“What, Riga balsam?”
“Yes, that’s it; well, all the boats will bring that for sale, as they did to us in the old St. George. Devilish good stuff it is for wounds, I believe; but it’s not bad to drink, and it’s very strong. We used to take it inwardly, Mr Simple, and the first lieutenant never guessed it.”
“What! you all got tipsy upon Riga balsam?”
“All that could; so I just give you a hint.”
“I’m much obliged to you, Swinburne; I certainly never should have suspected it. I believe seamen would get drunk upon anything.”
The next morning we anchored at Spithead, and found the convoy ready for sea. The captain went on shore to report himself to the admiral, and, as usual, the brig was surrounded with bum-boats and wherries, with people who wished to come on board. As we were not known on the Portsmouth station, and had no acquaintance with the people, all the bum-boats were very anxious to supply the ship; and as this is at the option of the first lieutenant, he is very much persecuted until he has made his decision. Certificates of good conduct from other officers were handed up the side from all of them: and I looked over the books at the capstan. In the second book the name struck me; it was that of Mrs Trotter, and I walked to the gangway, out of curiosity, to ascertain whether it was the same personage who, when I was a youngster, had taken such care of my shirts. As I looked at the boats, a voice cried out, “Oh, Mr Simple, have you forgot your old friend? don’t you recollect Mrs Trotter?” I certainly did not recollect her; she had grown very fat, and, although more advanced in years, was a better looking woman than when I had first seen her, for she looked healthy and fresh.
“Indeed, I hardly did recollect you, Mrs Trotter.”
“I’ve so much to tell you, Mr Simple,” replied she, ordering the boat to pull alongside; and as she was coming up, desired the man to get the things in, as if permission was quite unnecessary. I did not counter-order it, as I knew none of the others, and, as far as honesty was concerned, believed them all to be much on a par. On the strength, then, of old acquaintance, Mrs Trotter was admitted.
“Well, I’m sure, Mr Simple,” cried Mrs Trotter, out of breath with climbing up the brig’s side; “what a man you’ve grown,—and such a handsome man, too! Dear, dear, it makes me feel quite old to look at you, when I call to mind the little boy whom I had charge of in the cockpit. Don’t you think I look very old and ugly, Mr Simple?” continued she, smiling and smirking.
“Indeed, Mrs Trotter, I think you wear very well. Pray how is your husband?”