Admiral Bell slept soundly enough though, towards morning, he fell into a strange dream, and thought he was yard arm and yard arm with a strange fish—something of the mermaid species.
"Well," exclaimed the admiral, after a customary benediction of his eyes and limbs, "what's to come next? may I be spliced to a shark if I understand what this is all about. I had some grog last night, but then grog, d'y'see, is—is—a seaman's native element, as the newspapers say, though I never read 'em now, it's such a plague."
He lay quiet for a short time, considering in his own mind what was best to be done, and what was the proper course to pursue, and why he should dream.
"Hilloa, hilloa, hil—loa! Jack a-hoy! a-hoy!" shouted the admiral, as a sudden recollection of his challenge came across his memory; "Jack Pringle a-hoy? d—n you, where are you?—you're never at hand when you are wanted. Oh, you lubber,—a-hoy!"
"A-hoy!" shouted a voice, as the door opened, and Jack thrust his head in; "what cheer, messmate? what ship is this?"
"Oh, you lubberly—"
The door was shut in a minute, and Jack Pringle disappeared.
"Hilloa, Jack Pringle, you don't mean to say you'll desert your colours, do you, you dumb dog?"
"Who says I'll desert the ship as she's sea-worthy!"