Getting on board, we mopped and swabbed her out well, overhauled the ropes and sails, and hauled down the pennant to take home with us for Juno to mend where it had frayed out on the point. That work being completed, we went to the house for such provisions as we should want on our excursion. Juno put up a large supply for one day—ground coffee, eggs, biscuit, cold mutton, a cold turkey, and several currant and apple pies, besides butter, salt, etcetera—and Clump conveyed it down to the Youth for us on a wheelbarrow.
The provisions were carefully stowed in the forepeak, and everything being arranged, we appointed Ugly to act as a guard over our craft during the night.
Harry briefly explained it to him. “Look here, Ugly, you are to stay here to-night and look after the things. Of course you are not to come ashore or leave duty for a minute. We shall be down early in the morning. Be ready to receive us with proper ceremonies, for we are off on a cruise, old boatswain, to-morrow. Look, Ugly; I put your supper in this stern locker. Do you see?”
Ugly was at first rather disappointed at the prospect of being separated from us for the night, but as Harry’s harangue proceeded and he began to comprehend the honour of the duty required aboard ship, he bristled up and grew as stiff and important as his inches would allow. He turned his nose to watch where the supper was placed, and then walked forward and took a seat on the bow assuming a comical air of “captaincy;” so pantomimic was it that Captain Mugford laughed aloud, and said: “Well done, Ugly; where, my fine fellow, did you learn quarterdeck airs?”
“Good-night, Captain Ugly,” we cried, as we pushed for the shore in the punt. “Good-night, boy; can’t you say something, Captain Gruff?”
At which address Ugly rose up and, putting his forefeet on the larboard gunwale, barked three loud, clear notes, and we gave three laughing cheers as he returned to his post by the bowsprit.
Before going to bed that night, I went out in the kitchen to put a pair of my shoes to dry, and found Clump and Juno, as usual in the evenings, smoking and dozing over the fire.
Wondering at the amount of comfort these old folk seemed to find in tobacco, I asked Clump why he smoked so much.
“Fur constellation, Massa Bob—fur constellation; dat’s ol,” he answered.
“Oh, that is it, Clump—consolation, eh? Well, I must get a pipe some time and try it,” I said.