Paul Gerrard | Page 5

as a
midshipman on the quarter-deck. His uniform with brass buttons, his
dirk and gold-laced hat, lay on a table before him, with a bright
quadrant and spy-glass; and there was his sea-chest ready to be filled
with his new wardrobe, and all sorts of little comforts which a fond
mother and sisters were likely to have prepared for him. He heard the
congratulations of friends, and the prophecies that he would some day
emulate the deeds of England's greatest naval heroes. He dreamed on
thus till the late events of his life again came into his thoughts, and he
recollected that it was not his own, but the outfit of another lad about to
go to sea which he had long ago inspected with such interest, and at
length the poor ship-boy was awakened to the stern reality of his
present condition by the hoarse voice of a boatswain's mate summoning
all hands on deck. Paul felt so sea-sick and so utterly miserable that he
thought that he would rather die where he lay in his hammock than turn
out and dress. The ship was tumbling about more violently than ever;
the noise was terrific; the loud voices of the men giving utterance to
coarse oaths as they awoke from their sleep; their shouts and cries; the
roaring of the wind as it found its way through the open hatches down
below; the rattling of the blocks; the creaking of timbers and bulkheads,
and the crash of the sea against the sides of the ship, made Paul
suppose that she was about to sink into the depths of the ocean. "I'll die
where I am," he thought to himself. "Oh, my dear mother and sisters, I
shall never see you more!" But at that instant a kick and a blow
inflicted by Sam Coulson, one of the boatswain's mates, made him
spring up.
"What, skulking already, you young hedgehog," exclaimed the man;
"on deck with your or your shoulders shall feel a taste of my colt."
Although Paul was as quick in his movements as his weak state would
allow, a shower of blows descended on his back, which brought him on
his knees, when, ordering him to pick himself up and follow, on pain of
a further dose of the colt, Sam Coulson passed on. The sharp tattoo of a
drum beaten rapidly sounded at the same time through the ship; but
what it signified Paul in his ignorance could not tell, nor was there any
one near him to ask. Bewildered and unable to see in the darkness, he

tried in vain to gain the hatchway. He groped his way aft as fast as he
could, for fear of encountering the boatswain's mate. "If the ship sinks I
must go down with her; but anything is better than meeting him," he
thought to himself. "Besides, I cannot be worse off than those on deck,
I should think."
He worked his way aft till he found himself near the midshipmen's
chests; there was a snug place between two of them in which he had
more than once before ensconced himself when waiting to be
summoned by his masters. "Here I'll wait till I find out what is
happening," he said to himself as he sank down into the corner. The din
continued, the frigate tumbled about as much as before, but he was very
weary, and before long he forgot where he was, and fell fast asleep.
He was at length awoke by a crashing sound, as if the timbers were
being rent apart. What could it be? He started up, scarcely knowing
where he was. Had the ship struck on a rock, or could she be going
down? There was then a loud report; another and another followed. The
reports became louder; they were directly over his head. The main-deck
guns were being fired. The ship must be engaged with an enemy, there
could be no doubt about that. The light from a ship's lantern fell on the
spot where he lay. The gunner and his crew were descending to the
magazine. His duty he had been told would be in action to carry up
powder to the crew; he ought to arouse himself. The surgeon and his
assistants now came below to prepare the cockpit for the reception of
the wounded. More lights appeared. The carpenter and his crew were
going their rounds through the wings. Men were descending and
ascending, carrying up shot from the lockers below. All were too busy
to discover Paul. The sea had by this time gone down, and the ship was
less tumbled about than before. Sleep, too, had somewhat restored his
strength, and with it his spirits and courage.
"What am I about, skulking here? I ought to be ashamed