while the irreverent middies would drown the hymn of praise by singing,
"Oh! how disgusting 'tis to see
Our boatswain turning saint."
Whereupon Shever would cease his howl, and pour forth a jargon of hard words and impious phrases, during the delivery of which the mischievous wags in the gun-room would groan and ejaculate after the manner of the particular saints of whom Mr. Bowler was a shining light. The boatswain imagined by these means to attract the attention of his commander or first lieutenant, but he was undeceived when the former told him "that he did not wish his ship turned into a conventicle," and the latter reprimanded him as follows:—
"I would be most loath to incur the accusation of insensibility to the sublime chords of sacred melody, but must formally state, as my candid opinion, that the howls which issue from your cabin strike my auricular nerves in a manner diametrically opposed to the suggestion of aught celestial, and produce an effect the reverse of enchanting. With regard to your supplications to heaven, I would strongly suggest the propriety of their being made in a less audible manner, as it is beyond the bounds of possibility for me to surrender myself to the soothing influence of somnolence during the performance of your orations."
Upon receiving this rebuke, Mr. Shever proceeded to his cabin, where he found private Silas Bowler, seated upon his easy chair, quietly enjoying a nap. Without a word of explanation, he seized that pious marine, hauled him into the steerage, shook him until he awoke, then with a well-directed kick sent him flying forward, where that meek individual fell upon his knees and prayed, "that the devil might be cast out of that good man, the boatswain." Having vented his rage upon the soldier, Shever took out a bottle, filled a glass with rum, and drank the health of Captain Crushe, "and may all such duffers as some people perish," and from that day shunned the spirit of faith according to private Silas Bowler, and clave only to that more potent spirit yclept rum.
