Then we half an' three-quarters cleaned
up the decks an' mucked about as requisite, haulin' down the patent awnin'
stun'sles which Number One 'ad made. The old man was a shade doubtful of
his course, 'cause I 'eard him say to Number One, 'You were right. A week
o' this would turn the ship into a Hayti bean-feast. But,' he says
pathetic, 'haven't they backed the band noble?'
"'Oh! it's a picnic for them,' says Number One.
"'But when do we get rid o' this whisky-peddlin' blighter o' yours, Sir?'
"'That's a cheerful way to speak of a Viscount,' says the old man. "E's
the bluest blood o' France when he's at home,'
"'Which is the precise landfall I wish 'im to make,' says Number One.'
It'll take all 'ands and the Captain of the Head to clean up after 'im.'
"'They won't grudge it,' says the old man. 'Just as soon as it's dusk
we'll overhaul our tramp friend an' waft him over,'
"Then a sno--midshipman--Moorshed was is name--come up an' says somethin'
in a low voice. It fetches the old man.
"'You'll oblige me,' 'e says, 'by takin' the wardroom poultry for _that_.
I've ear-marked every fowl we've shipped at Madeira, so there can't be any
possible mistake. M'rover,' 'e says, 'tell 'em if they spill one drop of
blood on the deck,' he says, 'they'll not be extenuated, but hung.'
"Mr. Moorshed goes forward, lookin' unusual 'appy, even for him. The
Marines was enjoyin' a committee-meetin' in their own flat.
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