“I thank you, Jerry, for your good wishes,” I put in. “It cannot be, you see. I wish I could get away from the ship; but until I am paid off, and properly discharged, though I was pressed, I am bound to remain; so if you care for me, do not say anything more on the subject.”
“Well, well, if it must be, so it must,” answered Jerry with a deep sigh. “Some people’s notions ain’t like other people’s notions, that’s all I’ve got to say; and now I think it’s time for me to be tripping my anchor.”
“No, no, not until you have wetted your whistle,” said Uncle Kelson, beginning to mix a glass of grog.
The old man’s eyes glistened as he resumed his seat, replacing his hat under the chair; and putting his hand out to take the tumbler which my uncle pushed towards him across the table, and sipping it slowly, he looked up and said:
“I forgot to tell you that Sir Edward Pellew, as we must now call him since he got the sword laid across his shoulders by the king, has been appointed to the command of the Arethusa, a fine new frigate which will make a name for herself, if I mistake not, as the old one did. You remember her, cap’en, don’t you! It was her they writ the song about,” and he began singing:—
“Come all ye jolly sailors bold
Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould,
While English glory I unfold:
Huzza! to the Arethusa;
She is a frigate tight and brave
As ever stemmed the dashing wave,
Her men are staunch to their fav’rite launch.
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike, we’ll all expire
On board of the Arethusa!
“’Twas with the spring fleet she went out,
The English Channel to cruise about,
When four French sail, in show so stout,
Bore down on the Arethusa.
The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie,
The Arethusa seemed to fly,
Not a sheet or a tack or a brace did she slack,
Though the Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff,
But they knew not the handful of men how tough
On board of the Arethusa!
“On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance,
On board of the Arethusa!
Our captain hail’d the Frenchman, ‘Ho!’
The Frenchman then cried out ‘Hullo!’
‘Bear down, d’ye see, to our Admiral’s lee.’
‘No, no,’ says the Frenchman; ‘that can’t be.’
‘Then I must lug you along with me,’
Says the saucy Arethusa!
“The fight was off the Frenchman’s land.
We forced them back upon their strand,
For we fought till not a stick would stand
Of the gallant Arethusa.
And now we’ve driven the foe ashore,
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill a glass to his fav’rite lass,
A health to our captain and officers true,
And all who belong to the jovial crew
On board of the Arethusa!”
“I mind,” continued Jerry after another sip at his grog, “that she carried thirty-two guns, and was commanded by Captain Marshall. It was in the year 1778, just before the last war broke out. We hadn’t come to loggerheads with the mounseers, though we knew pretty well that it wouldn’t be long before we were that. We and two other frigates sailed down Channel with a fleet of twenty sail of the line under Admiral Keppel.
“When off the Lizard, on the 17th of June, we made out two frigates and a schooner to the southward. On seeing them, and guessing that they were French, the Admiral ordered us and the Milford to go in chase. The strangers separated, the Milford frigate and Hector, a seventy-four, following the other ship, which turned out to be the Licorne, and took her; while the Albert cutter pursued the schooner, and captured her by boarding after a sharp struggle. We meantime alone followed the other stranger, which was the French forty gun frigate Belle Poule.
“On getting within hailing distance, our captain, in the politest manner possible, invited the French captain to sail back with him to the English fleet.
“‘No, no,’ answered the French skipper, ‘that it cannot be, seeing I am bound elsewhere.’