How long he might have gone on with this farrago, it is difficult to say; but we were getting tired of him, so we passed the bottle till he left off narrative, and took to friendship.
"Now I say (hiccup), you Frank, you are a devilish good fellow; but that one-eyed son of a gun, I'll try him by a court-martial, the first time I catch him drunk; I'll hang him at the yard-arm, and you shall be my first lieutenant and custos-rot-torum, d——n me. Only you come and tell me the first time he is disguised in liquor, and I'll settle him, d——n his cock eye—a saucy, Polyphemus-looking son of a— (hiccup) a Whitechapel bird-catcher."
Here his recollection failed him; he began to talk to himself, and to confound me with the first lieutenant.
"I'll teach him to write to port-admirals for leave—son of a sea cook."
He was now drawing to the finale, and began to sing,
"The cook of the huffy got drank,
Fell down the fore-scuttle, and
Broke his gin bottle."
Here his head fell back, he tumbled off his chair, and lay motionless on the carpet.
Having previously determined not to let him be exposed in the streets in that state, I had provided a bed for him at the inn; and, ringing the bell, I ordered the waiter to carry him to it. Having seen him safely deposited, untied his neckcloth, took off his boots, and raised his head a little, we left him, and returned to the table, where we finished our evening in great comfort, but without any other instance of intoxication.
The next morning, I waited on him. He seemed much annoyed at seeing me, supposing I meant, by my presence, to rebuke him for his intemperance; but this was not my intention. I asked him how he felt; and I regretted that the hilarity of the evening had been interrupted in so unfortunate a manner.
"How do you mean, sir? Do you mean to insinuate that I was not sober?"