“Better grin and bear it, Master Ben,” he said; “they’ll soon give up ill-treating you if you take it with good temper, and I should do more harm than good if I was to shove in my oar except at a favourable time; but I shall be on the watch, never fear, and I’ll take care matters don’t grow too bad.”
We followed Martin’s advice, and found it answer. The seamen of the frigate were a lawless and disorderly set, every sentence they uttered being accompanied by strange oaths, while below, when not asleep, they spent their time in dicing and gaming.
We found, I should have said, that we were on board the Charles frigate, Captain Blackleach, carrying one hundred and fifty men and thirty-two guns, one of Prince Rupert’s squadron, from which she had been separated while in chase of a trader the captain had hoped to capture, but which had escaped.
A bright look-out was now kept for the squadron, and for traders of all nations.
Our cruising ground was the mouth of the English Channel, where we lay in wait to pounce down upon any unwary vessel coming up with a rich cargo.
We were all three below, poor Dick by this time looking as black as a negro; he had unfortunately let it be known whose son he was, and consequently, I believe, got a double allowance of ill-treatment.
“All hands make sail!” was shouted, and we with the rest sprang on deck.
“Aloft, you youngsters!” cried the boatswain, looking at Lancelot and me.
We ran up the rigging to the fore-topgallant-yard, and with the aid of two other men let fall the sail which had been furled.
On looking ahead, we saw a large ship in the distance, for which the frigate was steering. The stranger held on her course, not apparently fearing us, though we had the Union Jack flying at the peak, while that of Holland fluttered at hers.