"Hark to the baby!"
"Baby! I'd have you know I got my commission two years ago, and if you doubt it, I ask these gallant men to attest it. I'm proud of my ship. I'm proud of her captain, and I'm an officer there. Is it not so?"
The boy appealed to the crew of a boat which had just reached the wooden dock.
"Ay, ay, sir, and as brave an officer as ever carried a sword."
The midshipman stepped into the boat, the men dipped their oars, and the crowd watched the boat glide over the water until the Essex, a thirty-two gun frigate, was reached.
"What did I tell you?" asked the old salt who was known as Sam Buller, "what did I tell you? Going to war with chits of boys, not old enough to be a cook's slavey, as officers."
"Say what you like, that boy may not be as strong, but he is as brave as any man in the service."
"Perhaps you know him, sir?"
"I do. That boy's name is David Glasgow Farragut, and he has been on the Essex for four years. He is the adopted son of Captain Porter, and whoever says one word against that young midshipman will have to answer to me."