Followed by a collection of men, women, and boys, still shouting and hurling abuse at them, the press-gang, moving on, at length reached the boats. Ralph and Dick were among the first not over gently hauled on board; the rest of the captives were as quickly as possible shoved in after them; a strong party of the press-gang remaining on shore to keep back the mob, which seemed inclined to make a rush at the last, for the purpose of rescuing some of their friends. Their courage, however, failed them. The last of the man-of-war’s men leaped on board, the order to shove off was given, and the boats proceeded down the Sound, followed by the yells and execrations of the people on shore.
“They’ll hurt their own throats more than they do us,” observed an old seaman who was pulling at the thwart on which Ralph and Dick sat. “It’s hard lines, though, you think, for yourselves, mates, I dare say; but before long you’ll be used to a life aboard a man-of-war, and be as ready to press others as we were to press you.”
“Justice is justice; and I shall never think it right to press men against their will,” answered Ralph. “I, however, hope to be free to-morrow, as I have a protection which will be brought on board to me.”
“Don’t count too much on that, mate,” said the old sailor; “when they’ve got a man, they’re not in a mind to let him go. It’s wisest to make the best of a bad job, and that’s what I advise you to do, my hearty.”
“If I had only myself to think of, I would,” said Ralph, liking the tone of the old sailor’s voice; “but I was to be married next week, and it’s bitter hard to be parted from the girl one loves, and harder for her.” Ralph’s voice trembled as he spoke.
“Ay, mate, hard, very hard!” answered the old sailor, in a sympathising tone; “I know what it is. I was pressed the very day I had married as sweet a young girl, and as good too, as an honest man would wish to have for his wife. I had five years of it out round the Cape without ever hearing a word of her, but I knew she would be true to me, and that kept my heart up. I got home at last, with plenty of prize-money to set up house, but she was gone. They showed me her grave. It might have been worse—I know that—still it seemed as if the life had been crushed out of me. I left my money with her childless mother, and volunteered aboard the first ship I heard of fitting out for a foreign station. From that day to this I’ve been at sea, turned over from one ship to another, and never saved a sixpence. I wish I had. I’d have got your discharge, that I would, if money could have done it.”
“Thank ye, from the bottom of my heart, old friend,” said Ralph, warmly. “Maybe I shall get my protection paper in time, and be set free.”
“Wish I could say I thought so. But you’ll know at least that there’s one aboard the Falcon who can feel for you, and that’s something; ay, and will stand your friend if there’s a chance. Cheer up! Cheer up! Here we are, close alongside the frigate.”
The pressed men, with Ralph and Dick among them, were sent down to the lower deck, and placed under charge of a sentry. They were allowed to stretch themselves on (as Dick, while bemoaning his fate, remarked) “the softest planks they could find,” for the remainder of the night.
It seemed but a moment after Ralph had at length fallen asleep, that he heard the boatswain’s shrill whistle and the deep rough voices of his mates rousing up all hands, while the pale light of early morning streamed down through the hatchways. The next cry which reached him was, “Hands aloft; loose sails.” Other orders were issued; he knew too well their meaning; preparations were being made for immediately putting to sea.