Company’s Civil Service.

The officers of the “Thisbe” stopped near the entrance to admire the brilliant spectacle. Superb chandeliers hung from the ceiling or projected from the walls, amid gay coloured banners, and wreaths of exquisite flowers; while below them moved the fairest of Eve’s daughters to be found in the capital of the East, amid numerous military officers in various handsome uniforms; and rajahs, and nabobs, and princes, and chiefs of every description, habited in the richest and most picturesque of oriental costumes, with turbans and daggers and sword-hilts sparkling with gold and silver, and gems of fabulous value.

The gallant captain of the frigate, and most of the officers who accompanied him, were more accustomed to the quarterdeck, and the battle and the breeze, than to ball-rooms or palaces, and they stood for some time totally entranced, and scarcely able to express their surprise to each other at the gay scene.

Morton had in his boyhood learned most of the dances then in vogue, and a quick eye and perfect self-possession enabled him to appear to advantage when at rare intervals he entered a ball-room. Still, feeling himself a stranger among a crowd, he very naturally preferred remaining in a quiet spot, that he might at his leisure watch what was going forward. Captain Calder felt very much as he did, for he was even still less accustomed to ball-rooms, though his true gentlemanly feelings and innate sense of propriety prevented him from committing any solecism in good manners. Sims and Dicky Glover stood together.