glory, taking merchantmen brought the larger profit.
Now, Captain James had no objection to prize-money; and for spending the largest amount in the shortest time, he might have been backed freely against any officer in H.M. service. Accordingly, he caught in a moment at the suggestion of the first lieutenant.
“If you think the corvette can catch them, you are quite welcome to try, but I cannot give you more than enough hands to sail her.”
“Weel, captain, if we just keep up the French flag till we are pretty close, I’ve nae doot when we show our own they’ll just streek without the firing a shot.”
And the canny Scot’s supposition proved perfectly correct. He sighted the chase early the next morning, and they very obligingly hove to for him to overtake them. When they perceived their error, it was too late to retrieve it. The three ships would have been more than a match for the corvette, manned as she was; but the sloop of war showed a clean pair of heels, and left the heavily-laden merchantmen to their fate.
They hauled down their flags, as a matter of course. After they had struck, the wary lieutenant ordered the greater part of their crews on board the corvette, and carefully stowed them away in irons below with the rest of the prisoners.
On the evening of the second day they overtook the tub and her great prize. Captain James had found great difficulty in keeping the latter afloat, and had been compelled to make the prisoners work at the pumps. But now the wind got round to the southward and westward, and enabled them all to reach Plymouth Sound in safety. A revenue cutter, who had spared them a few hands, acted as their herald, and the people flocked down in crowds to give the old tub and her four prizes a hearty welcome.
In the many long years of naval warfare which followed—in a thousand fights where the long odds lay against the British tar, the memory of Captain James and the old tub lit the road to victory, as the pointers guide the glance towards the polar star.
THE POLICEMAN.
HIS HEALTH.
Most of us have probably known some respectable working-class family, where it was the ambition of some spirited boy to get into the police-force in London or a large county town. It may not be very difficult to imagine the reasons which recommend that sort of engagement to youths who do not show the same eagerness to enter the army, though the qualifications requisite for the two services are nearly the same. In both, the men must enter young: they must be of a certain stature and bodily vigour: they must undergo examinations about their health: and they are understood to be possessed of a sort of combative energy, which relishes instead of shrinking from personal danger. There is also a degree of personal distinction belonging to both services which is naturally attractive to ambitious youths on their entrance upon life. The red-coated soldier, and the blue-coated policeman, pass along the street somewhat more proudly, and under more notice than the artisan in his apron and paper cap, or the labourer in fustian, or bearing the porter’s knot. If the men with the porter’s knot were inquired of, they would tell—very many of them—that they had been policemen: and so would the watchmen and porters who guard warehouses and halls of great mansions; and they might also inform us why young men had rather be in the police than in the army, and yet serve so much shorter a time in the one than the other.
The police bear a higher character for respectability than the soldiery. Some of my readers may be surprised at this: but it is certainly true, just in proportion to the knowledge of the two classes entertained by those who declare an opinion. No set of men in the world excels the British soldier in courage and patience, in spirit and patriotism, in attachment to worthy officers, and obedience to discipline: but when we come to speak of temperance, prudence, and personal self-respect, we find ourselves resting on the hope that the British soldier will do better in the future than hitherto. Some day I may go into the reasons which warrant such a hope, and explain how the soldier has been almost driven by mismanagement into intemperance, theft, and desertion; or rather, why thieves and drunkards and deserters have been tempted into the army instead of better men: but at present our business is with the police, who are proved, by the testimony of their medical and other officers, to be, generally speaking, a remarkably sober and self-respecting order of men. It is true we hear perpetual joking about the love-making of the policeman, by which he obtains good suppers from credulous cooks, and weighty money-gifts from soft-hearted housemaids: but a very small number of genuine anecdotes furnish a vast amount of imputation; and it is certain that the records of the police prove a very high average of honest and reputable conduct in the force.
This good repute may therefore well be one ground of preference of the blue coat to the red one. Another seems to be the popular notion that the policeman is the wielder of power, instead of the slave of discipline. To the careless eye it seems that the soldier is a machine, moved by the voice of his officer; whereas the policeman is absolute on his beat. The crowd opens to make way for the policeman: he commands help from men, and they yield it: he imposes quiet on women, and they stop brawling: he looks at children, and they slink out of sight. The old English reverence for the constable is renowned all over the world: and in the case of the policeman, there is something of the admiration and fear of the military office added to the awe felt for the constable. Throughout whole parishes of the metropolis, and wide districts of the country, there is nothing so formidable to the greatest number as the glance and the march of the policeman. The tax-collector, the vigilant pastor, the strict game-preserving squire, the severe landlord, the lecturing magistrate—are each and all less