“I should think so, Bobus,” observed McAllister, who did not like joking himself, and had an especial antipathy to Bobus’s jokes or stories, or to Bobus himself. “May I ask what ship that was in?”
“What ship? why, the old Thunderer, to the best of my recollection,” answered Bobus, seriously.
“Everything wonderful happened on board the old Thunderer,” observed McAllister. “Bobus having been left drunk on shore, is the only survivor of her crew, and there is no one to contradict him.”
“I wasn’t drunk; I was sick, and you know that perfectly well,” exclaimed Bobus, getting angry. “I won’t have my veracity called in question. I’ve the feelings of a gentleman, and my honour to support, as well as others.”
“But you shouldn’t support it by telling crammers,” said McAllister, who took a pleasure in irritating poor Bobus.
“Order!” cried Perigal, who was always a peacemaker. “Come, Mac, let Bobus spin his yarns, and do you spin yours; and now just go on with that story about the Highlands which you had begun the other evening, when the squall struck the ship.”
McAllister was soon in the midst of some wonderful Highland legend, while attempting to listen to which I fell fast asleep.
We were once more at anchor in Port Royal harbour. Several other ships of war were there. On one occasion I had the honour of dining with Captain Collyer, when two or three captains and several lieutenants and midshipmen were present. Among the captains was rather a fine-looking man, a Captain Staghorn, commanding the Daring frigate. He was an Irishman, and though I thought our boatswain could beat any man at pulling the longbow, I must say Captain Staghorn equalled him. He poured forth the most astounding stories with wonderful rapidity and self-assurance. I observed that all the other officers bowed politely at the end of each, no one questioning any of his statements. Even Captain Collyer let him run on without differing from him in the slightest degree. I took a dislike to him from the first from his overbearing manner at times. Still he was certainly amusing, and everybody present laughed very much at his jokes. He talked incessantly, and did not scruple to interrupt anybody speaking. Among his stories was an account he gave of his own prowess, when a lieutenant in command of a schooner. He was sent in search of a piratical craft. He came up with her, and running alongside, sprang on board, expecting his men to follow. The vessels, he declared, separated, but he laid about him with such good will that he not only kept the pirates at bay, but drove them below before his own schooner again got alongside. Captain Collyer, politely bowing, observed that he had often heard of his having taken a piratical craft in a very gallant way, which, in fact, he had, but not, as he asserted, alone; he had a dozen stout hands to back him, which makes all the difference. The name of a cousin of mine, Captain Ceaton, was mentioned. I had just before received the news from home that he had been appointed to the command of a corvette which would very probably be sent out to the West Indies. He was only a lieutenant when I came to sea, and had not long been a commander. I had seen but little of him, but I knew him to be a thoroughly brave honest fellow. What, therefore, was my surprise and annoyance to hear Captain Staghorn open out roundly on him, and abuse him in no measured terms. One of the other captains asked why he did so.
“Why?” exclaimed Captain Staghorn, “five years ago or more he was a lieutenant of a ship I commanded. On his being superseded, at length, the lieutenant who succeeded him asked him what sort of a person I was, and he had the impudence to say that I was a very good sort of fellow, but used the longbow pretty frequently. I won’t say how this came to my ears, but I made a vow, and I’ll keep it, that I’ll force him to go out with me, and I’ll shoot him.”
The other captains tried to convince Captain Staghorn that Ceaton could not have intended to offend him, as he was a man who would never offend anyone. Captain Staghorn muttered within his teeth, “I will, though.” I was very much induced to say “But you do draw with the longbow, and Ceaton only spoke the truth.” I restrained myself, however, wisely; for though the other captains might be convinced that I only said what was the case, they would very much disapprove of a midshipman expressing himself freely about a post-captain. Coffee was soon handed round, and we midshipmen, according to wont, retired. We repaired to the quarter-deck, where the master, as he occasionally did in harbour, had taken charge of the watch, the rest of the lieutenants not dining in the cabin being on shore. He was a very worthy man, but we had no great respect for him, and we took liberties on which we should not have ventured with Mr Bryan or the third lieutenant, or even with Mr Fitzgerald. For some time the influence of the cabin was on us, and we behaved with sufficient dignity. One of the midshipmen of the Daring walked the deck with me, and opened out confidentially with regard to his captain, whom, however, he held in great awe. He told me that he was very brave, and had done all sorts of wonderful things; that he did not seem to set value on his own life or on that of anyone else; that he was very quarrelsome, and a dead shot; that he had killed three men in duels, and wounded half a dozen more; and that he never forgot or forgave what he considered an insult or an injury. My friend continued, “When we dine with him, he tells us the most extraordinary stories, and if we do not laugh at the right place and pretend to believe them, we are sure to get mast-headed, or punished in some other way, before many hours are over.”