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 the pas of 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 great nerve.” (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.”