Oscar moved not. But he shook his bushy tail by way of thanks.
During this delightful little dinner-party, the conversation was quite untrammelled by anything like conventionality—free and easy, as a sailor's dinner should be. No one attempted to restrain himself from laughing, if there was a good thing said; and, as is the case wherever sailors meet, the conversation changed from one tack to another, often going right about, like a ship in a sea-way, if any new subject suggested itself.
"Yes, Captain Leeward," said Grant, "I believe I will have another small slice of that most delicious beef. Ah, sir," he added, "I fear we won't live like this all the cruise. Fighting cocks aren't in it, sir."
The captain laughed as he helped his doctor.
"Ever been nearly starved, sir?"
"I can't really say I have. You?"
"Oh yes," replied the Doctor, "more than once. But on one occasion, while slaver-hunting on the East Coast of Africa in the little P——, our mess ran into debt. The commander was honest to a fault, and determined we should live on ship's provisions—salt junk, pork, peas, &c., with rancid butter and barrelled eggs—ugh!—till we cleared off our debt. But this wasn't the worst, for our ship's stores had run short, and it would be months before we could get another supply, so we were put six upon four."
Creggan looked inquiringly.
"I mean, Creggan," said Mr. Grant, "that six men—the number in our mess—had to live on the allowance of four, and share it as well as they could.
"We had plenty of biscuits, however, but so full of dust and weevils were they, and so black with the attentions the huge cockroaches had paid them, that before we could eat them they had to be fried in bacon fat.