“There are worse misfortunes at sea!” he said, as he invested himself in a nondescript garment of which it was almost impossible to tell the original form or material, and which now hung about him like sea-weed. “‘A little water clears us from this deed!’ In other words, when we get back home, a warm bath and a change of dress will make us all right!” he added.
“Come you! brother giant, I’m waiting for you!” impatiently cried Mutchison to Fitz Smithers, who, with Billingcoo was putting off the evil hour of undressing as long as possible.
“Come! Blazes, men! will you make haste, or shall I help you?”
Fitz Smithers sprang a yard from the ground in his fright, and then began nervously to strip himself.
“And you, sir! what are you about? Here are several of my poor fellows waiting for your clothes! Off with them instantly!” thundered Mutchison, addressing himself to the afflicted dandy, who would rather have died than disrobe.
“Oh lor! oh dear! I can’t—indeed I can’t! I——” whimpered Billingcoo.
“Oh! you can’t, can’t you? Here, Covington—here’s a young gentleman not used to waiting on himself—wants his valet. Come and help him to undress,” shouted Mutchison.
A short, stout, bull-necked, black-muzzled guerrilla came forward to execute the order, and looked around for the victim.
“There, that dainty darling with the rose stuck in his button-hole,” said the leader.
“Oh, don’t! Oh, pleathe don’t! I’ll pay for them. I’ll ranthom them. I will indeed. My monthly pay will be due in two or three dayth, and when I get it, I will thend you the money from Wathington. Indeed I will, general. I’m a man of honor,” pleaded Billingcoo.