“And so must I, then, I presume; but, by heavens, downright tyranny and oppression.”
“Never mind; listen to me. Let’s all go, and all behave as ill as we can—be as unmannerly as bears—abuse everything—be as familiar as possible, and laugh in his face. He cannot touch us for it, if we do not go too far—and he’ll not trouble us to come a second time.”
Their plans were arranged; and at three o’clock they were ushered into the cabin, with one of the midshipmen of the ship, and Jerry, who, as a stranger, had been honoured with an invitation. Captain Bradshaw, whose property was equal to his liberality, piqued himself upon keeping a good table; his cook was an artiste, and his wines were of the very best quality. After all, there was no great hardship in dining with him—but, “upon compulsion!”—No. The officers bowed. The captain, satisfied with their obedience, intended, although he had brought them there by force, to do the honours of his table with the greatest urbanity.
“Roberts,” said he, “do me the favour to take the foot of the table.—Doctor, here’s a chair for you.—Mr Bradly, come round on this side. Now, then, steward, off covers, and let us see what you have for us. Why, youngster, does your captain starve you?”
“No, sir,” replied Jerry, who knew what was going on; “but he don’t give me a dinner every day.”
“Humph!” muttered the captain, who thought Mr Jerry very free upon so short an acquaintance.
The soup was handed round; the first spoonful that Roberts took in his mouth, he threw out on the snow-white deck, crying out, as soon as his mouth was empty, “O Lord!”
“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired the captain.
“So cursed hot, I’ve burnt my tongue.”
“Oh, that’s all?—steward, wipe up that mess,” said the captain, who was rather nice in his eating.