CHAPTER XXIII.
The Onyx corvette was commanded by Captain Patrick O’Loughlin. Charles Pole, our hero’s comrade on board the Victory, was second lieutenant, he having had the good fortune to get appointed, through the interest of his uncle, who commanded the Colossus, seventy-four, rejoicing in his heart at having the warm-hearted and gallant O’Loughlin as a commander.
“Ah! Charley, my boy!” said the commander of the corvette, “if we had only Sir Oscar with us.”
O’Loughlin would insist on always speaking of our hero by his title, which was endeared to him by being that of his noble benefactor.
“Ah, my dear sir,” returned the Lieutenant, “if we had, what a glorious cruise we should have!”
“Charley, my boy,” said the Captain, filling his glass, and passing the bottle to the Lieutenant, for they were sitting in the cabin after dinner; “if you sir me when in private, I must put you under arrest for mutiny, be the powers of war I must. I can’t stand it. I hate it—I’m a rank revolutionist!”
“By Jove, that’s good!” laughed Charles Pole; “you a revolutionist! Why you insist every day of your life on drinking Sir Oscar de Bracy’s health, and that he must always be called ‘Sir Oscar.’ He would kick against that himself if he were here.”
“He’s a trump; don’t bother me about titles, they are all very well when they and the wearer fit, and he’s fit to be a duke. I wish I had been on board the Diamond that unlucky day; I’d have had that cursed Vengeance out, or been blown to atoms.”
“A sail to windward, sir,” said a curly-haired young midshipman, popping his head into the cabin; “she appears a large ship.”