My first act on regaining the cutter was to rouse Bob and the boy who officiated as cook on board the “Mouette;” with the object of obtaining from the former any news he might have to impart, and from the latter as substantial a breakfast as the resources of the cutter would permit.
I listened to Bob’s story while engaged upon the highly necessary operation of cleansing my person and encasing it once more in “the uniform proper to my rank.” Bobby had very little to tell me; and that little was by no means reassuring. It appeared that a despatch-boat had arrived from Malta on the previous day bringing letters for the fleet; and, among the rest, there had been a couple of epistles for me. Bob had gone on board the “Juno” for whatever letters there might be for the cutter’s crew, and had been ordered by the skipper to request my presence on board. Thereupon master Bob had presented my note informing the skipper of my proposed expedition. Instead of expressing his gratification at my zeal, as Bobby had fully expected he would, it appeared that the skipper had exhibited a very considerable amount of irritation; finally ordering friend Robert somewhat peremptorily back to the cutter, with instructions to send me without fail on board the “Juno” immediately on my return, if (which the skipper seemed to consider highly improbable) I ever succeeded in returning at all.
By the time that Summers had brought his story to a close I was ready for the breakfast which meantime had been preparing; and as it was still much too early to present myself before Captain Hood (who seldom appeared before eight bells) I sat down to the meal, with—it must be confessed—a somewhat diminished appetite; hastily skimming through my letters as I munched away at the weevily biscuits. There were two; one from my dear old dad, and one from Sir Peregrine. There was nothing of very special interest in either; my father’s epistle dealing chiefly with a few items of home gossip, such as that farmer Giles of the Glebe had met with an accident in the hunting-field, his colt falling with him and breaking the worthy farmer’s leg—doctor pronounced it a compound fracture; that the wife of Lightfoot, the gamekeeper, had presented her husband with twins once more—two girls this time; mother and twins doing well; that Old Jane Martin had been laid up all the winter with rheumatism, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera; and that finally, all at home were enjoying excellent health, and would be glad if I could find time to write to them a little more frequently. My great-uncle, Sir Peregrine, was not nearly so voluminous in his correspondence as my father—sailors are not as a rule very good correspondents—what he had to say was said in as few words as possible. Two pages of note-paper sufficed the worthy admiral to inform me that he had been intensely gratified at the terms in which my name had been mentioned in connexion with the storming of the Convention Redoubt, and that he was writing per same mail to “his friend Hood” (the admiral, not the captain), asking him to give me as many opportunities as he could of distinguishing myself—“or of getting knocked on the head,” thought I; and that if I needed any cash my drafts upon him would be duly honoured. Also, that he had not been out much during the winter, his old enemy the gout having attacked him so pertinaciously that he had been confined to the house for weeks at a time, moored “stem and stern” before the library fire, like a prison-hulk in Portsmouth Harbour!
My letters and my breakfast were got through in about the same time; and as Bob and I emerged from our tiny cabin on to the cutter’s narrow deck the ship’s bells were musically chiming out the eight strokes which proclaimed the end of one watch and the commencement of another. The skipper would, I knew, be stirring by this time, so I jumped into the dinghy, and proceeded on board the frigate.
As I stepped in on the “Juno’s” deck, Captain Hood made his appearance at the cabin-door. Touching my hat, I went up and reported myself.
“Good morning, Mr Chester,” observed he affably; “I am very glad to see you have come safely out of your escapade. But what do you mean, sir,” (assuming a tone of severity), “by presuming to undertake such an expedition without asking and obtaining permission? It is a manifest breach of discipline, and, as such, must be punished. I placed you in charge of the cutter as a kind of promotion, and by way of reward for your exemplary conduct generally. Now I shall be compelled to deprive you of your command. You will return forthwith to your duty on board the frigate, sir.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” I responded, considerably crestfallen. “I am extremely sorry to have incurred your displeasure, sir, I am sure. I would have asked permission, sir, but I was afraid that, after poor Mr Tupper’s death, it would be refused.”
“Very well, Mr Chester. I have no doubt you meant well, and therefore I have been lenient in the punishment which your breach of discipline demanded. You have been reprimanded on the quarter-deck, sir, and so we will say nothing more about it. Only I must impress upon you the necessity of being careful to avoid a repetition of the offence. Now come into the cabin and have some breakfast with me, and you can then tell us how you fared among the Frenchmen. If you have not already breakfasted, Mr Annesley,” (to the first lieutenant, who at this moment approached), “I shall be glad to have the pleasure of your company.”
So saying, the skipper turned on his heel, and led the way into the cabin, where we found the table well provided with a variety of good things highly provocative of appetite in a midshipman, even though he might have partaken of one breakfast already within an hour.
As soon as we had seated ourselves, and were supplied from the stock of delicacies before us,—