The new master’s mate.
Somers laid down his knife and fork, folded his arms and reflected for a few moments, and finally answered:
“This is what I should do, Mr. Bainbridge: I should immediately order the other topmast studding sail to be set, if she’d draw, with a view to increase the speed of the ship.”
A roar of laughter succeeded this, which was repressed by Bainbridge sternly rapping for order.
“Gentlemen, this is not the undignified cabin or the disorderly wardroom. This—please remember—is the model mess of the ship, the steerage mess, and order must be preserved, if I have to lick every one of you to get it.”
“Spence,” said Decatur, holding out his plate and trembling violently, “G-give me some of that salt horse. It may be the l-l-last time, dear Spence, that we shall ever eat salt horse together. When the discipline of this ship is so relaxed that Somers, who doesn’t know a marlin-spike from the mainmast, is promoted, it’s time we were all making our wills. Our time is short, Spence; so give me a good helping, old man.”
“I know more seamanship than all of you lubbers put together,” quietly remarked Somers, going on with his dinner.
“Hear! hear!” cried Bainbridge. “Mr. Somers, you are facetious to-day.”
Decatur, at this, got up and went to the nook that he and Somers occupied together. He came back with a black bottle labeled “Cherry bounce.”
“Gentlemen,” said he, “Mr. Somers feels so acutely your kind expressions of confidence in him, that he begs you will drink his health in this bottle of cherry bounce which he has been saving up for this auspicious occasion.”