“Soldiers!” echoed Tom, whose spirits had been strongly excited by the conflict, snapping his fingers with ineffable disdain; “that for all the soldiers that were ever rigged: one whale could kill a thousand of them! and here stands the man that has killed his round hundred of whales!”
“Pshaw, you grampus, do you turn braggart in your old age?”
“It's no bragging, sir, to speak a log-book truth! but if Captain Barnstable thinks that old Tom Coffin carries a speaking-trumpet for a figure-head, let him pass the word forrard to man the boats.”
“No, no, my old master at the marlinspike,” said Barnstable, kindly, “I know thee too well, thou brother of Neptune! but shall we not throw the bread-room dust in those Englishmen's eyes, by wearing their bunting a while, till something may offer to help our captured countrymen.”
The cockswain shook his head and cogitated a moment, as if struck with sundry new ideas, when he answered:
“Ay, ay, sir; that's blue-water philosophy: as deep as the sea! Let the riptyles clew up the corners of their mouths to their eyebrows, now! when they come to hear the ra'al Yankee truth of the matter, they will sheet them down to their leather neckcloths!”
With this reflection the cockswain was much consoled, and the business of repairing damages and securing the prize proceeded without further interruption on his part. The few prisoners who were unhurt were rapidly transferred to the Ariel. While Barnstable was attending to this duty, an unusual bustle drew his eyes to one of the hatchways, where he beheld a couple of his marines dragging forward a gentleman, whose demeanor and appearance indicated the most abject terror. After examining the extraordinary appearance of this individual, for a moment, in silent amazement, the lieutenant exclaimed:
“Who have we here? some amateur in fights! an inquisitive, wonder-seeking non-combatant, who has volunteered to serve his king, and perhaps draw a picture, or write a book, to serve himself! Pray, sir, in what capacity did you serve in this vessel?”
The captive ventured a sidelong glance at his interrogator, in whom he expected to encounter Griffith, but perceiving that it was a face he did not know, he felt a revival of confidence that enabled him to reply:
“I came here by accident; being on board the cutter at the time her late commander determined to engage you. It was not in his power to land me, as I trust you will not hesitate to do; your conjecture of my being a non-combatant—”