“As usual, my dear, not drinkable.” After much persuasion, Mrs Trotter agreed to sip a little out of his glass. I thought that she took it pretty often, considering that she did not like it, but I felt so unwell that I was obliged to go on the main-deck.
I went to bed very tired; Mr Trotter had my hammock hung up in the cock-pit, separated by a canvas screen from the cot in which he slept with his wife. I thought this very odd, but they told me it was the general custom on board ship, although Mrs Trotter’s delicacy was very much shocked by it. I was very sick, but Mrs Trotter was very kind. When I was in bed she kissed me, and wished me good night, and very soon afterwards I fell fast asleep.
Chapter Six.
Puzzled with very common words—Mrs Trotter takes care of my wardrobe—A matrimonial duet, ending “con strepito.”
I awoke the next morning at daylight with a noise over my head which sounded like thunder; I found it proceeded from holy-stoning and washing down the main-deck. I was very much refreshed nevertheless, and did not feel the least sick or giddy. Mr Trotter, who had been up at four o’clock, came down and directed one of the marines to fetch me some water. I washed myself on my chest, and then went on the main-deck, which they were swabbing dry. Standing by the sentry at the cabin door, I met one of the midshipmen with whom I had been in company at the Blue Posts.
“So, Master Simple, old Trotter and his faggot of a wife have got hold of you—have they?” said he. I replied, that I did not know the meaning of faggot, but that I considered Mrs Trotter a very charming woman. At which he burst into a loud laugh. “Well,” said he, “I’ll just give you a caution. Take care, or they’ll make a clean sweep. Has Mrs Trotter shown you her ankle yet?”
“Yes,” I replied, “and a very pretty one it is.”
“Ah, she’s at her old tricks. You had much better have joined our mess at once. You’re not the first greenhorn that they have plucked. Well,” said he, as he walked away, “keep the key of your own chest—that’s all.”