“Look here, mates; is this what those frog-eating Johnny Crapauds call fighting?” exclaimed Paul Pringle, pointing to de Guichen’s distant line, firing away at the main body of the British fleet. “Unless fellows are inclined to lay alongside each other, yardarm to yardarm, and have it out like brave men, to my mind they had better stay ashore and leave fighting alone.”
The sentiment was echoed heartily by all his hearers, and more particularly so, when in a short time the whole French fleet was seen fairly to take to flight, and, under a press of sail, to stand to the northward. The British fleet continued all the next day in chase; but, on the morning of the 21st, not a Frenchman was to be seen; and as many of the ships had suffered severely in these partial actions, and were much knocked about by long service, Admiral Rodney stood for Barbadoes, where they might undergo the required repairs. They arrived on the 22nd in Carlisle Bay.
It was not for some time that the crew of the Terrible had a moment to think of anything but the stern calls of duty. At last, however, the old ship was once more ready for sea, and then one spoke to the other about little Billy True Blue, and their promise to Will Freeborn; and it was agreed that an assemblage of the whole ship’s company should be held, to decide the course to be pursued for his rearing and education. The forecastle, or, as seamen call it, “the fo’c’s’l,” was the place selected for the meeting. Tom Snell, the boatswain’s mate, Sergeant Bolton, Peter Ogle, Abel Bush, Paul Pringle, of course, the three godfathers’ mates, and most of the petty officers, spoke on this important occasion. Sam Smatch would have been there, but he had to look after the baby in the cabin; he had, however, explained his opinion, and claimed the right of voting by proxy; which claim was fully allowed, seeing that he was absent on the public service. The warrant-officers were not present—not that they did not take a warm interest in the matter, but they did not wish to interfere with the free discussion in which the men might wish to indulge. Sergeant Bolton, however, came, and it was understood that he knew their feelings in all the important points likely to be broached. His rank might have kept him away, but he was present, because, as he said, “I ham, de ye see, the hinconsolable widower of Nancy Bolton, the hintfant’s nurse, and how do ye think hany one can have more hinterest in the hangel than I?”
Tom Snell was looked upon as a great orator; not the less so that he often enforced his arguments with a rope’s end.
“Mates,” said he, rising, when all the men were assembled, perched about in every available spot and in every possible attitude, and he brought one clenched fist down on the other open palm, with a sound which echoed along the decks, “this is how the case stands, d’ye see. There’s a baby born aboard this here ship, and that baby had a mother, a good real shipshape woman, who was as kind a nurse to all on us as was sick as could be. Well, I won’t talk on her; she dies, and two other women acts as nurses to the baby; they were good women too, but I won’t talk on them.” Tom passed the hairy back of his rough hand across his eyes, and continued: “Now the baby fell to the natural care like of his daddy, a true-hearted honest sailor as ever stepped. He’d have done honestly by him, and brought him up as a right real seaman, there’s no doubt; but, d’ye see, as ye know, mates all, a sneaking Frenchman’s round-shot comes aboard us and strikes him between wind and water, so to speak, and pretty nigh cuts him in two. Before he slipped his cable, many on you who stood near knows what he said to us. He told us that he gave the baby to the ship’s company—to look after—to be brought up as a seaman should be brought up. One and all on us would do the same and much more, as I know, for little True Blue, seeing as how he naturally-like belongs to us—ay, mates, and we would be ready to fight for him to the last; and if there was one thing would make us keep our colours flying to the last, it would be to prevent him falling into the enemy’s hands, to be brought up as a capering, frog-eating Frenchman. But, mates, d’ye see, this would be very well if we could all stick together aboard the same ship, and for his sake I knows we’d try to do it; but, as you knows, there are the chances of war—we may be separated—one may go to one ship, one may go to another, and who is he to go with, I should like to know? Now I don’t want that any on us should lose the pleasure and honour of looking after him, that I don’t—I’d scorn to be so unjust to any one; but we wants to settle when the evil time arrives when we, who has served together so long, and fought together, and stuck together like brothers and true seamen should, comes to be scattered, who the little chap, Billy True Blue, is to go with—that’s the point, mates, d’ye see? He can’t go with us all. He must be with some one on us, the primest seaman, too, who’ll teach him to knot and splice, to hand-reef and steer, and all the ways of a seaman. That’s what we has to do. We can’t teach him much yet, you’ll all allow, and the Captain says as how he’ll give nine dozen to any man as puts a quid of baccy in the younker’s mouth; so we can’t even learn him to chaw yet, which to my mind he’d do better nor anything else, as he’s most practice with his jaws just yet; but the time will come when he can use his fists, too, and the sooner he gets ’em into the tar-bucket the better, says I.” This opinion was loudly applauded by all present.
Tom made some further remarks to the same effect. “And now,” he concluded, “any one on you who has got anything for to say for or again’ what I’ve been a-saying, let him stand up on his legs and say it out like a man.”
Bill Tompion, one of the gunner’s crew, thereon arose with a sudden spring, and, having squirted a stream of tobacco juice through a port, exclaimed:
“What Tom says is all very true. No one here nor there will want to deny it; but what I axes is, who’s to have charge of the younker? That’s what I see we wants to settle. When I fires my gun, I doesn’t blaze away at the air, but looks along it and sees what I’m going to fire at, and takes my aim; and, d’ye see, if it’s an enemy’s ship not far off, I generally hits, too. Now that’s just as I was saying, mates, what we have to do. We wants to fix on fit and proper persons to look after our little chap aboard here,—the ship’s own child, I may say,—to see that he gets into no mischief, and to bring him up as a seaman should be brought up. Now I’d like to be one on those to look after him, and Tom would like to be one, and many on us would like to have the work, and most of us, ay, and all of us,” (there was a general cheer); “but, mates, it isn’t the men who’d like it most, but the men who is most fit, d’ye see, we are bound to choose. Now I speak for myself. I’m a thoughtless, careless sailor—I’ve run my head into more scrapes than I’d like to own. I’m very well afloat, but ashore I wouldn’t like to have on my conscience to have charge of that young chap, d’ye see; and as for Tom Snell, he’ll speak for himself. Betty Snell kept him straight, there’s no doubt of it; but now she’s gone, poor Tom’s all adrift again, and it’s just a chance if he goes for to splice once more, what sort of a wife he’ll pick up. Therefore, says I, neither Tom nor I’m the best man to look after Billy True Blue. But, mates,” (here Tompion stopped and struck his hands together), “I does say that I thinks I knows who is a good man, a fit man, and a friend and messmate of Will Freeborn, and that man is Paul Pringle. He’s what the parsons calls a godfather, and so I take it he’s a sort of a guardian like already, and he’s had charge of the little chap ever since poor Betty and Nancy lost the number of their mess; and if Paul will take charge, and I’m sure he will, I says, ‘Let him be one of the guardians.’”
Paul rose. “Mates all,” said he, giving a hitch to his waistband, “I thanks ye. Don’t you think as long as body and soul keep together I’d look after little Billy True Blue, who was born aboard this ship, whose father and mother was my friends, and who, I may say, is just like a son to me? I know you all sees this; but, mates, I may any day slip my cable, as you and all of us may do, but still one man’s life is not so good as three, and therefore, I says, let me have his father’s friends and messmates, Peter Ogle and Abel Bush, two good men and thorough seamen, to help me; and I can say that I believe one and all of us will do our duty by the boy—we’ll not fail to do our best to make him an honest man and a true sailor.”
There were no dissentient voices to Paul’s proposal. Never was a meeting for any subject held with so much unanimity. The three godfathers’ mates were chosen as their assistant-guardians, and thus, as far as numbers could ensure care, little True Blue had every chance of being well looked after.