At the masthead I made the acquaintance of two youngsters of about my own age, one of whom informed me that he had been there three hundred and thirty-two days out of the year.
“In rough weather, when the old cock is out of sorts, you know, we never come down,” added a young gentleman of nine years, with a dirk nearly as long as himself, who had been introduced to me as Mr. Briggs. “By the way, Pills,” he continued, “how did you come to omit giving the captain a naval salute?”
“Why, I touched my hat,” I said innocently.
“Yes, but that isn’t enough, you know. That will do very well at other times. He expects the naval salute when you first come on board—greeny!”
I began to feel alarmed, and begged him to explain.
“Why, you see, after touching your hat, you should have touched him lightly with your forefinger in his waistcoat, so, and asked, ‘How’s his nibs?’—you see?”
“How’s his nibs?” I repeated.
“Exactly. He would have drawn back a little, and then you should have repeated the salute, remarking, ‘How’s his royal nibs?’ asking cautiously after his wife and family, and requesting to be introduced to the gunner’s daughter.”
“The gunner’s daughter?”
“The same; you know she takes care of us young gentlemen; now don’t forget, Pillsy!”
When we were called down to the deck I thought it a good chance to profit by this instruction. I approached Captain Boltrope and repeated the salute without conscientiously omitting a single detail. He remained for a moment livid and speechless. At length he gasped out,—
“Boatswain’s mate!”
“If you please, sir,” I asked tremulously, “I should like to be introduced to the gunner’s daughter!”
“Oh, very good, sir!” screamed Captain Boltrope, rubbing his hands and absolutely capering about the deck with rage. “Oh, d—n you! Of course you shall! Oh, ho! the gunner’s daughter! Oh, h—ll! this is too much! Boatswain’s mate!” Before I well knew where I was, I was seized, borne to an eight-pounder, tied upon it, and flogged!
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