“A riddle, noble Jack.”
“Not a bit; every man who has a sole to his foot has a crown to his head. Here’s mine;” and so saying, Jack, removing his tarpaulin, exhibited a bald spot, just about the bigness of a crown-piece, on the summit of his curly and classical head.
CHAPTER LVII.
THE EMPEROR REVIEWS THE PEOPLE AT QUARTERS.
I Beg their Royal Highnesses’ pardons all round, but I had almost forgotten to chronicle the fact, that with the Emperor came several other royal Princes—kings for aught we knew—since it was just after the celebration of the nuptials of a younger sister of the Brazilian monarch to some European royalty. Indeed, the Emperor and his suite formed a sort of bridal party, only the bride herself was absent.
The first reception over, the smoke of the cannonading salute having cleared away, and the martial outburst of the brass band having also rolled off to leeward, the people were called down from the yards, and the drum beat to quarters.
To quarters we went; and there we stood up by our iron bull-dogs, while our royal and noble visitors promenaded along the batteries, breaking out into frequent exclamations at our warlike array, the extreme neatness of our garments, and, above all, the extraordinary polish of the bright-work about the great guns, and the marvellous whiteness of the decks.
“Que gosto!” cried a Marquis, with several dry goods samples of ribbon, tallied with bright buttons, hanging from his breast.
“Que gloria!” cried a crooked, coffee-coloured Viscount, spreading both palms.
“Que alegria!” cried a little Count, mincingly circumnavigating a shot-box.
“Que contentamento he o meu!” cried the Emperor himself, complacently folding his royal arms, and serenely gazing along our ranks.