Preservation was taken of all the King’s Stores,
Nor so much as a Rope Yarn was launched in the deep.
“But now it is Peace, other hopes are in view,
And all active service as light as a feather,
The Stores may be d—d, and humanity too,
For Shakings and Shot are thrown o’erboard together!”
I need hardly say in what quarter of the ship this biting morsel of cock-pit satire was concocted, nor indeed who wrote it, for there was no one but our good Daddy who was equal to such a flight. About midnight, an urchin—who shall be nameless—was thrust out of one of the after-ports of the lower deck, from which he clambered up to the marine officer’s port, and the sash happening to have been lowered down on the gun, the epigram, copied by another of the youngsters, was pitched into the soldier’s basin.
The wisest thing would have been for the officers to have said nothing about the matter, and let it blow by. But angry people are seldom judicious—so they made a formal complaint to the captain, who, to do him justice, was not a little puzzled how to settle the affair. The reputed author, however, was called up, and the captain said to him—
“Pray, sir, are you the writer of these lines?”
“I am, sir,” he replied, after a little consideration.