3. CHAPTER III.
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 332 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
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!”
“O, very good, sir!” screamed Captain Boltrope,
rubbing his hands and absolutely capering about the
deck with rage. “O d—n you! Of course you
shall! O ho! the gunner's daughter! O, h—ll!
this is too much! Boatswain's mate!” Before I
well knew where I was, I was seized, borne to an
eightpounder, tied upon it and flogged!
