“I’ll join you,” cried the first-lieutenant, shoving in his glass.
“Come, younker, let you and I have a glass cosy together,” said Jerry to the midshipman, who, frightened at what was going on, moved his chair a little further from Jerry, and then looked first at him and then at the captain.
“Oh, pray take a glass with the young gentleman,” said Captain Bradshaw, with mock politeness.
“Come, steward, none of your half allowance, if you please,” continued the impertinent Jerry. “Now, then, my cock, here’s towards you, and ‘better luck still.’”
Captain Bradshaw was astonished. “I say, youngster, did Captain M— ever flog you?”
“No, sir,” replied Jerry, demurely, perceiving that he had gone too far; “he always treats his officers like gentlemen.”
“Then, I presume, sir, when they are on board of his ship, that they conduct themselves as gentlemen.”
This hint made Jerry dumb for some time; the officers, however, continued as before. The surgeon dropped his plate, full of damascene tart, on the deck. The first-lieutenant spilt his snuff on the table-cloth, and laid his snuff-box on the table, which he knew to be the captain’s aversion; and the master requested a glass of grog, as the rotgut French wines had given him a pain in the bowels. Captain Bradshaw could hardly retain his seat upon the chair, upon which he fidgeted right and left. He perceived that his officers were behaving in a very unusual manner, and that it was with a view to his annoyance: yet it was impossible for him to take notice of breaking glasses, and finding fault with the cookery, which they took care to do, sending their plates away before they had eaten a mouthful, with apparent disgust; neither could he demand a court-martial for awkwardness or want of good manners at his own table. He began to think that he had better have left out the “every day until further orders,” in the memorandum, as rescinding it immediately would have been an acknowledgment of their having gained the victory; and as to their going on in this way, to put up with it was impossible.
The dinner was over, and the dessert placed on the table. Captain Bradshaw passed the bottles round, helping himself to Madeira. Roberts took claret, and as soon as he had tasted it, “I beg your pardon, Captain Bradshaw,” said he, “but this wine is corked.”
“Indeed—take it away, steward, and bring another bottle.”