As we sat together in the cockpit, picking the weevils out of our biscuit, Briggs consoled me for my late mishap, adding that the “naval salute,” as a custom, seemed just then to be honored more in the breach than the observance. I joined in the hilarity occasioned by the witticism, and in a few moments we were all friends. Presently Swizzle turned to me:—
“We have just been planning how to confiscate a keg of claret, which Nips, the purser, keeps under his bunk. The old nipcheese lies there drunk half the day, and there’s no getting at it.”
“Let’s get beneath the stateroom and bore through the deck, and so tap it,” said Lankey.
The proposition was received with a shout of applause. A long half-inch auger and bit was procured from Chips, the carpenter’s mate, and Swizzle, after a careful examination of the timbers beneath the wardroom, commenced operations. The auger at last disappeared, when suddenly there was a slight disturbance on the deck above. Swizzle withdrew the auger hurriedly; from its point a few bright red drops trickled.
“Huzza! send her up again!” cried Lankey.
The auger was again applied. This time a shriek was heard from the purser’s cabin. Instantly the light was doused, and the party retreated hurriedly to the cockpit. A sound of snoring was heard as the sentry stuck his head into the door. “All right, sir,” he replied in answer to the voice of the officer of the deck.
The next morning we heard that Nips was in the surgeon’s hands, with a bad wound in the fleshy part of his leg, and that the auger had not struck claret.
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