“Do not use such a lubberly expression, my dear Rose, if you respect your father's profession. On a vessel, is a new-fangled Americanism, that is neither fish, flesh, nor red-herring, as we sailors say—neither English nor Greek.”
“What should I say, then? My wish is not to parade sea-talk, but to use it correctly, when I use it at all.”
“The expression is hardly 'sea-talk,' as you call it, but every-day English—that is, when rightly used. On a vessel is no more English than it is nautical—no sailor ever used such an expression.”
“Tell me what I ought to say, and you will find me a willing, if not an apt scholar. I am certain of having often read it, in the newspapers, and that quite lately.”
“I'll answer for that, and it's another proof of its being wrong. In a vessel is as correct as in a coach, and on a vessel as wrong as can be; but you can say on board a vessel, though not 'on the boards of a vessel;' as Mrs. Budd has it.”
“Mr. Mulford!”
“I beg a thousand pardons, Rose, and will offend no more—though she does make some very queer mistakes!”
“My aunt thinks it an honour to my uncle's memory, to be able to use the language of his professional life, and if she does sometimes make mistakes that are absurd, it is with motives so respectable that no sailor should deride them.”
“I am rebuked for ever. Mrs. Budd may call the anchor a silver spoon, hereafter, without my even smiling. But if the aunt has this kind remembrance of a seaman's life, why cannot the niece think equally well of it?”
“Perhaps she does,” returned Rose, smiling again—“seeing all its attractions through the claims of Captain Spike.”