“From that, I suppose, Paddy,” he said, as soon as he could speak, “you put Jocko here in the same boat as the birds?”
“Begorrah, Oi do, sor,” replied Mick, with a broad grin, as he cuddled the monkey up to him in his arms; Jocko taking off Mick’s cap the while, and carefully scattering its motley contents to the winds. “Oi call him, sure, a Saint Michael’s canary, faith, sor!”
“You’ll do,” said Mr Blockley, laughing again as he went away to attend to his duties, in seeing the chain cables got up from below, and ranged along the lower deck in preparation for our anchoring anon. “Let alone an Irishman for having the last word!”
Having a good breeze with us from the southward and westward, we soon rounded Saint Helen’s point, off the east end of the island; and making a wide reach in towards the Warner lightship, we brought up at Spithead at Four Bells, comfortably.
Just before we anchored, Mr Osborne, the first lieutenant, sent for Mick and myself, the marine who passed the word forward for us, saying that ‘Number One’ wanted to see us in the wardroom.
Wondering what was up, my chum and I proceeded aft, where we found Mr Osborne seated at the table, having just had lunch, as the cloth showed.
‘Number One,’ who had evidently enjoyed his meal, being in a genial mood, as indeed, to give him his due, he usually was, did not keep us long in suspense.
“Ha, my lads,” he said, on the sentry ushering us up to where he sat, “you’ve given in your names, I believe, to pass for ordinary seamen, eh?”
The cat was out of the bag at once, and mightily we felt relieved at that.
I could not help smiling as I answered Mr Osborne in the affirmative; while, as for Mick, his “Yis, sor,” was rolled out with an emphasis that made ‘Number One’ laugh outright.