“Oh, I see,” said the minister, smiling; “I will gladly do as you wish. You have got godfathers and a godmother, I suppose?”
“Oh, Lord bless your honour, there are plenty on us!” answered Paul, feeling his bashfulness wear off in consequence of the minister’s kind manner. “There’s myself, Paul Pringle, quartermaster, at your honour’s service; and there’s Peter Ogle, captain of the foretop, and Abel Bush, he’s captain of the fo’castle; and then, d’ye see, we’ve each of us our mates to take command if any of us loses the number of our mess; and then as there’s the two godmothers Nancy and Betty, right honest good women, the little chap won’t fare badly, d’ye see, your honour.”
“Indeed, you come rather over-well provided in that respect,” observed the minister, having no little difficulty in refraining from laughing. “However, I should think that you would find two godfathers and one godmother, the usual number, sufficient to watch over the religious education of the child.”
“No, your honour,” answered Paul quietly; “I’ll just ax you what you thinks the life of any one of us is worth, when you reflexes on the round-shot and bullets of the enemy, the fever,—‘Yellow Jack,’ as we calls him,—and the hurricanes of these here seas? Who can say that one-half of us standing here may be alive this time next year? We sailors hold our lives riding at single anchor. We know at any moment we may have to slip our cable and be off.”
The clergyman looked grave and bowed his head.
“You speak too sad a truth,” he answered. “Now tell me, what name do you propose giving to the child?”
“Billy, your honour,” answered Paul at once.
“William?—oh, I understand,” observed the clergyman.
“No, Billy, your honour,” persisted Paul. “Billy True Blue, that’s the name we’ve concluded to give him. It’s the properest, and rightest, and most convenient, and it’s the name he must have,” he added firmly.
“But what is the father’s name? What is your name, my man?” asked the clergyman, turning to Freeborn.