“That’s just like your usual carelessness, Mr J—. Now go up to the mast-head, and stay there till I call you down.”
Jerry, who did not like the turn which the joke had taken, moved up with a very reluctant step—at the rate of about one ratline in ten seconds.
“Come, sir, what are you about?—start up.”
“I’m no up-start, sir,” replied Jerry to the first-lieutenant—a sarcasm which hit so hard, that Jerry was not called down till dark; and long after Prose had, by making interest with the captain’s steward, obtained the keys, and released his neck from its enthralment.
The party in the second boat were landed on the reef, and while the rest were attending to the survey, Macallan was employed in examining the crevices of the rocks, and collecting the different objects of natural history which presented themselves. The boat was sent on board, as it was not required until the afternoon, when the gun-room officers were to return to dinner. The captain’s gig remained on shore, and the coxswain was employed by Macallan in receiving from him the different shells and varieties of coral, with which the rocks were covered.
“Take particular care of this specimen,” said the surgeon, as he delivered a bunch of corallines into the hands of Marshall, the coxswain.
“I ax your pardon, Mr Macallan,—but what’s the good of picking up all this rubbish?”
“Rubbish!” replied the surgeon, laughing—“why you don’t know what it is. What do you think those are which I just gave you?”
“Why, weeds are rubbish, and these be only pieces of seaweed.”
“They happen to be animals.”