“Very well, steward, but mind this, if there be one-sixth of a grain of garlic in the whole boiling of it, you shall swing at the yard’s arm.”
“Ver goot, sir.”
“Now, off with you on shore, and give your orders. Don’t forget to be off in time. Take the dingy and bring off quickly a boat-load of flowers and green stuff.”
Mr Dewar was just as quick at work as he was with his tongue and sword, and both of the latter, it was universally allowed, he could make the best of.
He was ably supported on this occasion by the whole strength of the mess, including Simmonds, the clerk—they were but five in all—and the engineer himself.
The captain cheerfully accepted the invitation, and proposed to the surgeon that forward in the course of the evening they should splice the main-brace.
The doctor assented with alacrity, and the ship’s stores thus expended were afterwards put down as sick-bay comforts.
The steward was off in good time, with foliage and flowers. Then a huge awning was rigged on deck, and lined with flags and candles stuck amidst the flowers, and branching bayonets and cutlasses.
The steward did his duty nobly; so did French Charlie.
For once there smoked on the tables of the Bunting a banquet that the Sultan himself would have enjoyed.