“I thought the same of myself, till this moment,” said I.
“I hung on to a cask for close on twenty-four hours, till an English lugger picked me up. But I’ll tell you of that later. Where do you spring from?”
“From hospital; I was on Duncan’s ship at the battle of Camperdown—”
“You were! Lucky dog!” interjected he.
“Where I got a crack in the shoulder, and am only just out.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I am going to report myself at the Admiralty, and apply for a berth. I have my papers, and a letter from the admiral himself.”
“It strikes me they’ll have to build a ship for you,” said he, with a laugh; “for, supposing you to be dead, I gave such an extravagantly glowing account of your conduct on the Zebra, that I dare swear they’ll want to make a vice-admiral of you straight away. But what do you say to serve under me? Just at the time when I called at the Admiralty they had received a pressing request from the Customs to find them an officer to take charge of a cutter—there she lies,” pointing to the smart craft he had been inspecting; “and they gave me the offer, and I took it. And I’m on the look-out for a few smart hands, especially a first officer.”
“Nothing would suit me better,” said I, “if I can get the proper step. I’m only a boatswain, you know.”
“That will not be difficult with the papers you have got and your record. At a time like this they are not stiff about promotion, provided they get the proper men. So come along and beard the lions at once.”