Beds and blankets which are not aired or shook more than once a month, are apt to be very full of what is termed fluff and blanket hairs, and they have a close smell, by no means agreeable. The sailors, who had an idea that the order had been given inconsiderately, were quite delighted, and commenced shaking their blankets on the forecastle and weather gangway, raising a cloud, which the wind carried aft upon the parties exercising upon the quarterdeck.
“What the devil is all this?” cried Captain Majoribanks, looking forward with dismay. “Order—arms.”
Lieutenant Winterbottom and half of his party were now seized with a fit of coughing. “Confound it!—shut—pans—handle—upon my soul I’m choked.”
“This is most excessively disagreeable,” observed Mr Petres; “I made up my mind to be tarred when I came on board, but I had no idea that we should be feathered.”
“Support—damn it, there’s no supporting this!” cried Captain Majoribanks. “Where’s Major Clavering? I’ll ask to dismiss the men.”
“They are dismissing a great many little men, forward, I suspect,” said the first-mate, laughing. “I cannot imagine what induced Captain Oughton to give the order: we never shake bedding except when the ship’s before the wind.”
This last very consoling remark made it worse than all; the officers were in an agony. There was not one of them who would not have stood the chance of a volley from a French regiment rather than what they considered that they were exposed to. But without Major Clavering’s permission they could not dismiss their men. Captain Majoribanks hastened to the cabin, to explain their very un-pleasant situation, and received the major’s permission to defer the exercise.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Captain Oughton, “what is the matter?”
“The matter!” replied Ansell. “Why, my flesh creeps all over me. Of all the thoughtless acts, Captain Oughton, it really beats—”
“Cock-fighting,” interrupted the captain, with a loud laugh. “Now we are quits.”