Chapter 2 | The Powder Monkey

Jack Jeens and his young companion started up, sitting upon the floor, and both confused and wondering.

“Hillo!” ejaculated Jack.

“What’s that?” said the boy, who could not tell where he was, while at that moment the window was pushed up a little and the voice of a man said softly:

“There’s a ladder here. Quick, run for it! The pressgang!”

“Eh, what? Where?” growled the sailor, excitedly. “Bring a light? Where’s the light?”

He knew the next moment, for the door was burst open with a crash and a party of men headed by an officer in uniform rushed into the room, filling it with light, for three of them bore ship’s lanthorns, and Jack found that the warning had come too late, for he was seized by three men before he could even think of resisting, and held tightly with his back to the wall. “Only one, my lads?” cried the officer.

“Not sure yet, sir,” replied one of the men, who ducked down to bring the light of the lanthorn he carried beneath the bed, while another of the party examined the cupboard, and a companion peeped up the chimney.

“No, sir; only one, sir,” said a man who seemed to be a warrant officer; “but here’s a nipper on the bed.”

“I thought there had been more,” said the leader. “Now, then, my lad,” he continued, to the sailor, “it’s of no use to kick against it. How many mates had you with you?”

“Ne’er a one,” growled Jack, surlily. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough. Come along. Mind you don’t lose him, my lads.”

“Never fear, sir,” came in chorus, while the boy upon seeing that his new friend was in trouble slipped off the bed, ran to Jack’s side, and grasped his hand tightly.

“You can’t press me,” cried Jack, now growing angry, and, as if obeying an instinct which made him feel it to be his duty to protect the boy, drawing him close to his side.

“Can’t we, my lad?” said the officer, laughing. “Why, we have pressed you.”

“But I belong to a schooner in the bay,” cried Jack.

“You belong to the King now, my lad.”

Jack Jeens glanced wildly at the speaker and then at the open window, where a face was seen dimly for a moment or two by the light shed by the lanthorns; and the next moment he would have flung off the men who held his arms to right and left, and rushing to the opening, have sprung out. But somehow at that moment the tight grasp of his young companion had the effect of making him feel that he could not leave the little fellow who had so strongly appealed to his better feelings, and he stood fast.

The next moment the chance was gone, for one of the gang ran to the window, shut it down with a bang, and fastened it securely.

“There, bring them along, my lads,” said the leader, and just then the man who seemed to be a warrant officer whispered something.

“Eh? What? No, he’s too little.”

“Powder monkey, sir; and he’ll grow.”

“To be sure. Of course,” cried the officer; “and it’s two instead of one. Bring him along.”

“Here, what yer going to do?” cried Jack, excitedly. “You mustn’t touch this boy; he’s—”

“That’ll do!” roared the officer, and at a sign from him a couple of the gang made a dash at the little fellow to separate them; but at the first touch the boy uttered a wild cry and clung tightly to his protector, who made a desperate effort to defend him, shouting the while for the landlady to come and take the little fellow.

But it was all in vain: Jack and his young companion were torn apart, hurried down the stairs and out on to the Strand, and a few minutes later the boy was set at liberty, to spring to Jack’s side, panting with excitement as he clung to him tightly; but it was with the water rippling and pattering against the bows of the boat which was being rowed rapidly out of the harbour towards the bay. Not long after, as the coxswain’s boat-hook caught a ring, the boat glided against the towering side of a great line of battleship, and the two prisoners were hurried up on deck, and Jack Jeens in spite of all protestations was made one of the crew of HMS Victory, and his little companion, the youngest boy on board, without a chance of setting foot ashore again.

For at sunrise the sails were shaken out, and the great man-of-war with its tiers of guns was soon after leading the way down Channel in search of England’s enemies, followed by the British Fleet, while the news that the fleet was commanded by Admiral Nelson seemed to Jack Jeens and the little fellow with whom he had become so strangely associated only so many empty words.