“His flagship, the Duke of Wellington, was lying off Kiel or Copenhagen, I forget which exactly, and the officers were about to give a similar entertainment to ourselves as an acknowledgment of the kind treatment they had received from the inhabitants of the place. Like ours, the ship was decorated throughout regardless of expense, everyone subscribing to the fund, and a screen similar to what we had was being put up when the admiral coming down from the poop chanced to notice this.
“‘Hullo!’ he cried. ‘What’s that for?’
“‘Why, sir,’ explained the commander, ‘it’s to keep the men forrud from staring at the dancers.’
“‘The deuce it is!’ said the old fellow, taking an awful lot of snuff, Mr Jones remarked,” as if I were not acquainted with this habit of the veteran sailor.
“‘By whose orders was it rigged up?’
“‘Orders, sir?’ replied the commander, a bit nonplussed. ‘By mine, sir.’
“‘Then mine are for you to rig it down at once,’ cried the admiral, in a mighty fume, walking up and down and waving his arms about like a windmill backwards and forwards from his waistcoat pocket to his nose. ‘I won’t have any screens fitted up on board my ship to keep out my sailors from seeing what they have as good a right to see and enjoy as any of those with whom they have fought and bled. No sailors, no ball, or I’m a Russian! You can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr Commander!’”
“Did the ball come off, Mr Jones,” I inquired of the narrator, “after all?”
“No,” said he. “The fleet had to sail the very same day for which it was fixed. I believe old Charley arranged that it should be so, on purpose to pay out the commander, who had set his heart on it; for he was very hard on the men always, and the admiral could not stand that.”
“He was a good friend, always, to the sailors?” I remarked. “I have heard my father say so.”