The Loss of the Royal George | Page 3

must out with it. We have not lost many men, but
one has gone who was worth a dozen of the best; the Frenchman's
round shot coming aboard took off his head, and deprived you of your
father and us of our bo'sun."
"Do you mean to say that father's killed?" I asked in a trembling voice,
unable to believe the fact.
"Yes, boy, he has sounded his last pipe; we shall no more hear his voice
rousing up all hands, or hailing the maintop; but he died doing his duty.
We could have better spared a worse man, but there is no help for it and
so, Ben, don't pipe your eye."
Notwithstanding Jerry's exhortations, I did, however, cry heartily as I
lay in my hammock; and even the other boys respected my sorrow,
though it did not last long, I must confess.
The next day was an exciting one. As the morning broke, we saw our
prize on shore, and another French ship at anchor dismasted; she, on
seeing us, also ran on shore; when the Essex, a sixty-four, being sent in
to take possession of her, was also wrecked; while another ship, the
Resolution, seventy-four, was discovered on the rocks, the sea beating
over her; and, before assistance could be sent, most of her gallant crew
had perished. We succeeded, however, in burning the two French ships;
but others, which were almost falling into our hands, by heaving their
guns overboard, managed to escape up the river, where we could not
follow.
"Although we have gained the victory, I do not see that we have gained
much else for our trouble," observed Jerry, who was a philosopher in
his way. "We have, you see, destroyed four French ships, and sent
well-nigh two thousand Frenchmen, more or less, out of the world, but
then we have lost two of our own ships and some hundred British
seamen; and, worse than all, our brave bo'sun, your father."
The loss of my father was not to be repaired. I cannot say what might
have happened had he lived, but losing him I grew up from boy to man,
knocking about the world with many a chance of being knocked on the

head, and yet with not the slightest hope of ever treading the
quarter-deck as an officer--not that I ever thought about that. Jerry
proved my firm friend. Though fond of his grog, for my sake he kept
sober, that he might better look after me.
"Your father, Ben, lent me a helping hand when I had not a shot in the
locker and was well-nigh starving, and it's my duty to help you; and so
I will, boy, as long as I can keep my fiddle-stick moving, and get a
crust to put into my mouth."
Jerry did me an essential service, for having seen better days he had got
some learning, which was more than most men in the ship possessed,
and he taught me to read and write, of which I knew nothing when I
came to sea. Even my father, though boatswain of a line-of-battle ship,
had not been much of a scholar. However, I am not now going to write
about myself or my own adventures. When the ship was paid off, as my
poor mother could not support me, and I had no fancy for any other
calling, I went to sea again with Jerry, who got the rating of cook's
mate on board the Thunderer, seventy-four.
I was now a stout lad, and could stand to my gun or handle a cutlass as
well as any man. We were stationed off Cadiz, with three other smaller
vessels, looking out for a French squadron expected to sail for that port.
Being driven off the coast by bad weather, on our return we found that
the Frenchmen had slipped out, so away we went under all the canvas
we could set in pursuit. We had come in sight of the Achille, a
sixty-four gun ship, and, soon getting up with her, we opened our
broadside, receiving a pretty hot fire from her in return. We were
blazing away at each other, when a noise louder than all our guns
together sounded in my ears, and I felt myself lifted off my legs and
shot along the deck. For the moment I thought the world had come to
an end, or that the ship had blown up. On opening my eyes, I caught
sight of a number of dead and wounded men lying around me, and the
after-part of the ship in flames. Among them, seeing Jerry, I picked
myself up and ran to him.
"Are you killed, Jerry?" I asked.

"No, it's only my wooden leg knocked away," he answered. "Just get
me a mop-stick, or bit