Chapter 8 | The Powder Monkey

It was about a fortnight after the Victory had returned to port, that a lady in deep mourning came off in a shore boat asking for the captain, but in his absence having to see the first lieutenant instead.

This officer listened to her rather impatiently at first; but after a minute or two he began to take a good deal of interest in the statement she made.

“Oh, yes,” he said, at last; “we have such a boy on board. He came with one of the men who were pressed; but it was just at a time when everyone’s attention was taken up by our sailing. There was some talk of the little fellow having been left an orphan and then being so ill-used that he ran away. Was this so, madam?”

“There is, I am sorry to say, a good deal of truth in it, for though well-meaning, my brother was so stern and harsh that the poor little fellow was afraid of him, and took that very foolish step. It was long enough before I was able to trace him, and found the woman who kept the inn from which he was taken.”

“And now, madam,” said the first lieutenant, “I presume that your visit means that you have come to claim the boy?”

“Oh, yes,” cried the lady, eagerly. “He is my little nephew, my dear dead brother’s child.”

“Exactly; but he is quite happy and settled down with our men, and I don’t know that we should be justified in giving him up.”

“You don’t mean,” cried the lady, indignantly, “that you would keep him here to become a common sailor?”

“I beg your pardon, madam,” said the officer, stiffly, “but I was not aware that there was anything common about a sailor.”

“Oh, I did not mean that,” said the lady, flushing.

“And what is more, I feel sure that our captain would not allow our little powder monkey—”

“Powder monkey!” cried the lady, aghast.

“Only a sailor’s playful term, madam,” said the lieutenant. “I say our captain would not give up our brave little fellow to go back to a life of ill-treatment.”

“He would come back to no ill-treatment,” cried the lady, with the tears brimming in her eyes. “I love my dead brother’s son. He would be with me, as his father expressly desired in his will. My other brother would have nothing whatever to do with him. Pray, pray let me see the little fellow, and I can prove to you that he would be happy.”

“Oh, he is no prisoner, madam,” said the lieutenant. “Will you come with me? You will find him doing duty in what we term the sick bay—the infirmary—where are several of our wounded men.”

The lady uttered a faint sob, and looking more and more troubled, suffered herself to be led to where poor Jack Jeens, looking very white and thin, lay back close to an open port-hole, listening to something Phil was reading from a book.

Unseen at first, the visitor stopped short, gazing wonderingly at her little nephew neatly rigged up in nautical style, bending over the book he held, and evidently enjoying his task.

“Phil!” whispered the lady; but the boy did not look up, only went on reading.

But Jack Jeens heard, and he started where he lay, guessed the object of the visit, and stretched out a hand to seize the boy.

“I’m not tired, Jack,” cried Phil. “I can go on reading for—O, Auntie!” he shouted joyously, and dropping the book as he sprang up, he bounded into the lady’s arms, to begin kissing her passionately again and again.

“Phil—my darling!” she sobbed. “Have I found you again?”

“Yes, Auntie dear,” cried the little fellow, “but—” He struggled from her embrace and darted behind Jack Jeens, gazing wildly around.

“Is Uncle there?” he whispered, hoarsely.

“No, my boy; he has gone, and you will not see him again.”

“Ah,” cried Phil; “and have you come to fetch me home?”

“My darling, yes,” cried the visitor, and as the boy sprang to her arms again she held him tightly to her breast and turned proudly upon the lieutenant. “Now, sir,” she cried, “do you think he will be ill-used?”

“I am satisfied, madam,” said the officer, smiling. “So, then, we are to lose our little powder monkey? You are going away, then, sir?”

“Yes,” cried the boy, eagerly; “along with Auntie. No,” he cried, excitedly—“no! I can’t go and leave poor Jack. Auntie, dear, oh, he has been so good to me, you don’t know. No, I can’t come away now. Besides, they wouldn’t let me come. I’m a sailor, serving the King. But I’ll come sometimes and see you.”

“O, Phil, my darling!” sobbed his aunt.

“You don’t know what he has done for me. No, Jack, I won’t go away now you’re so weak and ill.”

“Weak—ill—with wounds?” cried Phil’s aunt eagerly, as she turned to the lieutenant.

“Yes, madam; one of our brave seamen, badly wounded at Trafalgar.”

“But ought he not to be ashore where he could be properly nursed?” cried Phil’s aunt.

“I nurse him,” said Phil, proudly, “and feed him too. He can’t use his arms, Auntie.”

“Then why not bring him home, Phil, dear, where he could be well nursed back to health, and then—”

That was the way it was settled, for an hour later Jack Jeens was being carefully slung down into the gig and then rowed ashore, while as Phil, after his aunt had taken her place, slid down one of the falls to join them, pretty well the whole crew was on deck to cheer the powder monkey till he was out of sight.

Years passed before Phil stepped on board a King’s ship again, and then it was in the uniform of a middy—the middy of one of the smartest frigates in the Navy.

“Yes, Master Phil, sir, the very smartest frigate in the sarvice, and I’m glad to welcome you aboard, and so’s all the crew. I’m bo’sun, sir, and I’ve told all the lads how you and me served the King under Admiral Lord Nelson at Traffle-gar.”