And It Sometimes Happened That We Youngsters Had A Long Chase
In A Cutter To Overhaul Them.
This meant getting back to a
nine or ten o'clock breakfast at the end of the morning's
watch; equivalent to five or six hours' duty on an empty
stomach.
One cold morning I had a hard job to stop a small junk. The
men were sweating at their oars like galley slaves, and
muttering curses at the apparent futility of their labour. I
had fired a couple of shots from a 'brown Bess' - the musket
of the day - through the fugitive's sails; and fearing
punishment if I let her escape, I next aimed at the boat
herself. Down came the mainsail in a crack. When I boarded
our capture, I found I had put a bullet through the thigh of
the man at the tiller. Boys are not much troubled with
scruples about bloodguiltiness, and not unfrequently are very
cruel, for cruelty as a rule (with exceptions) mostly
proceeds from thoughtlessness. But when I realised what I
had done, and heard the wretched man groan, I was seized with
remorse for what, at a more hardened stage, I should have
excused on the score of duty.
It was during this blockade that the accident, which I have
already alluded to, befell my dear protector, Jack Johnson.
One night, during his and my middle watch, the forecastle
sentries hailed a large sampan, like a Thames barge, drifting
down stream and threatening to foul us.
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