The King's Own Part 16

(pointing to one of the oldsters, between whom and his opponent a jealousy subsisted), "why don't you lick him? There would be some credit in that. But you know better than to try it."

"Do I?" retorted the oldster, forgetting himself in the heat of the moment.

"Yes, you do," replied Bruce, jumping up in defiance; and there was every appearance of a disturbance, much to the delight of Jerry, who, provided that they fought, was quite indifferent which party was the victor. But a fortunate interruption took place, by the appearance of the master-at-arms.

"Nine o'clock, gentlemen, if you please--the lights must be put out."

"Very well, master-at-arms," replied one of the oldsters.

The master-at-arms took his seat on a chest close to the door of the berth, aware that a second summons, if not a third, would be requisite, before his object was obtained. In a few minutes he again put his head into the berth. "Nine o'clock, gentlemen, if you please. I must report you to the first-lieutenant."

"Very well, Byfield--it shall be out in a minute."

The master-at-arms resumes his station on the chest outside.

"Why, it's Sat.u.r.day night," cried Bruce. "Sweethearts and wives, my boys, though I believe none of us are troubled with the latter.

Forster, pa.s.s the rum."

"I'll pa.s.s the bottle, and you may make a bull of it, if you choose."

"Confound it, no more grog--and Sat.u.r.day night. I must drink 'Auld lang syne,' by Heavens."

The master-at-arms again made his appearance. "Gentlemen, you must put the light out."

"Stop one minute, Byfield. Let us see whether we can get any more rum."

The excuse appeared reasonable to the jack in office, and he disappeared.

"Boy, tell Billy Pitt I want him."

Billy Pitt had turned in, but was soon roused out of his hammock, and made his appearance at the berth door, with only his shirt on that he was sleeping in.

"You want me, Ma.s.sa Bruce?"

"Billy, my beau, you know everything. We sent for you to tell us what's the meaning of a repartee?"

"Repartee, sir--repartee!--stop a bit--Eh--I tell you, sir. Suppose you call me dam n.i.g.g.e.r--then I call you one dam dirty white-livered son of a b---; dat a repartee, sir."

"Capital, Billy--you shall be a bishop. But Billy, has your master got any rum in his cabin?"

"Which ma.s.sa, sir? Ma.s.sa Courtenay, or Ma.s.sa Doctor?"

"Oh! Courtenay, to be sure. The surgeon never has any."

"Yes, sar, I tink he have a little."

"Be quick, Billy; and fetch it. I will give it you back at the tub to-morrow."

"Suppose you forget, sar, you put me in very fine _predicalament_.

Ma.s.sa Courtenay look dam blue--no, he not look blue, but he look dam yellow," replied Billy, showing his white teeth as he grinned.

"But I won't forget, Billy, upon my honour."

"Well, honour quite enough between two gentlemen. I go fetch the bottle."

Billy soon reappeared with a quart bottle of rum, just as three bells were struck. "By gad, I rattle the bottle as I take him out--wake Mr Courtenay--he say, dam black fellow he make everything adrift--cursed annoying, he say, and go to sleep again."

"Really, gentlemen, I cannot wait any longer," resumed the master-at-arms; "the lights must be reported or I shall be in disgrace."

"Very true, Byfield; you are only doing your duty. Will you take a gla.s.s of grog?"

"If you please," replied Mr Byfield, taking off his hat, "Your health, gentlemen."

"Thank you," replied the midshipmen.

"Tank you, SIR," replied also Billy Pitt.

"Well, Billy. What's the last word you read in your dictionary?"

"Last word? Let me see--Oh! commission, sar. You know dat word?"

"Commission! We all know what that is, Billy, and shall be glad to get it too, by-and-bye."

"Yes, sar; but there are two kind of commission. One you want, obliged to wait for; one I want, always have at once,--commission as agent, sar."

"Oh, I understand," replied Bruce; "five per cent on the bottle, eh?"

"Five per cent not make a tiff gla.s.s of grog, Ma.s.sa Bruce."

"Well, then, Billy, you shall have ten per cent," replied the midshipman, pouring him out a _north-wester_. "Will that do?"

The black had the politeness to drink the health of all the gentlemen of the berth separately, before he poured the liquor down his throat.

"Ma.s.sa Bruce, I tink doctor got a little rum in his cabin."

"Go and fetch it, Billy; you shall have it back to-morrow."

"Honour, Mr Bruce."

"Honour, Mr Pitt."

"Ten per cent, Ma.s.sa Bruce," continued Billy, grinning.

"Ten per cent is the bargain."

"I go see."

Another quart bottle made its appearance; and the agent having received his commission, made his bow, and returned to his hammock.

"I do--really--think--upon--my--word--that that--black--scoundrel-- would--sell--his--own--mother--for--a--stiff--gla.s.s--of--grog," observed a youngster, of the name of Prose, a c.o.c.kney, who drawled out his words, which, "like a wounded snake, dragged their slow length along."