“I am sorry, Mr Pigeon, that you should have received any impertinence from any of the people on board,” said the first lieutenant kindly. “Can you describe the man!”
“Why, he had a red coat and white belt,” etcetera, etcetera.
“I am afraid that won’t help us,” said the first lieutenant, laughing.
“Ah! he thought himself very clever; but I know his name, I saw it on his musket. It was Tower!” exclaimed Pigeon triumphantly.
A general laugh followed this announcement, for Tower is the name engraved on all Government arms issued from the stores in that ancient fortress of London.
He used to find his way into the midshipmen’s berth and to make himself quite at home, occupying the space which, as Hemming observed, a better man might fill. Various devices were made to get clear of him. One of the officers had a horn with which he now and then startled the silence of the decks—a practice, by-the-bye, rather subversive of discipline. One day, while Pigeon was in the berth, the horn was heard to sound.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Hurrah! the mail coach come in from Sicily,” exclaimed Jack, starting up and rushing out. “Come along, it’s a sight worth seeing. You’ll have letters by it to a certainty, Pigeon.”
Away rushed Pigeon up on deck, while Jack, amid the laughter of the rest of the occupants, returned to the berth. The captain and several of the gun-room officers were on deck, when Pigeon made his hasty appearance, and hurried eagerly to the side.
“What is the matter, Mr Pigeon?” asked Captain Lascelles.