Chapter Forty Three.

Chapter Forty Three.A naval dinner, with its consequences—A naval argument, with its consequences, also—The way down the river paved at last, and the process and the person of the unfortunate paviour finally arrested.We made but a short stay at “Little England,” as the Barbadians fondly call their verdant plat, and then ran down through all the Virgin Islands, leaving parts of our convoy at their various destinations. Our recaptured vessels, with a midshipman in each, also went to the ports to which they were bound. When we were abreast of the island of Saint Domingo, our large convoy was reduced to about forty, all of which were consigned to the different ports of Jamaica. Our prize corvette was still in company, as we intended to take her to Port Royal.We were all in excellent humour: luxuriating in the anticipation of our prize-money, and somewhat glorious in making our appearance in a manner so creditable to ourselves, and profitable to the admiral on the station. All this occupied our minds so much, that we had hardly opportunity to think of persecution. But some characters can always find time for mischief, especially when mischief is but another name for pleasure. The activity which Mr Silva had displayed in making the recaptures, had gained him much respect with his messmates, and seemed topave the wayfor a mutual good understanding.However he was invited to dinner with his two constant quizzers, the fat doctor and the acute purser, just as we had made the east of Jamaica. I, it having been my forenoon watch, was consequently invited with the officer of it. We had lately been too much occupied to think of annoying each other; but those who unfortunately think that they have a prescriptive right to be disagreeable, and have a single talent that way (the most common of talents), seldom violate the advice of the Scripture, that warns us not to hide that one talent in a napkin.We found our sarcastic little skipper in the blandest and most urbane humour. He received me with a courtesy that almost made me feel affection for him. We found Mr Farmer, the first-lieutenant, with him, and had it not been for a sly twinkling of the eye of the captain, and very significant looks that now and then stole from Mr Farmer, as he caught the expression of his commander’s countenance I should have thought that that day there was no “minching malicho,” or anything like mischief meant. There were but five of us sat down to table, yet the dinner was superb. We had, or rather the captain supplied himself now, with all the luxuries of a tropical climate, and those of the temperate were, though he could boast of little temperance, far from exhausted. We had turtle dressed in different ways, though our flat friend made his first appearance in the guise of an appetising soup. We had stewed guanna, a large sort of delicious lizard, that most amply repairs the offence done to the eye by his unsightly appearance in conciliating in a wonderful manner all those minute yet important nerves that Providence has so bountifully and so numerously spread over the palate, the tongue, and the uvula. The very contemplation of this beneficent arrangement is enough to make a swearing boatswain pious.We lacked neither fish, beef, nor mutton; though it is true, that the carcasses of the sheep, after having been dressed by the butcher and hung up under the half-deck, gave us the consolation of knowing, that whilst there was a single one on board, we should never be in want of a poop-lantern, so delicately thin and transparent were the teguments that united the ribs. Indeed, when properly stretched, the body would have supplied the place of a drum, and but little paring away of the flesh would have fitted the legs and shoulders for drum-sticks. Of fowls we had every variety, and the curries were excellent. Reud kept two experienced cooks; one was an Indian, well versed in all the mysteries of spices and provocatives; the other a Frenchman, who might have taken a high degree in Baron Rothschild’s kitchen, which Hebrew kitchen is, we understand, the best appointed in all the Christian world. The rivals sometimes knocked a pot or so over, with its luscious contents, in their contests for precedency, for cooks and kings have their failings in common; but, I must confess, that their Creole master always administered even-handed justice, by very scrupulously flogging them both.Well, we will suppose the dinner done, and the West Indian dessert on the table, and that during the repast the suavity of our host had been exemplary. He found some means of putting each of us on good terms with himself. At how little expense we can make each other happy!The refreshing champagne had circulated two or three times, and the pine-apples had been scientifically cut by the sovereign hand of the skipper, who now, in his native regions, seemed to have taken to himself an increased portion of life. All this time, nothing personal or in the least offensive had been uttered. The claret that had been cooling all day, by the means of evaporation, in one of the quarter galleries, was produced, and the captain ordered a couple of bottles to be placed to each person with the exception of myself. Having thrown his legs upon another chair than that on which he was sitting, he commenced, “Now, gentlemen, let us enjoy ourselves. We have the means before us, and we should be very silly not to employ them. In a hot country, I don’t like the trouble of passing the bottle.”“It is a great trouble to me when it is a full one,” said Dr Thompson.“Besides, the bustle and the exertion destroys the continuity of high-toned, and intellectual conversation,” said Captain Reud, with amiable gravity.“It is coming now,” thought I. Lieutenant Silva looked at first embarrassed, and then a little stern: it was evident, that that which the captain was pleased to designate as highly-toned intellectual conversation was, despite his literary attainments and thepasof superiority, the publishing a book had given him, no longer to the author’s taste.“I have been thinking,” said Captain Reud, placing the forefinger of his left hand, with an air of great profundity, on the left side of his nose, “I have been thinking of the very curious fatality that has attached itself to Mr Silva’s excellent work.”“Under correction, Captain Reud,” said Silva, “if you would permit this unfortunate work to sink into the oblivion that perhaps it too much merits, you would confer upon me, its undeserving author, an essential favour.”“By no means. I see no reason why I may not be proud of the book, and proud of the author (Mr Silva starts), providing the book be a good book; indeed, it is a great thing for me to say, that I have the honour to command an officer who has printed a book; the mere act evinces greatnerve.” (Mr Silva winces.)“And,” said the wicked purser, “Captain Reud, you must be every way the gainer by this. The worse the book, the greater the courage. If Mr Silva’s wit—”“You may test my wit by my book, Mr —, if you choose to read it,” and the author looked scornfully, “and my courage, when we reach Port Royal;” and the officer looked magnificently.“No more of this,” said the captain. “I was going to observe, that perhaps I am the only officer on the station or even in the fleet, that has under my command a live author, with the real book that he has published. Now, Mr Silva, we are all comfortable here—no offence is meant to you—only compliment and honour; will you permit us to have it read to us at the present meeting? we will be all attention. We will not deprive you of your wine—give the book to the younker.”“If you will be so kind, Captain Reud, to promise for yourself and the other gentlemen, to raise no discussion upon any particular phrase that may arise.”The captain did promise. We shall presently see how that promise was kept. The book was sent for, and placed in my hands. Now I fully opined that at least we should get past the second page. I was curiously mistaken.“Here, steward,” said the skipper, “place half a bottle of claret near Mr Rattlin. When your throat is dry, younker, you can whet your whistle; and when you come to any particular fine paragraph, you may wash it down with a glass of wine.”“If that’s the case, sir, I think, with submission, I ought to have my two bottles before me also; but, if I follow your directions implicitly, Captain Reud, I may get drunk in the first chapter.”Mr Silva thanked even a midshipman, with a look of real gratitude, for this diversion in his favour. I had begun to like the man, and there might have been a secret sympathy between us, as one day it was to be my fate also to write myself, author.Having adjusted ourselves into the most comfortable attitudes that we could assume, I began, as Lord Ogleby hath it, “with good emphasis, and good discretion,” to read the “Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate.” Before I began, the captain had sent for the master, and the honourable Mr B—; so I had a very respectable audience.I had no sooner finished the passage, “After we had paved our way down the river,” than with one accord, and evidently by preconcert, every one stretching forth his right hand, as do the witches in Macbeth, roared out, “Stop!” It was too ludicrous. My eyes ran with tears, as I laid down the book, with outrageous laughter. Mr Silva started to his feet, and was leaving the cabin, when he wasorderedback by Captain Reud. An appearance of amicability was assumed, and to the old argument they went, baiting the poor author like a bear tied to a stake. Debating is a thirsty affair; the two bottles to each, and two more, quickly disappeared; the wine began to operate, and with the combatants discretion was no longer the better part of valour.Whilst words fell fast and furious, I observed something about eight feet long and one high, on the deck of the cabin, covered with the ensign. It looked much like a decorated seat. Mr Silva would not admit the phrase to be improper, and consequently his associates would not permit the reading to proceed. During most of the time the captain was convulsed with laughter, and whenever he saw the commotion at all lulling, he immediately, by some ill-timed remark, renewed it to its accustomed fury. At length, as the seamen say, they all had got a cloth in the wind—the captain two or three,—and it was approaching the time for beating to quarters. The finale, therefore, as previously arranged, was acted. Captain Reud rose, and steadying himself on his legs, by placing one hand on the back of his chair, and the other on the shoulder of the gentleman that sat next to him, spoke thus: “Gentlemen—I’m no scholar—that is—you comprehend fully—on deck, there!—don’t keep that damned trampling—and put me out—where was I?”“Please, sir,” said I, “you were saying you were no scholar.”“I wasn’t—couldn’t have said so. I had the best of educations—but all my masters were dull—damned dull—so they couldn’t teach a quick lad, like me, too quick for them—couldn’t overtake me with their damned learning. I’m a straightforward man. I’ve common sense—com—common sense. Let us take a common sense view of this excruciation—ex—ex—I mean exquisite argument. Gentlemen, come here;” and the captain, between two supporters and the rest of the company, with Mr Silva, approached the mysterious looking, elongated affair, that lay, covered with the union-jack, like the corpse of some lanky giant, who had run himself up into a consumption by a growth too rapid. The doctor and purser, who were doubtlessly in the secret, wore each a look of the most perplexing gravity—the captain one of triumphant mischief; the rest of us, one of the most unfeigned wonder.“If,” spluttered out Captain Reud, see-sawing over the yet concealed thing. “If, Mr Paviour, you can pave your way down a river—”“My name, sir, is Don Alphonso Ribidiero da Silva,” said the annoyed lieutenant, with a dignified bow.“Well, then, Don Alphonso Ribs-are-dear-o damned Silva, if you can pave your way down a river, let us see how you can pave it in a small way down thishog-troughfull of water,” plucking away, with the assistance of his confederates, the ensign that covered it.“With fools’ heads,” roared out the exasperated, and, I fear, not very sober, Portuguese.Though I was close by, I could not fully comprehend the whole manoeuvre. The captain was head and shoulders immersed in the filthy trough, which, uncleaned, was taken from the manger, that part of the main-deck directly under the forecastle, and filled with salt water. The doctor and purser had taken a greater lurch, and fallen over it, sousing their white waistcoats and well-arranged shirt frills in the dirty mixture. The rest of us contrived to keep our legs. The ship was running before the wind, and rolling considerably, and the motion, aided by the wine and the act of plucking aside the flag,mighthave precipitated the captain into his unenviable situation; he thought otherwise. No sooner was he placed upon his feet, and his mouth sufficiently clear from the salt water decoction of hog-wash, than he collared the poor victim of persecution, and spluttered out, “Mutiny—mu—mu—mutiny—sentry. Gentlemen, I call you all to witness, that Mr Silva has laid violent hands upon me.”The “paviour of ways” was immediately put under arrest, and a marine, with a drawn bayonet, placed at his cabin door, and the captain had to repair damages, vowing the most implacable vengeance for having been shoved into his own hog-trough.Did ever anybody know any good come of hoaxing?

We made but a short stay at “Little England,” as the Barbadians fondly call their verdant plat, and then ran down through all the Virgin Islands, leaving parts of our convoy at their various destinations. Our recaptured vessels, with a midshipman in each, also went to the ports to which they were bound. When we were abreast of the island of Saint Domingo, our large convoy was reduced to about forty, all of which were consigned to the different ports of Jamaica. Our prize corvette was still in company, as we intended to take her to Port Royal.

We were all in excellent humour: luxuriating in the anticipation of our prize-money, and somewhat glorious in making our appearance in a manner so creditable to ourselves, and profitable to the admiral on the station. All this occupied our minds so much, that we had hardly opportunity to think of persecution. But some characters can always find time for mischief, especially when mischief is but another name for pleasure. The activity which Mr Silva had displayed in making the recaptures, had gained him much respect with his messmates, and seemed topave the wayfor a mutual good understanding.

However he was invited to dinner with his two constant quizzers, the fat doctor and the acute purser, just as we had made the east of Jamaica. I, it having been my forenoon watch, was consequently invited with the officer of it. We had lately been too much occupied to think of annoying each other; but those who unfortunately think that they have a prescriptive right to be disagreeable, and have a single talent that way (the most common of talents), seldom violate the advice of the Scripture, that warns us not to hide that one talent in a napkin.

We found our sarcastic little skipper in the blandest and most urbane humour. He received me with a courtesy that almost made me feel affection for him. We found Mr Farmer, the first-lieutenant, with him, and had it not been for a sly twinkling of the eye of the captain, and very significant looks that now and then stole from Mr Farmer, as he caught the expression of his commander’s countenance I should have thought that that day there was no “minching malicho,” or anything like mischief meant. There were but five of us sat down to table, yet the dinner was superb. We had, or rather the captain supplied himself now, with all the luxuries of a tropical climate, and those of the temperate were, though he could boast of little temperance, far from exhausted. We had turtle dressed in different ways, though our flat friend made his first appearance in the guise of an appetising soup. We had stewed guanna, a large sort of delicious lizard, that most amply repairs the offence done to the eye by his unsightly appearance in conciliating in a wonderful manner all those minute yet important nerves that Providence has so bountifully and so numerously spread over the palate, the tongue, and the uvula. The very contemplation of this beneficent arrangement is enough to make a swearing boatswain pious.

We lacked neither fish, beef, nor mutton; though it is true, that the carcasses of the sheep, after having been dressed by the butcher and hung up under the half-deck, gave us the consolation of knowing, that whilst there was a single one on board, we should never be in want of a poop-lantern, so delicately thin and transparent were the teguments that united the ribs. Indeed, when properly stretched, the body would have supplied the place of a drum, and but little paring away of the flesh would have fitted the legs and shoulders for drum-sticks. Of fowls we had every variety, and the curries were excellent. Reud kept two experienced cooks; one was an Indian, well versed in all the mysteries of spices and provocatives; the other a Frenchman, who might have taken a high degree in Baron Rothschild’s kitchen, which Hebrew kitchen is, we understand, the best appointed in all the Christian world. The rivals sometimes knocked a pot or so over, with its luscious contents, in their contests for precedency, for cooks and kings have their failings in common; but, I must confess, that their Creole master always administered even-handed justice, by very scrupulously flogging them both.

Well, we will suppose the dinner done, and the West Indian dessert on the table, and that during the repast the suavity of our host had been exemplary. He found some means of putting each of us on good terms with himself. At how little expense we can make each other happy!

The refreshing champagne had circulated two or three times, and the pine-apples had been scientifically cut by the sovereign hand of the skipper, who now, in his native regions, seemed to have taken to himself an increased portion of life. All this time, nothing personal or in the least offensive had been uttered. The claret that had been cooling all day, by the means of evaporation, in one of the quarter galleries, was produced, and the captain ordered a couple of bottles to be placed to each person with the exception of myself. Having thrown his legs upon another chair than that on which he was sitting, he commenced, “Now, gentlemen, let us enjoy ourselves. We have the means before us, and we should be very silly not to employ them. In a hot country, I don’t like the trouble of passing the bottle.”

“It is a great trouble to me when it is a full one,” said Dr Thompson.

“Besides, the bustle and the exertion destroys the continuity of high-toned, and intellectual conversation,” said Captain Reud, with amiable gravity.

“It is coming now,” thought I. Lieutenant Silva looked at first embarrassed, and then a little stern: it was evident, that that which the captain was pleased to designate as highly-toned intellectual conversation was, despite his literary attainments and thepasof superiority, the publishing a book had given him, no longer to the author’s taste.

“I have been thinking,” said Captain Reud, placing the forefinger of his left hand, with an air of great profundity, on the left side of his nose, “I have been thinking of the very curious fatality that has attached itself to Mr Silva’s excellent work.”

“Under correction, Captain Reud,” said Silva, “if you would permit this unfortunate work to sink into the oblivion that perhaps it too much merits, you would confer upon me, its undeserving author, an essential favour.”

“By no means. I see no reason why I may not be proud of the book, and proud of the author (Mr Silva starts), providing the book be a good book; indeed, it is a great thing for me to say, that I have the honour to command an officer who has printed a book; the mere act evinces greatnerve.” (Mr Silva winces.)

“And,” said the wicked purser, “Captain Reud, you must be every way the gainer by this. The worse the book, the greater the courage. If Mr Silva’s wit—”

“You may test my wit by my book, Mr —, if you choose to read it,” and the author looked scornfully, “and my courage, when we reach Port Royal;” and the officer looked magnificently.

“No more of this,” said the captain. “I was going to observe, that perhaps I am the only officer on the station or even in the fleet, that has under my command a live author, with the real book that he has published. Now, Mr Silva, we are all comfortable here—no offence is meant to you—only compliment and honour; will you permit us to have it read to us at the present meeting? we will be all attention. We will not deprive you of your wine—give the book to the younker.”

“If you will be so kind, Captain Reud, to promise for yourself and the other gentlemen, to raise no discussion upon any particular phrase that may arise.”

The captain did promise. We shall presently see how that promise was kept. The book was sent for, and placed in my hands. Now I fully opined that at least we should get past the second page. I was curiously mistaken.

“Here, steward,” said the skipper, “place half a bottle of claret near Mr Rattlin. When your throat is dry, younker, you can whet your whistle; and when you come to any particular fine paragraph, you may wash it down with a glass of wine.”

“If that’s the case, sir, I think, with submission, I ought to have my two bottles before me also; but, if I follow your directions implicitly, Captain Reud, I may get drunk in the first chapter.”

Mr Silva thanked even a midshipman, with a look of real gratitude, for this diversion in his favour. I had begun to like the man, and there might have been a secret sympathy between us, as one day it was to be my fate also to write myself, author.

Having adjusted ourselves into the most comfortable attitudes that we could assume, I began, as Lord Ogleby hath it, “with good emphasis, and good discretion,” to read the “Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate.” Before I began, the captain had sent for the master, and the honourable Mr B—; so I had a very respectable audience.

I had no sooner finished the passage, “After we had paved our way down the river,” than with one accord, and evidently by preconcert, every one stretching forth his right hand, as do the witches in Macbeth, roared out, “Stop!” It was too ludicrous. My eyes ran with tears, as I laid down the book, with outrageous laughter. Mr Silva started to his feet, and was leaving the cabin, when he wasorderedback by Captain Reud. An appearance of amicability was assumed, and to the old argument they went, baiting the poor author like a bear tied to a stake. Debating is a thirsty affair; the two bottles to each, and two more, quickly disappeared; the wine began to operate, and with the combatants discretion was no longer the better part of valour.

Whilst words fell fast and furious, I observed something about eight feet long and one high, on the deck of the cabin, covered with the ensign. It looked much like a decorated seat. Mr Silva would not admit the phrase to be improper, and consequently his associates would not permit the reading to proceed. During most of the time the captain was convulsed with laughter, and whenever he saw the commotion at all lulling, he immediately, by some ill-timed remark, renewed it to its accustomed fury. At length, as the seamen say, they all had got a cloth in the wind—the captain two or three,—and it was approaching the time for beating to quarters. The finale, therefore, as previously arranged, was acted. Captain Reud rose, and steadying himself on his legs, by placing one hand on the back of his chair, and the other on the shoulder of the gentleman that sat next to him, spoke thus: “Gentlemen—I’m no scholar—that is—you comprehend fully—on deck, there!—don’t keep that damned trampling—and put me out—where was I?”

“Please, sir,” said I, “you were saying you were no scholar.”

“I wasn’t—couldn’t have said so. I had the best of educations—but all my masters were dull—damned dull—so they couldn’t teach a quick lad, like me, too quick for them—couldn’t overtake me with their damned learning. I’m a straightforward man. I’ve common sense—com—common sense. Let us take a common sense view of this excruciation—ex—ex—I mean exquisite argument. Gentlemen, come here;” and the captain, between two supporters and the rest of the company, with Mr Silva, approached the mysterious looking, elongated affair, that lay, covered with the union-jack, like the corpse of some lanky giant, who had run himself up into a consumption by a growth too rapid. The doctor and purser, who were doubtlessly in the secret, wore each a look of the most perplexing gravity—the captain one of triumphant mischief; the rest of us, one of the most unfeigned wonder.

“If,” spluttered out Captain Reud, see-sawing over the yet concealed thing. “If, Mr Paviour, you can pave your way down a river—”

“My name, sir, is Don Alphonso Ribidiero da Silva,” said the annoyed lieutenant, with a dignified bow.

“Well, then, Don Alphonso Ribs-are-dear-o damned Silva, if you can pave your way down a river, let us see how you can pave it in a small way down thishog-troughfull of water,” plucking away, with the assistance of his confederates, the ensign that covered it.

“With fools’ heads,” roared out the exasperated, and, I fear, not very sober, Portuguese.

Though I was close by, I could not fully comprehend the whole manoeuvre. The captain was head and shoulders immersed in the filthy trough, which, uncleaned, was taken from the manger, that part of the main-deck directly under the forecastle, and filled with salt water. The doctor and purser had taken a greater lurch, and fallen over it, sousing their white waistcoats and well-arranged shirt frills in the dirty mixture. The rest of us contrived to keep our legs. The ship was running before the wind, and rolling considerably, and the motion, aided by the wine and the act of plucking aside the flag,mighthave precipitated the captain into his unenviable situation; he thought otherwise. No sooner was he placed upon his feet, and his mouth sufficiently clear from the salt water decoction of hog-wash, than he collared the poor victim of persecution, and spluttered out, “Mutiny—mu—mu—mutiny—sentry. Gentlemen, I call you all to witness, that Mr Silva has laid violent hands upon me.”

The “paviour of ways” was immediately put under arrest, and a marine, with a drawn bayonet, placed at his cabin door, and the captain had to repair damages, vowing the most implacable vengeance for having been shoved into his own hog-trough.Did ever anybody know any good come of hoaxing?

Chapter Forty Four.The palisade banquet, and Major Flushfire’s anthem to Yellow Jack—Who’s afraid?—The sands of life’s hour-glass will run out rapidly, unless well soaked with wine.We will despatch the object of persecution in a few words. Lieutenant Silva was given the option of a court-martial or of exchanging into a sloop of war. He chose the latter. The captain and his messmates saw him over the side, two days after we had anchored in Port Royal. The spiteful commander purposely contrived, when his effects were whipped into the boat, that one of the heavy, suspicious-looking cases should be swung against the gun and smashed. The result was exactly what we all expected. The water was strewn with copies, in boards, of the “Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate.” They must certainly have been light reading, as they floated about triumphantly. “I wonder whether they will pave their way up to Kingston,” said the captain, with a sneer.As the author would not suffer them to be picked up, they sank, one by one, and disappeared, like the remembrance of their creator in the minds of his companions. We heard, a few weeks after, that he had died of the yellow fever: and thus he, with his books, was consigned to oblivion, or is only rescued from it, if happily this work do not share his fate, by this short memento of him.Yellow fever!—malignant consumer of the brave!—how shall I adequately apostrophise thee? I have looked in thy jaundiced face, whilst thy maw seemed insatiate. But once didst thou lay thy scorched hand upon my frame; but the sweet voice of woman startled thee from thy prey, and the flame of love was stronger than even thy desolating fire. But now is not the time to tell of this, but rather of the eagerness with which most of my companions sought to avoid thee.Captain Reud had got, apparently, into his natural, as well as native, climate. The hotter it was, like a cricket, he chirped the louder, and enjoyed it the more. Young and restless, he was the personification of mischievous humour and sly annoyance. The tales he told of the fever were ominous, appalling, fatal. None could live who had not been seasoned, and none could outlive the seasoning. For myself; I might have been frightened, had I not been so constantly occupied in discussing pine-apples. But the climax was yet to be given to the fears of the fearful.All the officers that could be spared from the ship were invited to dine with the mess of the 60th Regiment, then doing duty at Kingston and Port Royal. That day, Captain Reud having been invited to dine with the admiral at the Penn, we were consequently deprived of his facetiousness. All the lieutenants and the ward-room officers, with most of the midshipmen, were of the party. The master took charge of the frigate. Suppose us all seated at the long table, chequered red and blue, with Major Flushfire, the officer in command of the garrison, at the top of the table, all scarlet and gold, and our own dear Dr Thompson, all scarlet and blue, at the bottom. These two gentlemen were wonderfully alike. The major’s scarlet was not confined to his regimentals: it covered his face. There was not a cool spot in that flame-coloured region; the yellow of his eyes was blood-shot, and his nose was richly Bardolphian. The expression of his features was thirst; but it was a jovial thirst withal—a thirst that burned to be supplied, encouraged, pampered. The very idea of water was repugnant to it. Hydrophobia was written upon the major’s brow.We have described our rubicund doctor before. He always looked warm, but since his entrance into the tropics, he had been more than hot, he had been always steaming. There was an almost perceptible mist about him. His visage possessed not the adust scorch of the major’s; his was a moist heat; his cheeks were constantly par-boiling in their own perspiration. He was a meetcroupierfor our host.Ranged on each side of this noble pair were the long lines of very pale and anxious faces (I really must except my own, for my face never looked anxious till I thought of marrying, or pale till I took to scribbling), the possessors of which were experiencing a little the torment of Tantalus. The palisades, those graves of sand, turned into a rich compost by the ever-recurring burial, were directly under the windows, and the land-breeze came over them, chill and dank, in palpable currents, through the jalousies, into the heated room; and, had one thrust his head into the moonlight and looked beneath, he would have seen hundreds of the shell-clad vampires, upon their long and contorted legs, moving hideously round, and scrambling horribly over newly-made mounds, each of which contained the still fresh corpse of a warrior, or of the land, or of the ocean. In a small way, your land-crab is a most indefatigable resurrectionist. But there is retribution for their villany. They get eaten in their turn. Delicate feeding they are, doubtlessly; and there can be no matter of question, but that, at that memorable dinner a double banquet was going on, upon a most excellent principle of reciprocity. The epicure crab was feeding upon the dish, man, below—whilst epicure man was feeding upon the dished-up crab above. True, the guests knew it not; I mean those who did not wear testaceous armour: the gentlemen in the coats of mail knew very well what they were about. It was, at the time of which I am speaking, a standing joke to make Johnny Newcome eat land-crab disguised in some savoury dish. Thank God, that was more than a quarter of a century ago. We trust that the social qualities and the culinary refinements of the West Indians do not now marchà l’écrevisseand progressà reculons.There we all sat, prudence coqueting with appetite, and the finest yellow curries contending with the direst thoughts of yellow fever. Ever and anon some amiable youth would dash off a bumper of claret with an air of desperate bravery, and then turn pale at the idea of his own temerity. The most cautious were Scotch assistant-surgeons, and pale young ensigns who played the flute. The midshipmen feasted and feared. The major and the doctor kept on the “even tenor of their way,” that is, they ate and drankà l’envi.We will now suppose the King’s health drank, with the hearty and loyal, God bless him! from every lip—the navy drank, and thanks returned by the doctor, with his mouth full of vegetable marrow—the army drank, and thanks returned by the major, after clearing his throat with a bumper of brandy—and after “Rule Britannia” had ceased echoing along the now silent esplanade, and that had been thundered forth with such energy by the black band, an awful pause ensues. Our first-lieutenant of marines rises, and, like conscience, “with a still small voice,” thus delivers himself of the anxiety with which his breast was labouring.“Major Flushfire, may I claim the privilege of the similar colour of our cloth to entreat the favour of your attention? Ah! heh!—but this land breeze-laden, perhaps, with the germs of the yellow-fever—mephitic—and all that—you understand me, Dr Thompson?”“As much as you do yourself.”“Thank you—men of superior education—sympathy—and all that—you understand me fully, major. Now this night-breeze coming through that half-open jalousie—miasmata—and all that. Dr Armstrong, Dr Thompson—medical pill—‘pillars of the state’—you will pardon the classical allusion—”“I won’t,” growled out the doctor.“Ah—so like you—so modest—but don’t you think the draught is a little dangerous?”“Do you mean the doctor’s, or this?” said the inattentive and thirsty major, fetching a deep breath, as he put down the huge glass tumbler of sangaree.“Oh dear, no!—I mean the night draughtthroughthe window.”“The best way to dispose of it,” said the purser, nodding at the melting Galen.“No,” replied Major Flushfire, courteously, “there’s no danger in it at all—I like it.”“Bless me, major,” said the marine, “why it comes all ingusts.”“Like it all the better,” rejoined the major, with his head again half buried in the sangaree glass.“Degustibus non est disputandum,” observed Thompson.“Very true,” said the marine officer, looking sapiently. “That remark of yours about thewindsis opposite. We ought todisputetheir entrance, as you said in Latin. But is it quite fair, my dear doctor, for you and me to converse in Latin? We may be taking an undue advantage of the rest of the company.”“Greek! Greek!” said the purser.“Ay, certainly—it was Greek to Mr Smallcoates,” muttered Thompson.“To be sure it was,” said the innocent marine. “Major Flushfire,” continued he, once more upon his legs, “may I again entreat the honour of your attention. Dr Thompson has just proved by a quotation from a Greek author, Virgil or Paracelsus, I am not certain which, that the entrance of the night air into a hot room is highly injurious, and in—in—and all that. You understand me perfectly—would it be asking too much to have all the windows closed?”“Ovens and furnaces!” cried out the chairman, starting up. “Look at me and worthy Dr Thompson. Are we persons to enjoy a repetition of the Black Hole of Calcutta? The sangaree, Quasha—suffocation! The thought chokes me!” and he recommenced his devotions to the sangaree.“It melts me,” responded the doctor, swabbing his face with the napkin.“Are you afraid of taking cold?” said the purser to Mr Smallcoates.“Taking cold—let the gentleman take his wine,” said the major.“I must confess I am not so much afraid of cold as of fever. I believe, major, you have been three years in this very singularly hot and cold climate. Now, my dear sir, may I tax your experience to tell us which is the better method of living? Some say temperance, carried out even to abstemiousness, is the safer; others, that the fever is best repelled by devil’s punch, burnt brandy, and high living. Indeed, I may say that I speak at the request of my messmates. Do, major, give us your opinion.”“I think,” said the man of thirst, “the medical gentlemen should be applied to in preference to an old soldier like myself. They have great practice in disposing of fever cases.”“But if we must die, either of diet or the doctor, I am for knowing,” said the purser, “not what doctor, but what sort of diet, is most dilatory in its despatch.”“Well, I will not answer the question, but state the facts. My messmates can vouch for the truth of them. Five years ago, and not three, I came out with a battalion of this regiment. We mustered twenty-five officers in all. We asked ourselves the very same question you have just asked of me. We split into two parties, nearly even in number. Twelve of us took to water, temperance, and all manner of preservatives; the other thirteen of us led a harum-scarum life, ate whenever we were hungry, and when we were not hungry; drank whenever we were thirsty, and when we were not thirsty; and to create a thirst, we qualified our claret with brandy; and generally forgot the water, or substituted Madeira for it, in making our punch. This portion of our body, like Jack Falstaff, was given to sleeping on bulkheads on moonlight nights, shooting in the mid-day sun, riding races, and sometimes, hem! assisting—a—a—at drinking-matches.”Here the worthy soldier made a pause, appeared more thirsty than ever, scolded Quasha for not brandying his sangaree, and swigging it with the air of Alexander, when he proceeded to drain the cup that was fatal, he looked round with conscious superiority. The pale ensign looked more pale—the sentimental lieutenants more sentimental—many thrust their wine and their punch from before them, and there was a sudden competition for the water-jug. The marine carried a stronger expression than anxiety upon his features—it was consternation—and thus hesitatingly delivered himself:“And—so—so—sir, thebons vivants—deluded—poor deluded gentlemen! all perished—but—pardon me—delicate dilemma—butyourself, my good major.”“Exactly, Mr Smallcoates; and within the eighteen months.”There was a perceptible shudder through the company, military as well as naval. The pure element became in more demand than ever, and those who did not actually push away their claret, watered it. The imperturbable major brandied his sangaree more potently.“But,” said Mr Smallcoates, brightening up, “the temperate gentlemen all escaped the contagion—undoubtedly!”“I beg your pardon—theyall died within the year. I alone remain of all the officers to tell the tale. The year eight was dreadful. Poor fellows!” The good major’s voice faltered, and he bent over his sangaree much longer than was necessary to enjoy the draught.Blank horror passed her fearful glance from guest to guest. Even the rubicund doctor’s mouth was twitched awry. I did not quite like it myself.“But I’m alive,” said the major, rallying up from his bitter recollections, “and the brandy is just as invigorating, and the wine just as refreshing as ever.”“The majorisalive,” said the marine officer, very sapiently. “Is that brandy before you, Mr Farmer? I’ll trouble you for it—I really feel this claret very cold upon my stomach. Yes,” he repeated, after taking down a tumbler-full of half spirits, half wine, “the majorisalive—and—so am I.”“The major is alive,” went round the table; “let us drink his health in bumpers.”The major returned thanks, and volunteered a song. I begged it, and the reader may sing it as he pleases, though I shall please myself by recording how the major was pleased to have it sung.“Gentlemen,” said he, “you will do me the favour to fill a bumper of lemonade, and when I cry chorus, chorus me standing, with the glasses in your hands; and at the end of each chorus you will be pleased to remember that the glass is to be drained. No heel-taps after, and no daylight before. Now for it, my lads!” and with a voice that must have startled the land crabs from their avocations, he roared out—“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee hack! hie thee back!To thy damp, drear abode in the jungle;I’ll be sober and staid,And drinklemonade,Try and catch me—you’ll make a sad bungle,Yellow Jack!“But he came, the queer thief, and he seized my right-hand,And I writh’d and I struggled, yet could not withstandHis hot, griping grasp, though I drank lemonade—He grinn’d and he clutch’d me, though sober and staid.”Chorus(with increasing loudness).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To thy damp, drear abode in the jungle;We’ll be sober and staid,And we’ll drink lemonade,Try and catch us—you’ll make a sad bungle,Yellow Jack!” (tremendously).“Bumpers of sangaree!” roared the major, and sang:“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To thy pestilent swamp quickly hie thee;For I’ll drinksangaree,Whilst my heart’s full of glee,In thy death-doing might I’ll defy thee,Yellow Jack!“But the fiend persever’d and got hold of my side,How I burn’d, and I froze, and all vainly I triedTo get rid of his grasp—though I drank sangaree,No longer my bosom exulted with glee.”Chorus(still more loudly).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee backTo thy pestilent swamp quickly hie thee;For we’ll drink sangaree,Whilst our hearts throb with glee,In thy death-doing might we defy thee,Yellow Jack!”After the sangaree, strong, and highly spiced, had been quaffed, the excitement grew wilder, and the leader of our revels exclaimed, at the top of his voice, “Wine, gentlemen, wine—brimmers!” and thus continued—“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!Begone to thy father, old Sootie,Purewinenow I’ll drink,So Jack, I should think,Of me thou wilt never make booty,Yellow Jack!“But a third time he came, and seized hold of my head;’Twas in vain that the doctor both blister’d and bled;My hand, and my side, and my heart too, I think,Would soon have been lost, though pure wine I might drink.”Chorus.“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee hack! hie thee back!Begone to thy father, old Sootie.Pure wine now we’ll drink,So Jack, we should think,Of us thou wilt never make booty,Yellow Jack!“Brandy!” shouted the major. “Brandy—he’s a craven who shirks the call.” There was no one there craven but myself. My youth excused my apostacy from the night’s orgies. The major resumed, his red face intensely hot and arid:“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee backTo the helldam, Corruption, thy mother;For withbrandyI’ll saveMy heart, and thus braveThee, and fell Death, thine own brotherYellow Jack!“To brandy I took, then Jack took his leave,Brandy-punch and neat brandy drink morn, noon, and eve,At night drink, then sleep, and be sure, my brave boys,Naught will quell Yellow Jack but neat brandy and noise.”The Chorus(most uproariously).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To the helldam, Corruption, thy mother;For with brandy we’ll saveOur hearts, and thus braveThee, and fell Death, thine own brother,Yellow Jack!”At last “Yellow Jack” was thundered out loud enough to awake his victims from the palisades. The company were just then fit for anything, but certainly most fit for mischief. Our first-lieutenant intimated to me that our jolly-boat was waiting to take the junior officers on board—considerate man—so I took the hint, marvelling much upon the scene that I had just witnessed.Whether or not there was any mystic virtue in the exorcisory cantation of the previous night I cannot determine; but it is certain that, next morning, though headaches abounded among our officers, indications of the yellow fever there were none.

We will despatch the object of persecution in a few words. Lieutenant Silva was given the option of a court-martial or of exchanging into a sloop of war. He chose the latter. The captain and his messmates saw him over the side, two days after we had anchored in Port Royal. The spiteful commander purposely contrived, when his effects were whipped into the boat, that one of the heavy, suspicious-looking cases should be swung against the gun and smashed. The result was exactly what we all expected. The water was strewn with copies, in boards, of the “Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate.” They must certainly have been light reading, as they floated about triumphantly. “I wonder whether they will pave their way up to Kingston,” said the captain, with a sneer.

As the author would not suffer them to be picked up, they sank, one by one, and disappeared, like the remembrance of their creator in the minds of his companions. We heard, a few weeks after, that he had died of the yellow fever: and thus he, with his books, was consigned to oblivion, or is only rescued from it, if happily this work do not share his fate, by this short memento of him.

Yellow fever!—malignant consumer of the brave!—how shall I adequately apostrophise thee? I have looked in thy jaundiced face, whilst thy maw seemed insatiate. But once didst thou lay thy scorched hand upon my frame; but the sweet voice of woman startled thee from thy prey, and the flame of love was stronger than even thy desolating fire. But now is not the time to tell of this, but rather of the eagerness with which most of my companions sought to avoid thee.

Captain Reud had got, apparently, into his natural, as well as native, climate. The hotter it was, like a cricket, he chirped the louder, and enjoyed it the more. Young and restless, he was the personification of mischievous humour and sly annoyance. The tales he told of the fever were ominous, appalling, fatal. None could live who had not been seasoned, and none could outlive the seasoning. For myself; I might have been frightened, had I not been so constantly occupied in discussing pine-apples. But the climax was yet to be given to the fears of the fearful.

All the officers that could be spared from the ship were invited to dine with the mess of the 60th Regiment, then doing duty at Kingston and Port Royal. That day, Captain Reud having been invited to dine with the admiral at the Penn, we were consequently deprived of his facetiousness. All the lieutenants and the ward-room officers, with most of the midshipmen, were of the party. The master took charge of the frigate. Suppose us all seated at the long table, chequered red and blue, with Major Flushfire, the officer in command of the garrison, at the top of the table, all scarlet and gold, and our own dear Dr Thompson, all scarlet and blue, at the bottom. These two gentlemen were wonderfully alike. The major’s scarlet was not confined to his regimentals: it covered his face. There was not a cool spot in that flame-coloured region; the yellow of his eyes was blood-shot, and his nose was richly Bardolphian. The expression of his features was thirst; but it was a jovial thirst withal—a thirst that burned to be supplied, encouraged, pampered. The very idea of water was repugnant to it. Hydrophobia was written upon the major’s brow.

We have described our rubicund doctor before. He always looked warm, but since his entrance into the tropics, he had been more than hot, he had been always steaming. There was an almost perceptible mist about him. His visage possessed not the adust scorch of the major’s; his was a moist heat; his cheeks were constantly par-boiling in their own perspiration. He was a meetcroupierfor our host.

Ranged on each side of this noble pair were the long lines of very pale and anxious faces (I really must except my own, for my face never looked anxious till I thought of marrying, or pale till I took to scribbling), the possessors of which were experiencing a little the torment of Tantalus. The palisades, those graves of sand, turned into a rich compost by the ever-recurring burial, were directly under the windows, and the land-breeze came over them, chill and dank, in palpable currents, through the jalousies, into the heated room; and, had one thrust his head into the moonlight and looked beneath, he would have seen hundreds of the shell-clad vampires, upon their long and contorted legs, moving hideously round, and scrambling horribly over newly-made mounds, each of which contained the still fresh corpse of a warrior, or of the land, or of the ocean. In a small way, your land-crab is a most indefatigable resurrectionist. But there is retribution for their villany. They get eaten in their turn. Delicate feeding they are, doubtlessly; and there can be no matter of question, but that, at that memorable dinner a double banquet was going on, upon a most excellent principle of reciprocity. The epicure crab was feeding upon the dish, man, below—whilst epicure man was feeding upon the dished-up crab above. True, the guests knew it not; I mean those who did not wear testaceous armour: the gentlemen in the coats of mail knew very well what they were about. It was, at the time of which I am speaking, a standing joke to make Johnny Newcome eat land-crab disguised in some savoury dish. Thank God, that was more than a quarter of a century ago. We trust that the social qualities and the culinary refinements of the West Indians do not now marchà l’écrevisseand progressà reculons.

There we all sat, prudence coqueting with appetite, and the finest yellow curries contending with the direst thoughts of yellow fever. Ever and anon some amiable youth would dash off a bumper of claret with an air of desperate bravery, and then turn pale at the idea of his own temerity. The most cautious were Scotch assistant-surgeons, and pale young ensigns who played the flute. The midshipmen feasted and feared. The major and the doctor kept on the “even tenor of their way,” that is, they ate and drankà l’envi.

We will now suppose the King’s health drank, with the hearty and loyal, God bless him! from every lip—the navy drank, and thanks returned by the doctor, with his mouth full of vegetable marrow—the army drank, and thanks returned by the major, after clearing his throat with a bumper of brandy—and after “Rule Britannia” had ceased echoing along the now silent esplanade, and that had been thundered forth with such energy by the black band, an awful pause ensues. Our first-lieutenant of marines rises, and, like conscience, “with a still small voice,” thus delivers himself of the anxiety with which his breast was labouring.

“Major Flushfire, may I claim the privilege of the similar colour of our cloth to entreat the favour of your attention? Ah! heh!—but this land breeze-laden, perhaps, with the germs of the yellow-fever—mephitic—and all that—you understand me, Dr Thompson?”

“As much as you do yourself.”

“Thank you—men of superior education—sympathy—and all that—you understand me fully, major. Now this night-breeze coming through that half-open jalousie—miasmata—and all that. Dr Armstrong, Dr Thompson—medical pill—‘pillars of the state’—you will pardon the classical allusion—”

“I won’t,” growled out the doctor.

“Ah—so like you—so modest—but don’t you think the draught is a little dangerous?”

“Do you mean the doctor’s, or this?” said the inattentive and thirsty major, fetching a deep breath, as he put down the huge glass tumbler of sangaree.

“Oh dear, no!—I mean the night draughtthroughthe window.”

“The best way to dispose of it,” said the purser, nodding at the melting Galen.

“No,” replied Major Flushfire, courteously, “there’s no danger in it at all—I like it.”

“Bless me, major,” said the marine, “why it comes all ingusts.”

“Like it all the better,” rejoined the major, with his head again half buried in the sangaree glass.

“Degustibus non est disputandum,” observed Thompson.

“Very true,” said the marine officer, looking sapiently. “That remark of yours about thewindsis opposite. We ought todisputetheir entrance, as you said in Latin. But is it quite fair, my dear doctor, for you and me to converse in Latin? We may be taking an undue advantage of the rest of the company.”

“Greek! Greek!” said the purser.

“Ay, certainly—it was Greek to Mr Smallcoates,” muttered Thompson.

“To be sure it was,” said the innocent marine. “Major Flushfire,” continued he, once more upon his legs, “may I again entreat the honour of your attention. Dr Thompson has just proved by a quotation from a Greek author, Virgil or Paracelsus, I am not certain which, that the entrance of the night air into a hot room is highly injurious, and in—in—and all that. You understand me perfectly—would it be asking too much to have all the windows closed?”

“Ovens and furnaces!” cried out the chairman, starting up. “Look at me and worthy Dr Thompson. Are we persons to enjoy a repetition of the Black Hole of Calcutta? The sangaree, Quasha—suffocation! The thought chokes me!” and he recommenced his devotions to the sangaree.

“It melts me,” responded the doctor, swabbing his face with the napkin.

“Are you afraid of taking cold?” said the purser to Mr Smallcoates.

“Taking cold—let the gentleman take his wine,” said the major.

“I must confess I am not so much afraid of cold as of fever. I believe, major, you have been three years in this very singularly hot and cold climate. Now, my dear sir, may I tax your experience to tell us which is the better method of living? Some say temperance, carried out even to abstemiousness, is the safer; others, that the fever is best repelled by devil’s punch, burnt brandy, and high living. Indeed, I may say that I speak at the request of my messmates. Do, major, give us your opinion.”

“I think,” said the man of thirst, “the medical gentlemen should be applied to in preference to an old soldier like myself. They have great practice in disposing of fever cases.”

“But if we must die, either of diet or the doctor, I am for knowing,” said the purser, “not what doctor, but what sort of diet, is most dilatory in its despatch.”

“Well, I will not answer the question, but state the facts. My messmates can vouch for the truth of them. Five years ago, and not three, I came out with a battalion of this regiment. We mustered twenty-five officers in all. We asked ourselves the very same question you have just asked of me. We split into two parties, nearly even in number. Twelve of us took to water, temperance, and all manner of preservatives; the other thirteen of us led a harum-scarum life, ate whenever we were hungry, and when we were not hungry; drank whenever we were thirsty, and when we were not thirsty; and to create a thirst, we qualified our claret with brandy; and generally forgot the water, or substituted Madeira for it, in making our punch. This portion of our body, like Jack Falstaff, was given to sleeping on bulkheads on moonlight nights, shooting in the mid-day sun, riding races, and sometimes, hem! assisting—a—a—at drinking-matches.”

Here the worthy soldier made a pause, appeared more thirsty than ever, scolded Quasha for not brandying his sangaree, and swigging it with the air of Alexander, when he proceeded to drain the cup that was fatal, he looked round with conscious superiority. The pale ensign looked more pale—the sentimental lieutenants more sentimental—many thrust their wine and their punch from before them, and there was a sudden competition for the water-jug. The marine carried a stronger expression than anxiety upon his features—it was consternation—and thus hesitatingly delivered himself:

“And—so—so—sir, thebons vivants—deluded—poor deluded gentlemen! all perished—but—pardon me—delicate dilemma—butyourself, my good major.”

“Exactly, Mr Smallcoates; and within the eighteen months.”

There was a perceptible shudder through the company, military as well as naval. The pure element became in more demand than ever, and those who did not actually push away their claret, watered it. The imperturbable major brandied his sangaree more potently.

“But,” said Mr Smallcoates, brightening up, “the temperate gentlemen all escaped the contagion—undoubtedly!”

“I beg your pardon—theyall died within the year. I alone remain of all the officers to tell the tale. The year eight was dreadful. Poor fellows!” The good major’s voice faltered, and he bent over his sangaree much longer than was necessary to enjoy the draught.

Blank horror passed her fearful glance from guest to guest. Even the rubicund doctor’s mouth was twitched awry. I did not quite like it myself.

“But I’m alive,” said the major, rallying up from his bitter recollections, “and the brandy is just as invigorating, and the wine just as refreshing as ever.”

“The majorisalive,” said the marine officer, very sapiently. “Is that brandy before you, Mr Farmer? I’ll trouble you for it—I really feel this claret very cold upon my stomach. Yes,” he repeated, after taking down a tumbler-full of half spirits, half wine, “the majorisalive—and—so am I.”

“The major is alive,” went round the table; “let us drink his health in bumpers.”

The major returned thanks, and volunteered a song. I begged it, and the reader may sing it as he pleases, though I shall please myself by recording how the major was pleased to have it sung.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “you will do me the favour to fill a bumper of lemonade, and when I cry chorus, chorus me standing, with the glasses in your hands; and at the end of each chorus you will be pleased to remember that the glass is to be drained. No heel-taps after, and no daylight before. Now for it, my lads!” and with a voice that must have startled the land crabs from their avocations, he roared out—

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee hack! hie thee back!To thy damp, drear abode in the jungle;I’ll be sober and staid,And drinklemonade,Try and catch me—you’ll make a sad bungle,Yellow Jack!“But he came, the queer thief, and he seized my right-hand,And I writh’d and I struggled, yet could not withstandHis hot, griping grasp, though I drank lemonade—He grinn’d and he clutch’d me, though sober and staid.”Chorus(with increasing loudness).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To thy damp, drear abode in the jungle;We’ll be sober and staid,And we’ll drink lemonade,Try and catch us—you’ll make a sad bungle,Yellow Jack!” (tremendously).

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee hack! hie thee back!To thy damp, drear abode in the jungle;I’ll be sober and staid,And drinklemonade,Try and catch me—you’ll make a sad bungle,Yellow Jack!“But he came, the queer thief, and he seized my right-hand,And I writh’d and I struggled, yet could not withstandHis hot, griping grasp, though I drank lemonade—He grinn’d and he clutch’d me, though sober and staid.”Chorus(with increasing loudness).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To thy damp, drear abode in the jungle;We’ll be sober and staid,And we’ll drink lemonade,Try and catch us—you’ll make a sad bungle,Yellow Jack!” (tremendously).

“Bumpers of sangaree!” roared the major, and sang:

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To thy pestilent swamp quickly hie thee;For I’ll drinksangaree,Whilst my heart’s full of glee,In thy death-doing might I’ll defy thee,Yellow Jack!“But the fiend persever’d and got hold of my side,How I burn’d, and I froze, and all vainly I triedTo get rid of his grasp—though I drank sangaree,No longer my bosom exulted with glee.”Chorus(still more loudly).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee backTo thy pestilent swamp quickly hie thee;For we’ll drink sangaree,Whilst our hearts throb with glee,In thy death-doing might we defy thee,Yellow Jack!”

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To thy pestilent swamp quickly hie thee;For I’ll drinksangaree,Whilst my heart’s full of glee,In thy death-doing might I’ll defy thee,Yellow Jack!“But the fiend persever’d and got hold of my side,How I burn’d, and I froze, and all vainly I triedTo get rid of his grasp—though I drank sangaree,No longer my bosom exulted with glee.”Chorus(still more loudly).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee backTo thy pestilent swamp quickly hie thee;For we’ll drink sangaree,Whilst our hearts throb with glee,In thy death-doing might we defy thee,Yellow Jack!”

After the sangaree, strong, and highly spiced, had been quaffed, the excitement grew wilder, and the leader of our revels exclaimed, at the top of his voice, “Wine, gentlemen, wine—brimmers!” and thus continued—

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!Begone to thy father, old Sootie,Purewinenow I’ll drink,So Jack, I should think,Of me thou wilt never make booty,Yellow Jack!“But a third time he came, and seized hold of my head;’Twas in vain that the doctor both blister’d and bled;My hand, and my side, and my heart too, I think,Would soon have been lost, though pure wine I might drink.”Chorus.“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee hack! hie thee back!Begone to thy father, old Sootie.Pure wine now we’ll drink,So Jack, we should think,Of us thou wilt never make booty,Yellow Jack!

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!Begone to thy father, old Sootie,Purewinenow I’ll drink,So Jack, I should think,Of me thou wilt never make booty,Yellow Jack!“But a third time he came, and seized hold of my head;’Twas in vain that the doctor both blister’d and bled;My hand, and my side, and my heart too, I think,Would soon have been lost, though pure wine I might drink.”Chorus.“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee hack! hie thee back!Begone to thy father, old Sootie.Pure wine now we’ll drink,So Jack, we should think,Of us thou wilt never make booty,Yellow Jack!

“Brandy!” shouted the major. “Brandy—he’s a craven who shirks the call.” There was no one there craven but myself. My youth excused my apostacy from the night’s orgies. The major resumed, his red face intensely hot and arid:

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee backTo the helldam, Corruption, thy mother;For withbrandyI’ll saveMy heart, and thus braveThee, and fell Death, thine own brotherYellow Jack!“To brandy I took, then Jack took his leave,Brandy-punch and neat brandy drink morn, noon, and eve,At night drink, then sleep, and be sure, my brave boys,Naught will quell Yellow Jack but neat brandy and noise.”The Chorus(most uproariously).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To the helldam, Corruption, thy mother;For with brandy we’ll saveOur hearts, and thus braveThee, and fell Death, thine own brother,Yellow Jack!”

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee backTo the helldam, Corruption, thy mother;For withbrandyI’ll saveMy heart, and thus braveThee, and fell Death, thine own brotherYellow Jack!“To brandy I took, then Jack took his leave,Brandy-punch and neat brandy drink morn, noon, and eve,At night drink, then sleep, and be sure, my brave boys,Naught will quell Yellow Jack but neat brandy and noise.”The Chorus(most uproariously).“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee back!To the helldam, Corruption, thy mother;For with brandy we’ll saveOur hearts, and thus braveThee, and fell Death, thine own brother,Yellow Jack!”

At last “Yellow Jack” was thundered out loud enough to awake his victims from the palisades. The company were just then fit for anything, but certainly most fit for mischief. Our first-lieutenant intimated to me that our jolly-boat was waiting to take the junior officers on board—considerate man—so I took the hint, marvelling much upon the scene that I had just witnessed.

Whether or not there was any mystic virtue in the exorcisory cantation of the previous night I cannot determine; but it is certain that, next morning, though headaches abounded among our officers, indications of the yellow fever there were none.

Chapter Forty Five.Insubordination followed by elevation—A midshipman triced up in mid-air, affording a practical lesson on oscillation—All truck and no barter.But as it is not my intention to write a diary of my life, which was like all other midshipmen’s lives in the West Indies, I shall pass over some months, during which we remained tolerably healthy, took many prizes, cut out some privateers, and spent money so rapidly gained, in a manner still more rapid.Of my own messmates I remember but little. They were generally shockingly ignorant young men, who had left school too early, to whom books were an aversion, and all knowledge, save that merely nautical, a derision. I had to go more often to fisty-cuffs with these youths, in defending my three deckers—words of Latin or Greek derivation—than on any other occasion. I remember well that the word “idiosyncrasy” got me two black eyes, and my opponent as “pretty a luxation” of the shoulder by being tumbled down the main hatchway at the close of the combat, as any man of moderate expectations might desire. I was really obliged to mind my parts of speech. I know that instead of using the obnoxious word “idiosyncrasy,” I should have said that Mr So-and-so had “a list to port in his ideas.” I confess my error—my sin against elegance was great; but it must be said in extenuation that then I was young and foolish.However, I really liked my mode of life. Notwithstanding my occasional squabbles with my messmates upon my inadvertently launching a first-rate, I can safely say I was beloved by everybody—nor is the term too strong. The captain liked me because I was always well dressed, of an engaging appearance, and a very handsome appendage to his gig, and aide-de-camp in his visits on shore; perhaps from some better motives—though certainly, amidst all his kindness to me, he once treated me most tyrannously.The doctor and the purser liked me, because I could converse with them rationally upon matters not altogether nautical. The master almost adored me, because, having a good natural talent for drawing, I made him plans of the hold, and the stowage of his tiers of water-casks, and sketches of headlands in his private log-book, to all which he was condescending enough to put his own name. The other superior officers thought me a very good sort of fellow, and my messmates liked me, because I was always happy and cheerful—and lent them money.The crew, to a man, would have done anything for me, because—(it was very foolish, certainly)—I used, for some months to cry heartily when any of them were tied up. And afterwards, when I got rid of this weakness, I always begged as many of them off from the infliction of the lash of Mr Farmer, the first-lieutenant, as I could. With him I could take the liberty if I found him in a good humour, though I dared not with the captain; for, though the latter had some attachment for me, it was a dreadfully wayward and capricious feeling.The longer I sailed with him the more occasion I had to dread, if not hate him. The poor man had no resources; it is not, therefore, surprising that he began to have recourse to habitual ebriety. Then, under the influence of his wife, he would be gay, mischievous, tyrannical, and even cruel, according to the mood of the moment. Yet, at the worst, though his feet faltered, when in his cups, his tongue never did. He even grew eloquent under the vinous influence. It sharpened his cunning, and wonderfully increased his aptitude for mischief. It was a grievous calamity to all on board the ship that we could not give his mind healthful occupation. I said that he was fond of me; but I began to dread his affection, and to feel myself as being compelled to submit to the playful caresses of a tiger. As yet, not only had we not had the slightest difference, but he had often humoured me to the detriment of the service, and in defiance of the just discipline Mr Farmer wished to maintain. If I presumed upon this, who shall blame such conduct in a mere boy? And then, Captain Reud was necessary to me. I found that I could not avail myself of my too ample allowance until he had endorsed my bills of exchange.However, the concealed fang of the paw that had so often played with, and patted me into vanity, was to wound me at length. It came upon me terribly, and entered deeply into my bosom.I was learning to play chess of the purser—the game had already become a passion with me. It was also my turn to dine in the ward-room, and, consequently, I was invited. The anticipated game at chess enhanced the value of the invitation. That same forenoon the captain and I had been very sociable. He gracious, and I facetious as I could. I had been giving him a history of my various ushers, and he had been pleased to be wonderfully amused. I was down in the midshipmen’s berth: a full hour after I had received the ward-room invitation, the captain’s steward shoved his unlucky head within the door, and croaked out, “Captain Reud’s compliments to Mr Rattlin, and desires his company to dinner today.”I answered carelessly, rather flippantly, perhaps, “Tell the captain I’m going to dine in the ward-room.” I meant no disrespect, for I felt none. Perhaps the fellow who took back my answer worded it maliciously. I had totally forgotten, as soon as I had uttered my excusal, whether I had or had not used the word “compliments,” or “respects”—perhaps thoughtlessly, neither one nor the other.I dined in the ward-room, enjoyed my chess, and, good, easy youth, with all my blushing honours thick upon me, of having given mate with only trifling odds in my favour, the drum beat to evening quarters. I was stationed to the four aftermost carronades on the quarter-deck. I had run up in a hurry; and at that period, straps to keep down the trousers not having been invented, my white jeans were riddled a good deal up the leg. I passed the captain, touched my hat, and began to muster my men. Unconscious of any offence, I stole a look at my commander, but met with no good-humoured glance in return. He had screwed up his little yellow physiognomy into the shape of an ill-conditioned and battered face on a brass knocker. He had his usual afternoon wine-flush upon him; but a feeling of vindictiveness had placed his feelings of incipient intoxication under complete mastery.“So you dined in the ward-room, Mr Rattlin?”“Yes, sir,” my hat reverently touched, not liking the looks of my interrogator.“And you did not even condescend to return the compliments I sent you, with my misplaced invitation to dinner.”“Don’t recollect, sir.”“Mr Rattlin, in consideration of your ignorance, I can forgive a personal affront—damme—but, by the living God, I cannot overlook disrespect to the service. You young misbegotten scoundrel! what do mean by coming to quarters undressed? Look at your trousers, sir!”“The captain is in a passion, certainly,” thought I, as I quietly stooped to pull the offending garment down to my shoes.“Mr Farmer, Mr Farmer, do you see the young blackguard?” said the commander. “Confound me, he is making a dressing-room of my quarter-deck—and at quarters, too—which is the same as parade. Hither, sirrah;—ho-ho, my young gentleman. Young gentleman, truly—a conceited little bastard!”The word burnt deeply into my young heart, and caused a shock upon my brain, as if an explosion of gunpowder had taken place within my skull; but it passed instantaneously, and left behind it an unnatural calm.“Pray, sir,” said I, walking up to him, deliberately and resolutely, “how doyouknow that I am a bastard?”“Do you hear the impudent scoundrel? Pray, sir, who is your father?”“Oh! that I knew,” said I, bursting into tears. “I bless God that it is not you.”“To the mast-head! to the mast-head! Where’s the boatswain? start him up! start him up!”The boatswain could not make his way aft till I was some rattlings up the main rigging, and thus, his intentional and kind dilatoriness saved me from the indignity of a blow. Twice I gazed upon the clear blue and transparent water, and temptation was strong upon me, for it seemed to woo me to rest; but when I looked inboard, and contemplated the diminutive, shrivelled, jaundiced figure beneath me, I said to myself, “Not for such a thing as that.”Before I had got to the main-top, I thought, “This morning he loved me!—poor human nature!”—and when I got to the topmast cross-trees, I had actually forgiven him. It has been my failing through life, as Shakespeare expresses it, “to have always lacked gall.” God knows how much I have forgiven, merely because I have found it impossible to hate.But it was to be tried still more. I had settled myself comfortably on the cross-trees, making excuses for the captain, and condemning my own want of caution, and anticipating a reconciliatory breakfast with my persecutor, when his shrill voice came discordantly upon my ears.“Mast-head, there!”“Sir.”“Up higher, sir—up higher.”I hesitated—the order was repeated with horrid threats and imprecations. There were no rattlings to the topgallant rigging. It had been tremendously hot all day, and the tar had sweated from the shrouds; and I was very loath to spoil my beautiful white jean trousers by swarming up them. However, as I perceived that he had worked himself into a perfect fury, up I went, and to the topgallant-mast-head, embracing the royal pole with one arm, and standing on the bights of the rigging. My nether apparel, in performing this feat, appeared as if it had been employed in wiping up a bucket of spilled tar.But I was not long to remain unmolested in my stand on the high and giddy mast. My astonishment and dismay were unbounded at hearing Captain Reud still vociferate, “Up higher, sir.”The royal pole stood naked, with nothing attached to it but the royal and the signal-halyards, the latter running through the truck. My lady readers must understand that the truck is that round thing at the top of all the masts that looks so like a button. I could not have got up the well-greased pole if I had attempted it. A practised seaman could, certainly, and, indeed, one of those worthies who climb for legs of mutton at a fair, might have succeeded to mount a few inches.“What!” said I, half aloud, “does the tyrant mean? He knows that this thing I cannot do: and he also knows that if I attempt it, it is probable I shall lose my hold of this slippery stick, and be rolled off into the sea. If he wishes to murder me, he shall do so more directly. Forgive him—never. I’ll brave him first, and revenge myself after.”Again that deadly calm came over me, which makes soft dispositions so desperate, and to which light-haired persons are so peculiarly subject. In these temperaments, when the paleness becomes fixed and unnatural, beware of them in their moods. They concentrate the vindictiveness of a life in a few moments; and, though the paroxysm is usually short, it is too often fatal to themselves and their victims. I coolly commenced descending the rigging, whilst the blackest thoughts crowded in distinct and blood-stained array upon my brain. I bethought me from whence I could the most readily pluck a weapon, but the idea was but instantaneous, and I dismissed it with a mighty effort. At length I reached the deck, whilst the infuriated captain stood mute with surprise at my outrageously insubordinate conduct. The men were still at their quarters, and partook of their commander’s astonishment; but, I am convinced, of no other feeling.When I found myself on deck I walked up to Captain Reud, and between my clenched teeth I said to him, slowly and deliberately, “Tyrant, I scorn you. I come premeditatedly to commit an act of mutiny: I give myself up as a prisoner: I desire to be tried by a court-martial. I will undergo anything to escape from you; and I don’t think that, with all your malice, you will be able to hang me. I consider myself under an arrest.” Then turning upon my heel, I prepared to go down the quarter-deck hatchway.Captain Reud heard me to the end in silence; he even permitted me to go down half the ladder unmolested, when, rousing himself from his utter astonishment, he jumped forward, and spurning me with his foot violently on my back, dashed me on the main deck. I was considerably bruised, and, before I got to the midshipmen’s berth, two marines seized me and dragged me again to the quarter-deck. Once more I stood before my angry persecutor, looking hate and defiance.“To the mast-head, sir, immediately.”“I will not. I consider myself a prisoner.”“You refuse to go?”“I do.”“Quarter-master, the signal halyards. Sling Mr Rattlin.” Mr Rattlin was slung. “Now run the mutinous rascal up to the truck.”In a moment I was attached to a thin white line, waving to and fro in mid air, and soon triced up to the very top of the royal pole, and jammed hard to the truck. Is this believed? Perhaps not; yet no statement was ever more true. At the time when this atrocity was perpetrating not an officer interfered. My sufferings were intense. The sun was still hot, my hat had fallen off in my involuntary ascent, and, as the ship was running before the wind under her topsails, the motion at that high point of elevation was tremendous. I felt horribly sea-sick. The ligature across my chest became every moment more oppressive to my lungs, and more excruciating in torture; my breathing at each respiration more difficult, and, before I had suffered ten times, I had fainted. So soon as the captain had seen me run up he went below, leaving strict orders that I should not be lowered down.Directly the captain was in his cabin, the first-lieutenant, the doctor, purser, and the officers of the watch, held a hurried consultation on my situation. But the good-natured doctor did not stop for the result, but immediately went below, and told Reud if I remained where I was I should die. Those who knew the navy at that time will anticipate the answer—no others can—“Let him die and be damned!” The good doctor came on deck, desponding. Mr Farmer then hailed me once, and again and again. Of course he received no answer: I heard him, but, at that moment, my senses were fast leaving me. The sea, with its vast horizon, appearing so illimitable from the great height where I was swaying, rocked, to my failing sight, awfully to and fro: the heavens partook of the dizzying motion. I only, of all the creation, seemed standing still: I was sick unto death; and as far as sensation was concerned, then and there I died.Upon receiving no reply, Mr Farmer sent one of the top-men up to look at me. No sooner had he reached the topgallant rigging than he reported me dead. A cry of horror escaped from all the deck. The captain rushed up: he needed no report. He was frantic with grief. He wept like a child, and assisted with his own hands to lower me down; they were his arms that received, himself that bore me to his cabin. Like a wilful boy who had slain his pet lamb, or a passionate girl her dove, he mourned over me. It was a long time before my respiratory organs could be brought into play. My recovery was slow, and it was some time before I could arrange my ideas. A cot was slung for me in the cabin, and bewildered and exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep.I awoke a little after midnight perfectly composed, and suffering only from the weal that the cord had made across my chest. Before a table, and his countenance lighted by a single lantern, sat the captain. His features expressed a depth of grief and a remorse that were genuine. He sat motionless, with his eyes fixed upon my cot: my face he could not see, owing to the depth of the shadow in which I lay. I moved: he advanced to my cot with the gentleness of a woman, and softly uttered:—“Ralph, my dear boy, do you sleep?”The tones of his voice fell soothingly upon my ear like the music of a mother’s prayer.“No, Captain Reud; but I am very thirsty.”In an instant he was at my side with some weak wine and water. I took it from the hand of him whom, a few hours before, in my animosity I could have slain.“Ralph,” said he, as he received back the tumbler, “Ralph, are we friends?”“Oh! Captain Reud, how could you treat a poor lad thus, who respected, who loved you so much?”“I was mad—do you forgive me, Ralph?” and he took my not unwilling hand.“To be sure; but do me one little favour in return.”“Anything, anything, Ralph—I’ll never mast-head you again.”“Oh, I was not thinking of that; I ought not to have put you in a passion. Punish me—mast-head me—do anything, Captain Reud, but call me not bastard.”He made no reply: he pressed my hand fervently; he put it to his lips and kissed it—on my soul he did: then, after a pause, gently murmured “Good-night;” and, as he passed into the after-cabin to his bed, I distinctly heard him exclaim, “God forgive me, how I have wronged that boy!”The next day we were better friends than ever; and for the three years that we remained together, not a reproachful word or an angry look ever passed between us.I must be permitted to make three observations upon this, to me, memorable transaction. The first is, that at that time I had not the power of retention of those natural feelings of anger, which all should carry with them as a preservation against, or a punishment for, injury and insult. I know that most of my male, and many of my female readers, will think my conduct throughout pusillanimous or abject. My mother’s milk, as it were, still flowed in my veins, and with that no ill blood could amalgamate. All I can say is, that now I am either so much better or so much worse, that I should have adopted towards Captain Reud a much more decided course of proceedings.My second remark is, that this captain had really a good heart, but was one of the most striking instances that I ever knew of the demoralising effect of a misdirected education, and the danger of granting great powers to early years and great ignorance. With good innate feelings, no man ever possessed moral perceptions more clouded.And lastly, that this statement is not to be construed into a libel on the naval service, or looked upon in the least as an exaggerated account. As to libel, the gentlemanly deportment, the parental care of their crews, and the strict justice of thousands of captains, cannot in the least be deteriorated by a single act of tyranny, by a solitary member of their gallant body; and, as to exaggeration, let it be remembered that, in the very same year, and on the very same station that my tricing-up to the truck occurred, another post-captain tarred and feathered one of his young gentlemen, and kept him in that state, a plumed biped, for more than six weeks in his hen-coop. This last fact obtained much notoriety, from the aggrieved party leaving the service, and recovering heavy damages from his torturer in the court of civil law. My treatment never was known beyond our frigate.

But as it is not my intention to write a diary of my life, which was like all other midshipmen’s lives in the West Indies, I shall pass over some months, during which we remained tolerably healthy, took many prizes, cut out some privateers, and spent money so rapidly gained, in a manner still more rapid.

Of my own messmates I remember but little. They were generally shockingly ignorant young men, who had left school too early, to whom books were an aversion, and all knowledge, save that merely nautical, a derision. I had to go more often to fisty-cuffs with these youths, in defending my three deckers—words of Latin or Greek derivation—than on any other occasion. I remember well that the word “idiosyncrasy” got me two black eyes, and my opponent as “pretty a luxation” of the shoulder by being tumbled down the main hatchway at the close of the combat, as any man of moderate expectations might desire. I was really obliged to mind my parts of speech. I know that instead of using the obnoxious word “idiosyncrasy,” I should have said that Mr So-and-so had “a list to port in his ideas.” I confess my error—my sin against elegance was great; but it must be said in extenuation that then I was young and foolish.

However, I really liked my mode of life. Notwithstanding my occasional squabbles with my messmates upon my inadvertently launching a first-rate, I can safely say I was beloved by everybody—nor is the term too strong. The captain liked me because I was always well dressed, of an engaging appearance, and a very handsome appendage to his gig, and aide-de-camp in his visits on shore; perhaps from some better motives—though certainly, amidst all his kindness to me, he once treated me most tyrannously.

The doctor and the purser liked me, because I could converse with them rationally upon matters not altogether nautical. The master almost adored me, because, having a good natural talent for drawing, I made him plans of the hold, and the stowage of his tiers of water-casks, and sketches of headlands in his private log-book, to all which he was condescending enough to put his own name. The other superior officers thought me a very good sort of fellow, and my messmates liked me, because I was always happy and cheerful—and lent them money.

The crew, to a man, would have done anything for me, because—(it was very foolish, certainly)—I used, for some months to cry heartily when any of them were tied up. And afterwards, when I got rid of this weakness, I always begged as many of them off from the infliction of the lash of Mr Farmer, the first-lieutenant, as I could. With him I could take the liberty if I found him in a good humour, though I dared not with the captain; for, though the latter had some attachment for me, it was a dreadfully wayward and capricious feeling.

The longer I sailed with him the more occasion I had to dread, if not hate him. The poor man had no resources; it is not, therefore, surprising that he began to have recourse to habitual ebriety. Then, under the influence of his wife, he would be gay, mischievous, tyrannical, and even cruel, according to the mood of the moment. Yet, at the worst, though his feet faltered, when in his cups, his tongue never did. He even grew eloquent under the vinous influence. It sharpened his cunning, and wonderfully increased his aptitude for mischief. It was a grievous calamity to all on board the ship that we could not give his mind healthful occupation. I said that he was fond of me; but I began to dread his affection, and to feel myself as being compelled to submit to the playful caresses of a tiger. As yet, not only had we not had the slightest difference, but he had often humoured me to the detriment of the service, and in defiance of the just discipline Mr Farmer wished to maintain. If I presumed upon this, who shall blame such conduct in a mere boy? And then, Captain Reud was necessary to me. I found that I could not avail myself of my too ample allowance until he had endorsed my bills of exchange.

However, the concealed fang of the paw that had so often played with, and patted me into vanity, was to wound me at length. It came upon me terribly, and entered deeply into my bosom.

I was learning to play chess of the purser—the game had already become a passion with me. It was also my turn to dine in the ward-room, and, consequently, I was invited. The anticipated game at chess enhanced the value of the invitation. That same forenoon the captain and I had been very sociable. He gracious, and I facetious as I could. I had been giving him a history of my various ushers, and he had been pleased to be wonderfully amused. I was down in the midshipmen’s berth: a full hour after I had received the ward-room invitation, the captain’s steward shoved his unlucky head within the door, and croaked out, “Captain Reud’s compliments to Mr Rattlin, and desires his company to dinner today.”

I answered carelessly, rather flippantly, perhaps, “Tell the captain I’m going to dine in the ward-room.” I meant no disrespect, for I felt none. Perhaps the fellow who took back my answer worded it maliciously. I had totally forgotten, as soon as I had uttered my excusal, whether I had or had not used the word “compliments,” or “respects”—perhaps thoughtlessly, neither one nor the other.

I dined in the ward-room, enjoyed my chess, and, good, easy youth, with all my blushing honours thick upon me, of having given mate with only trifling odds in my favour, the drum beat to evening quarters. I was stationed to the four aftermost carronades on the quarter-deck. I had run up in a hurry; and at that period, straps to keep down the trousers not having been invented, my white jeans were riddled a good deal up the leg. I passed the captain, touched my hat, and began to muster my men. Unconscious of any offence, I stole a look at my commander, but met with no good-humoured glance in return. He had screwed up his little yellow physiognomy into the shape of an ill-conditioned and battered face on a brass knocker. He had his usual afternoon wine-flush upon him; but a feeling of vindictiveness had placed his feelings of incipient intoxication under complete mastery.

“So you dined in the ward-room, Mr Rattlin?”

“Yes, sir,” my hat reverently touched, not liking the looks of my interrogator.

“And you did not even condescend to return the compliments I sent you, with my misplaced invitation to dinner.”

“Don’t recollect, sir.”

“Mr Rattlin, in consideration of your ignorance, I can forgive a personal affront—damme—but, by the living God, I cannot overlook disrespect to the service. You young misbegotten scoundrel! what do mean by coming to quarters undressed? Look at your trousers, sir!”

“The captain is in a passion, certainly,” thought I, as I quietly stooped to pull the offending garment down to my shoes.

“Mr Farmer, Mr Farmer, do you see the young blackguard?” said the commander. “Confound me, he is making a dressing-room of my quarter-deck—and at quarters, too—which is the same as parade. Hither, sirrah;—ho-ho, my young gentleman. Young gentleman, truly—a conceited little bastard!”

The word burnt deeply into my young heart, and caused a shock upon my brain, as if an explosion of gunpowder had taken place within my skull; but it passed instantaneously, and left behind it an unnatural calm.

“Pray, sir,” said I, walking up to him, deliberately and resolutely, “how doyouknow that I am a bastard?”

“Do you hear the impudent scoundrel? Pray, sir, who is your father?”

“Oh! that I knew,” said I, bursting into tears. “I bless God that it is not you.”

“To the mast-head! to the mast-head! Where’s the boatswain? start him up! start him up!”

The boatswain could not make his way aft till I was some rattlings up the main rigging, and thus, his intentional and kind dilatoriness saved me from the indignity of a blow. Twice I gazed upon the clear blue and transparent water, and temptation was strong upon me, for it seemed to woo me to rest; but when I looked inboard, and contemplated the diminutive, shrivelled, jaundiced figure beneath me, I said to myself, “Not for such a thing as that.”

Before I had got to the main-top, I thought, “This morning he loved me!—poor human nature!”—and when I got to the topmast cross-trees, I had actually forgiven him. It has been my failing through life, as Shakespeare expresses it, “to have always lacked gall.” God knows how much I have forgiven, merely because I have found it impossible to hate.

But it was to be tried still more. I had settled myself comfortably on the cross-trees, making excuses for the captain, and condemning my own want of caution, and anticipating a reconciliatory breakfast with my persecutor, when his shrill voice came discordantly upon my ears.

“Mast-head, there!”

“Sir.”

“Up higher, sir—up higher.”

I hesitated—the order was repeated with horrid threats and imprecations. There were no rattlings to the topgallant rigging. It had been tremendously hot all day, and the tar had sweated from the shrouds; and I was very loath to spoil my beautiful white jean trousers by swarming up them. However, as I perceived that he had worked himself into a perfect fury, up I went, and to the topgallant-mast-head, embracing the royal pole with one arm, and standing on the bights of the rigging. My nether apparel, in performing this feat, appeared as if it had been employed in wiping up a bucket of spilled tar.

But I was not long to remain unmolested in my stand on the high and giddy mast. My astonishment and dismay were unbounded at hearing Captain Reud still vociferate, “Up higher, sir.”

The royal pole stood naked, with nothing attached to it but the royal and the signal-halyards, the latter running through the truck. My lady readers must understand that the truck is that round thing at the top of all the masts that looks so like a button. I could not have got up the well-greased pole if I had attempted it. A practised seaman could, certainly, and, indeed, one of those worthies who climb for legs of mutton at a fair, might have succeeded to mount a few inches.

“What!” said I, half aloud, “does the tyrant mean? He knows that this thing I cannot do: and he also knows that if I attempt it, it is probable I shall lose my hold of this slippery stick, and be rolled off into the sea. If he wishes to murder me, he shall do so more directly. Forgive him—never. I’ll brave him first, and revenge myself after.”

Again that deadly calm came over me, which makes soft dispositions so desperate, and to which light-haired persons are so peculiarly subject. In these temperaments, when the paleness becomes fixed and unnatural, beware of them in their moods. They concentrate the vindictiveness of a life in a few moments; and, though the paroxysm is usually short, it is too often fatal to themselves and their victims. I coolly commenced descending the rigging, whilst the blackest thoughts crowded in distinct and blood-stained array upon my brain. I bethought me from whence I could the most readily pluck a weapon, but the idea was but instantaneous, and I dismissed it with a mighty effort. At length I reached the deck, whilst the infuriated captain stood mute with surprise at my outrageously insubordinate conduct. The men were still at their quarters, and partook of their commander’s astonishment; but, I am convinced, of no other feeling.

When I found myself on deck I walked up to Captain Reud, and between my clenched teeth I said to him, slowly and deliberately, “Tyrant, I scorn you. I come premeditatedly to commit an act of mutiny: I give myself up as a prisoner: I desire to be tried by a court-martial. I will undergo anything to escape from you; and I don’t think that, with all your malice, you will be able to hang me. I consider myself under an arrest.” Then turning upon my heel, I prepared to go down the quarter-deck hatchway.

Captain Reud heard me to the end in silence; he even permitted me to go down half the ladder unmolested, when, rousing himself from his utter astonishment, he jumped forward, and spurning me with his foot violently on my back, dashed me on the main deck. I was considerably bruised, and, before I got to the midshipmen’s berth, two marines seized me and dragged me again to the quarter-deck. Once more I stood before my angry persecutor, looking hate and defiance.

“To the mast-head, sir, immediately.”

“I will not. I consider myself a prisoner.”

“You refuse to go?”

“I do.”

“Quarter-master, the signal halyards. Sling Mr Rattlin.” Mr Rattlin was slung. “Now run the mutinous rascal up to the truck.”

In a moment I was attached to a thin white line, waving to and fro in mid air, and soon triced up to the very top of the royal pole, and jammed hard to the truck. Is this believed? Perhaps not; yet no statement was ever more true. At the time when this atrocity was perpetrating not an officer interfered. My sufferings were intense. The sun was still hot, my hat had fallen off in my involuntary ascent, and, as the ship was running before the wind under her topsails, the motion at that high point of elevation was tremendous. I felt horribly sea-sick. The ligature across my chest became every moment more oppressive to my lungs, and more excruciating in torture; my breathing at each respiration more difficult, and, before I had suffered ten times, I had fainted. So soon as the captain had seen me run up he went below, leaving strict orders that I should not be lowered down.

Directly the captain was in his cabin, the first-lieutenant, the doctor, purser, and the officers of the watch, held a hurried consultation on my situation. But the good-natured doctor did not stop for the result, but immediately went below, and told Reud if I remained where I was I should die. Those who knew the navy at that time will anticipate the answer—no others can—“Let him die and be damned!” The good doctor came on deck, desponding. Mr Farmer then hailed me once, and again and again. Of course he received no answer: I heard him, but, at that moment, my senses were fast leaving me. The sea, with its vast horizon, appearing so illimitable from the great height where I was swaying, rocked, to my failing sight, awfully to and fro: the heavens partook of the dizzying motion. I only, of all the creation, seemed standing still: I was sick unto death; and as far as sensation was concerned, then and there I died.

Upon receiving no reply, Mr Farmer sent one of the top-men up to look at me. No sooner had he reached the topgallant rigging than he reported me dead. A cry of horror escaped from all the deck. The captain rushed up: he needed no report. He was frantic with grief. He wept like a child, and assisted with his own hands to lower me down; they were his arms that received, himself that bore me to his cabin. Like a wilful boy who had slain his pet lamb, or a passionate girl her dove, he mourned over me. It was a long time before my respiratory organs could be brought into play. My recovery was slow, and it was some time before I could arrange my ideas. A cot was slung for me in the cabin, and bewildered and exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep.

I awoke a little after midnight perfectly composed, and suffering only from the weal that the cord had made across my chest. Before a table, and his countenance lighted by a single lantern, sat the captain. His features expressed a depth of grief and a remorse that were genuine. He sat motionless, with his eyes fixed upon my cot: my face he could not see, owing to the depth of the shadow in which I lay. I moved: he advanced to my cot with the gentleness of a woman, and softly uttered:—

“Ralph, my dear boy, do you sleep?”

The tones of his voice fell soothingly upon my ear like the music of a mother’s prayer.

“No, Captain Reud; but I am very thirsty.”

In an instant he was at my side with some weak wine and water. I took it from the hand of him whom, a few hours before, in my animosity I could have slain.

“Ralph,” said he, as he received back the tumbler, “Ralph, are we friends?”

“Oh! Captain Reud, how could you treat a poor lad thus, who respected, who loved you so much?”

“I was mad—do you forgive me, Ralph?” and he took my not unwilling hand.

“To be sure; but do me one little favour in return.”

“Anything, anything, Ralph—I’ll never mast-head you again.”

“Oh, I was not thinking of that; I ought not to have put you in a passion. Punish me—mast-head me—do anything, Captain Reud, but call me not bastard.”

He made no reply: he pressed my hand fervently; he put it to his lips and kissed it—on my soul he did: then, after a pause, gently murmured “Good-night;” and, as he passed into the after-cabin to his bed, I distinctly heard him exclaim, “God forgive me, how I have wronged that boy!”

The next day we were better friends than ever; and for the three years that we remained together, not a reproachful word or an angry look ever passed between us.

I must be permitted to make three observations upon this, to me, memorable transaction. The first is, that at that time I had not the power of retention of those natural feelings of anger, which all should carry with them as a preservation against, or a punishment for, injury and insult. I know that most of my male, and many of my female readers, will think my conduct throughout pusillanimous or abject. My mother’s milk, as it were, still flowed in my veins, and with that no ill blood could amalgamate. All I can say is, that now I am either so much better or so much worse, that I should have adopted towards Captain Reud a much more decided course of proceedings.

My second remark is, that this captain had really a good heart, but was one of the most striking instances that I ever knew of the demoralising effect of a misdirected education, and the danger of granting great powers to early years and great ignorance. With good innate feelings, no man ever possessed moral perceptions more clouded.

And lastly, that this statement is not to be construed into a libel on the naval service, or looked upon in the least as an exaggerated account. As to libel, the gentlemanly deportment, the parental care of their crews, and the strict justice of thousands of captains, cannot in the least be deteriorated by a single act of tyranny, by a solitary member of their gallant body; and, as to exaggeration, let it be remembered that, in the very same year, and on the very same station that my tricing-up to the truck occurred, another post-captain tarred and feathered one of his young gentlemen, and kept him in that state, a plumed biped, for more than six weeks in his hen-coop. This last fact obtained much notoriety, from the aggrieved party leaving the service, and recovering heavy damages from his torturer in the court of civil law. My treatment never was known beyond our frigate.

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