“Yes, sir,” said Mesty, who perceived what Jack wanted; “it was nothing, I assure you, but ‘God bless you, Captain Wilson!—Bless your heart, my good men!—Bless the king!’ and so on. You do noting but shower down blessing and wet blanket.”
“I told you so,” said Jack.
“Well, Mr Easy, you’ve made me very happy,” replied the chaplain; “I was afraid it was otherwise.”
So indeed it was, for the chaplain had sworn like a boatswain; but, as Jack and Mesty had turned all his curses into blessings, the poor man gave himself absolution, and shaking hands with Jack, hoped he would come down into the gun-room and take a glass of grog; nor did he forget Mesty, who received a good allowance at the gun-room door, to which Jack gladly consented, as the rum in the middy’s berth had all been exhausted after the rainy morning—but Jack was interrupted in his third glass, by somebody telling him the captain wanted to speak with Mr Hawkins and with him.
Jack went up and found the captain on the quarter-deck with the officers.
“Mr Easy,” said Captain Wilson, “I have sent for you, Mr Hawkins, and Mr Gascoigne, to thank you on the quarter-deck, for your exertions and presence of mind on this trying occasion.” Mr Hawkins made a bow. Gascoigne said nothing, but he thought of having extra leave when they arrived at Malta. Jack felt inclined to make a speech, and began something about when there was danger that it levelled every one to an equality even on board of a man-of-war.
“By no means, Mr Easy,” replied Captain Wilson, “it does the very contrary, for it proves which is the best man, and those who are the best raise themselves at once above the rest.”
Jack was very much inclined to argue the point, but he took the compliment and held his tongue, which was the wisest thing he could have done; so he made his bow, and was about to go down into the midshipmen’s berth when the frigate was pooped by a tremendous sea, which washed all those who did not hold on down into the waist. Jack was among the number, and naturally catching at the first object which touched him, he caught hold of the chaplain by the leg, who commenced swearing most terribly, but before he could finish the oath, the water, which had burst into the cabin through the windows—for the dead-lights, in the confusion, had not yet been shipped—burst out the cross bulkheads, sweeping like a torrent the marine, the cabin-door, and everything else in its force, and floating Jack and the chaplain with several others down the main hatchway on to the lower deck. The lower deck being also full of water, men and chests were rolling and tossing about, and Jack was sometimes in company with the chaplain, and at other times separated; at last they both recovered their legs, and gained the midshipmen’s berth, which, although afloat, was still a haven of security. Mr Hawkins spluttered and spit, and so did Jack, until he began to laugh.
“This is very trying, Mr Easy,” said the chaplain: “very trying indeed to the temper. I hope I have not sworn—I hope not.”
“Not a word,” said Jack—“I was close to you all the time—you only said, ‘God preserve us!’”