Pigeon was seen, when he went into the gun-room, entering the remark in his notebook.
A few days after this Pigeon was walking the deck in solitary grandeur, when, as he passed the marine-sentry at the gangway, of course no notice was taken of him. Now he had observed that, on certain occasions, the sentry presented arms to the officers. This he had taken into his head was in consequence, not of their rank, but of their being gentlemen. He therefore thought that the same respect ought to be shown to him. Instead of complaining to the officers or to the captain, when he would have been well laughed at, he thought fit to take the law into his own hands, and, walking up to the sentry, soundly rated him for his want of respect.
“And who bees you?” asked the sentry, cocking his eye—he was a wag in his way; “do you belong to the horse-marines, sir?”
“No, I do not; I am Mr Theophilus Pigeon, and you must treat me properly, or I shall report you.”
“I thought as how you had drunk many a pint of Pigeon’s milk when you was a baby,” observed the marine, with perfect gravity.
Pigeon’s measure had already been very accurately taken on board by the crew.
“Fellow, you are an impertinent scoundrel,” exclaimed Pigeon. “What’s your name?”
“Mum’s the word,” answered the marine, with perfect gravity.
“Ah! you think I am not up to you, do you?” cried Pigeon, glancing at the marine’s musket. “I see it where you forgot that it was, ha! ha!”
It was some time before Pigeon could find the first lieutenant to make his report. In the meantime the sentries had been changed.