Something was said about free use of money in the service of His
Majesty, but not a penny was sent to begin upon. But Admiral Darling
carried out his orders, as if he had received them framed in gold. "They
are pretty sure to pay me in the end," he said; "and if they don't, it
won't break me. I would give 500 pounds on my own account, to carry
that corvette to Spithead. And it would be the making of Scudamore, who
reminds me of his father more and more, every time I come across him."
The fleet under Captain Tugwell had quite lately fallen off from seven
to five, through the fierce patriotism of some younger members, and
their sanguine belief in bounty-money. Captain Zeb had presented them
with his experience in a long harangue--nearly fifty words long--and
they looked as if they were convinced by it. However, in the morning
they were gone, having mostly had tiffs with their sweethearts--which
are fervent incentives to patriotism--and they chartered themselves,
and their boats were numbered for the service of their Country. They had
done their work well, because they had none to do, except to draw small
wages, and they found themselves qualified now for more money, and came
home at the earliest chance of it.
Two guineas a day for each smack and four hands, were the terms
offered by the Admiral, whose hard-working conscience was twitched into
herring-bones by the strife between native land and native spot.
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