"And how he said he hated the French, and quite a baby, too. What perseverance and sense. 'Uncle,' says he to you, 'when I'm a big man, I'll go in a ship, and fight all the French in a heap,' says he. 'And beat 'em, my boy, too,' says you; cos you thought he'd forgot that; and then he says, 'what's the use of saying that, stupid?—don't we always beat 'em?'"
The admiral laughed and rubbed his hands, as he cried aloud,—
"I remember, Jack—I remember him. I was stupid to make such a remark."
"I know you was—a d——d old fool I thought you."
"Come, come. Hilloa, there!"
"Well, then, what do you call me no seaman for?"
"Why, Jack, you bear malice like a marine."
"There you go again. Goodbye. Do you remember when we were yard arm to yard arm with those two Yankee frigates, and took 'em both! You didn't call me a marine then, when the scuppers were running with blood. Was I a seaman then?"
"You were, Jack—you were; and you saved my life."
"I didn't."