CHAPTER IX.

DICKY ENLISTS.

A time came, though, when Newport was evacuated by the British—and on that glorious day there were no happier souls than Dicky Stubbs and Jack Bell. Among the great events was the sailing in to Newport of the small squadron which made the beginning of the American navy. To Jack Bell’s patriotic eyes they were the handsomest ships he had ever seen in his life.

Jack and Dicky stood on the highest point of the rocky shores of Newport and watched with rapture the coming of the little squadron of five vessels which, though small and lightly armed, were yet to give a noble account of themselves.

“Boy!” shouted Jack Bell as he gripped Dicky by the collar, “d’ye see them ships? They ain’t big, and they ain’t got nothin’ in ’em heavier ’n a twelve pounder—but they’ve got hearts of oak—and let me tell you, boy, it’s the kind of heart you’ve got, as mostly settles whether you’re goin’ to take a lickin’ or give one, in a fight.”

Dicky showed his appreciation of this sentiment by bawling out “Hooray!” as loud as he could—but as he had been “hooraying” pretty steadily for forty-eight hours past, his voice was somewhat cracked. Dicky, however, was still capable of making a good deal of patriotic noise.

The shores were black with shouting crowds, and the American sailors and soldiers received a greeting that made them sure of their welcome. Dicky ran about all day long, sang all his rebel songs to listening crowds, and refused to accept a penny for his singing. At night when he reached home, tired, hungry, sleepy, and hoarse, but perfectly happy, he said to his mother as he marched in: “Mammy, I ain’t got any money for you—I couldn’t take it on a day like this—and I’ve sung the Bunker Hill song and the General Prescott song and all the patriotic songs I know—and I never had such a good time in my life!”

“I know it, my boy,” said the Widow Stubbs, “and I’m glad you didn’t take any money for singing on this glorious day.”

The very next morning the inevitable occurred. Dicky announced that he meant to enlist as a seaman apprentice in the American navy. His mother turned a little pale but said no word. She was a brave woman and a sensible one, too; and she saw that Dicky’s taste for a sea life was so strong that, if balked of it, he would probably never be of much account in any other calling. Jack Bell gave him one of those friendly thwacks that almost knocked him down.

“Right, youngster,” said he. “The navy’s the place for a lad as wants to make his forting. I don’t mean a forting in money—there’s fortings and fortings; I means in carackter, and bein’ stiddy and faithful, and in havin’ lashin’s o’ fun when your cruise is up.”

“But I thought,” said the Widow Stubbs timidly, “there were some hard characters in the navy, Mr. Bell?”

“Mighty few—mighty few,” answered Jack, shaking his head gravely. “When a landsman and a sailor man gits to fightin’, it’s allus the landsman’s fault. And if it warn’t for them meddlesome marines, the sailor men never would git into no trouble. But all the wuthless rapscallions in creation is arter sailor men—and if they warn’t jest as stiddy and k’rect as they can be, ’taint no tellin’ the mischief they’d git into. There ain’t no peaceabler folks in the world nor sailor men, if they is jest let alone and ain’t balked of their will.”

The Widow Stubbs thought this was true of some other people besides sailor men.

Among the small American squadron, the Raleigh, a smart little frigate armed with twelve pounders, was easily the best; and Jack Bell, having examined her all over, determined that Dicky should enlist on her. No bright, capable boy was likely to be refused, and Captain Thompson, her commander, would have been glad to get Jack Bell, too, of whom he had heard something. The day that Jack took Dicky aboard, to enlist him, Captain Thompson asked to have the old sailor sent down in the cabin. Jack went down and found a very dashing young continental officer, proud of his ship and anxious to do something for his country.

“Well, my man,” said he to Jack; “I have had the lad you brought aboard put on the ship’s books, and I would like very much to have you, too. I know all about you, and such a man is valuable among the foremast people.”

“And I’d like mightily to come, sir,” answered Jack respectfully, “but I was give my choice, by Cap’n Forrester of the Diomede frigate, of promisin’ I wouldn’t enlist or of bein’ h’isted up at the yardarm. You see, sir,” continued Jack, coming a little nearer and putting on a knowing look which Captain Thompson understood perfectly well. “Cap’n Forrester had got it into his head that I were one Jack Bell who sarved forty year in the British navy. But when the war broke out, that there Jack Bell thought as how he’d be a villian to fight ag’in his own country, so he up and deserted. Now, sir, supposin’ Cap’n Forrester had said I were that man? Why, sir, ’twouldn’t ha’ taken a court martial two hours to string me up at the yardarm. So Cap’n Forrester said as how he wouldn’t mention his suspicions to nobody, if I’d promise him I wouldn’t enlist in the American army, navy, or marine corps—and as you see, sir, not bein’ a officer, the only thing for me to do was to promise—so that’s how it lays.”

“I understand,” answered Captain Thompson. “Nothing else could be expected of you; but I am sorry. You can assist me though by bringing me recruits,—men that you know are steady and reliable,—and in that way you may be of almost as much use to me as if you were on the ship.”

“Thankee, sir; I’ll do it,” responded Jack with alacrity. Meanwhile Dicky had been inducted into the fok’sle as drummer boy and helper to the Jack o’ the dust. He found plenty of work to do, and a boatswain’s mate after him to see it well done; and the fare was hard and the pay small. But Dicky was like everybody who has found his real place in life, perfectly satisfied. Every day Jack Bell came on board to see him, and every day Dicky saw that the old sailor became more and more despondent because he, too, could not serve his country. One day after Jack had very dolefully left the ship, Jenkins, the boatswain’s mate on board, said:—

“If this was England now, we could send out a press gang and get that man.”

Now, Dicky knew very well what a press gang was—a body of sailors who went ashore at night with an officer and authority to seize and press men into the naval service. This set Dicky to thinking, and he began to wonder if Jack would not be very well pleased if he were seized and forcibly taken on board the Raleigh and made to work and fight. The very next night Dicky got his first liberty on shore, and going to his mother’s cottage found Jack there, as usual, smoking his pipe.

The Widow Stubbs was delighted to see her boy, and he looked so clean and smart and bright in his sailor’s rig that she could not but see that he had improved in the little while that he had been aboard ship. Jack showed his usual interest in everything that happened on the Raleigh, but Dicky saw that the old sailor was much depressed.

“Mr. Bell,” said Dicky after a while, “Mr. Jenkins, the boatswain’s mate, says, as if there was a press gang ’lowed in the American navy, we could get some mighty good men; we’d like to have—you, sir, for one.”

Jack shook his head forlornly.

“There ain’t no press gang, more’s the pity. If there was, and they knowed there was a able-bodied sailor man like me ’round about, I’d ha’ been nabbed long ago; and Cap’n Forrester couldn’t say as how I’d broke my word when I was took by force aboard a American ship and made to jine.”

“Well,” persisted Dicky, “would you be glad or sorry if there was a press gang and you was took?”

“Boy,” said Jack sorrowfully, “you’re axin’ me a mighty foolish question. In course I’d be glad. I’d run the risk of bein’ swung up if we was captured and I was found out—but there ain’t no chance at all. I’ve give my word to Cap’n Forrester, an’ I can’t break it; and it ain’t likely that I’ll be lucky enough to be took by force.”

Dicky said no more, but an idea had evidently taken possession of his mind. His eyes began to sparkle, he whispered to himself as he sat in the chimney corner, and his mother saw that something was up. Jack Bell saw nothing, but sat and smoked gloomily. The widow gave Dicky a good supper, and a basket of apples to take on board with him; and about eight o’clock he started to leave. He motioned to his mother to come outside with him when he left.

“Mammy,” said he, “don’t you be scared if a gang from the Raleigh busts in on you some night. I won’t tell you what it’s for, but you needn’t think I’ve been in any harm; so just don’t you be scared about me;” and without another word Dicky dashed down the rocky path to where he was to meet the boat.

Next day, after the men had had their morning exercise, Dicky went and stood by the mast as he had seen men do who wished to speak to the officer of the deck. The officer, Lieutenant Dobell, advanced to speak with him. Dicky had rehearsed exactly what he meant to say to the lieutenant, but when he was actually to say it, his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. At last, though with much stammering and stuttering, he managed to get out that “Mr. Bell could be took.” At first Mr. Dobell could not make head or tail of Dicky’s meaning, but in a little while it was cleared up. Mr. Dobell, too, had heard of Jack Bell, and the idea of having such a steady, reliable man-o’-war’s-man on board was very agreeable to him. He merely told Dicky, though, to say nothing of what he had told, and he would think over the matter.