"No, no," cried another; "it's the famous Sea Cook and his sons wot uncovered the Sandwich Islands!"
"I say, commodore, how are they all in the Fleet?" roared out a costermonger.
"Poor old gentleman! his eyebrows are worn out, looking out for squalls through a grating?" said a fourth.
While a boatswain sang out, and whistled in Cannon's ear,
"Yer, yer! man the sides! there's the flying Dutchman coming on board!"
"Sing out for Captain Yokell, cockswain!" bellowed an impertinent sailor.
Now, strange to say, these observations, which might have offended some sensitive persons, highly gratified our travellers. They had already obtained what they so ardently desired—notoriety, and had a chance of seeing their names in print; for, even when a man is abused and ridiculed, if it is in print, the sting carries with it its own antidote. He becomes public property; he is something; "There goes that confounded ass, Mr. Such-a-one! there goes that rum cove, Mr. What's-his-name!" Then, if he can but get himself caricatured, he is a made man. Were it not for the gratification derived from such publicity, would so many people walk, and talk, and dress, or undress, in the absurd manner we daily witness in our lounges? A certain lord was honoured with an hebdomadary flare-up by a certain weekly paper as regularly as church-bells are rung on the sabbath. It was expected that his lordship would have purchased the editor's silence,—absurd expectation! One might as well expect that a jolly prebend would decline sitting in half-a-dozen stalls at the same time. No, no; the editor abused on until he was tired of abusing gratis; when his lordship was so much annoyed that he paid to have scurrilous articles inserted, forwarded by himself.
Two packets were about starting, a French one and an English one. The Cannons were resolved to punish their ungrateful countrymen, and embarked under the colours of France. A numerous French family were repairing on board; and, as the gentlemen wore a red riband in their button-holes, our party concluded they were noblemen. The two families were grouped near each other; and the French, with their usual condescension, honoured the Cannons with their countenance, conversing as well as persons scarcely acquainted with each other's language can conveniently converse.
The morning was fine; but lowering clouds and a white sun would have induced experienced mariners to expect a fresh breeze. With great volubility of execrations the Gaul got under weigh, and paddled on slowly, while the English packet shot by like a dart. The French captain smiled at this swiftness, and, shrugging up his shoulders, exclaimed,