"Did you?" mumbled the ancient mariner. "I should like to know how the likes of you became ack-vainted with sich an elegant field-male?" saying which this oracle placed a plug of tobacco between his toothless jaws, and looked round until he spied out the small boy, who, being thus challenged, retorted—
"Vy shouldn't I know her, vhen she drinked herself to death at my fauther's?"
"Your father's! who's your father?" growled the patriarch.
"Bill Jordun, wot keeps the Blue Postes at Portsea—he's as good a man as you, anyhow."
Much to the astonishment of the spectators, the daring child was not slain, or maimed for life; but with a look of the most profound admiration, the hoary sinner drew forth his tobacco box, which he tendered, to the lad, requesting him to "help hisself," remarking as he did so, "Wot! the kid of my old chum Bill? Lord love you, sit down along side of me, vy, I've been as tight as an owl at your old man's many's the time. I'll be as good as a father to you, my boy; see if I don't."
The ancient mariner religiously kept his word—with a rope's end—and the lad repeatedly had occasion to "anything but bless" the memory of "that elegant field-male Limpin Lew."
A few of the men were seated at their mess-tables, scrawling off their epistolary farewells. Tom Clare was one of these—crippled as he was, he managed to write to his wife.
H. M. S. Stinger,
Nov. 16, ——"Dear Polly,
"We leave in a few hours for a foreign station, it is now all past, and I am wot they cal a free man once again. Tell her, the angell as you knows,—I menshun no name for fear of accident,—that I thank her for her kindness to you. I wait patient until I see you again. Love to Mother and Father. I have you always in my hart until death do us part, God bless my wife.
"From Thomas Clare, A. B., to Mrs. Clare, care of Mrs. Morks, 41, John Street, Portsmouth, or if not there, to Mrs. Clare, Kingsdown, near Deal, Kent.
"Write soon, she will tell you were too,
"Tom Clare."
Mr. Thompson not only wrote to Mary Ann, but also in consideration of sundry glasses of grog, acted as amanuensis to several of his shipmates. The letter to his intended running thus:—
Pentonwille, afloat off Spithead.
"Dear Miss Mary Ann Ross, Perfection in Wimen,
"This comes opin to find you well as leafs me at present with a full intenshun to bolt as soon as i gets harf a chans.
"I am sorry to ad your brother in lawer is a brute, i knowed he were a mene kus but i did not think 'im wishous, being a perfec tyerant.
"He gave us a trete a flakin pore T. Clare, i was horri-fied and his pore wife a faintin over the ship's side, and the skipper as hard as a stone, which i hope she will bolt with some good looking feller and drive him into a lunatic a-sylum. T. Clare behaved like a bric—but enuf of those melancholy subjex which I dismiss with love to Mrs. Shever and wishin her a better husband that i feels as if i would like to punch his edd.
"P. S. Give my love to your cousin Amelia, alsow to that red-ed-ded gal the cook next door, if so be you don't objex, she avin a bligh of my sister Fanne in Australia.
"P. S. Remember me, Horatio, to the sarjunt, but don't allow no other soljar nere your lips, dere Mary Ann.
"P. S. P. S. Minde you keep clear of that young Carpenter who is after no goode.
"P. S. If this should meat the high of the cook, give her my love, also a kiss if you don't objex.
"P. S. S. S. S. S. We are going to the Cape of Good ope tomorro before breakfast, so dri your tears, dispell your fears, for true you'll always find me i must and will return again to the girl i left behind me.
"Jerry Thompson, A. B. on board H. M. Ship Stinger. Seamen's Letter bag."