57. CHAPTER LVII.
THE EMPEROR REVIEWS THE PEOPLE AT QUARTERS.
I BEG their Royal Highnesses' pardons all round, but I had
almost forgotten to chronicle the fact, that with the Emperor
came several other royal Princes—kings for aught we knew—
since it was just after the celebration of the nuptials of a
younger sister of the Brazilian monarch to some European royalty.
Indeed, the Emperor and his suite formed a sort of bridal
party, only the bride herself was absent.
The first reception over, the smoke of the cannonading salute
having cleared away, and the martial outburst of the
brass band having also rolled off to leeward, the people were
called down from the yards, and the drum beat to quarters.
To quarters we went; and there we stood up by our iron
bull-dogs, while our royal and noble visitors promenaded along
the batteries, breaking out into frequent exclamations at our
warlike array, the extreme neatness of our garments, and,
above all, the extraordinary polish of the bright-work about
the great guns, and the marvelous whiteness of the decks.
“Que gosto!” cried a Marquis, with several dry goods
samples of ribbon, tallied with bright buttons, hanging from
his breast.
“Que gloria!” cried a crooked, coffee-colored Viscount,
spreading both palms.
“Que alegria!” cried a little Count, mincingly circumnavigating
a shot-box.
“Que contentamento he o meu!” cried the Emperor himself,
complacently folding his royal arms, and serenely gazing
along our ranks.
Pleasure, Glory, and Joy—this was the burden of the
three noble courtiers.
And very pleasing indeed—was the
simple rendering of Don Pedro's imperial remark.
“Ay, ay,” growled a grim rammer-and-sponger behind me;
“it's all devilish fine for you nobs to look at; but what would
you say if you had to holy-stone the deck yourselves, and wear
out your elbows in polishing this cursed old iron, besides getting
a dozen at the gangway, if you dropped a grease-spot on
deck in your mess? Ay, ay, devilish fine for you, but devilish
dull for us!”
In due time the drums beat the retreat, and the ship's company
scattered over the decks.
Some of the officers now assumed the part of cicerones, to
show the distinguished strangers the bowels of the frigate,
concerning which several of them showed a good deal of intelligent
curiosity. A guard of honor, detached from the
marine corps, accompanied them, and they made the circuit
of the berth-deck, where, at a judicious distance, the Emperor
peeped down into the cable-tier, a very subterranean vault.
The Captain of the Main-Hold, who there presided, made
a polite bow in the twilight, and respectfully expressed a desire
for His Royal Majesty to step down and honor him with
a call; but, with his handkerchief to his Imperial nose, his
Majesty declined. The party then commenced the ascent to
the spar-deck; which, from so great a depth in a frigate, is
something like getting up to the top of Bunker Hill Monument
from the basement.
While a crowd of the people was gathered about the forward
part of the booms, a sudden cry was heard from below;
a lieutenant came running forward to learn the cause, when
an old sheet-anchor-man, standing by, after touching his hat,
hitched up his waistbands, and replied, “I don't know, sir,
but I'm thinking as how one o' them 'ere kings has been tumblin'
down the hatchway.”
And something like this it turned out. In ascending one
of the narrow ladders leading from the berth-deck to the gun-deck,
the Most Noble Marquis of Silva, in the act of elevating
the Imperial coat-tails, so as to protect them from rubbing
against the newly-painted combings of the hatchway, this Noble
Marquis's sword, being an uncommonly long one, had
caught between his legs, and tripped him head over heels
down into the fore-passage.
“Onde ides?” (where are you going?) said his royal master,
tranquilly peeping down toward the falling Marquis;
“and what did you let go of my coat-tails for?” he suddenly
added, in a passion, glancing round at the same time, to see
if they had suffered from the unfaithfulness of his train-bearer.
“Oh, Lord!” sighed the Captain of the Fore-top, “who
would be a Marquis of Silva?”
Upon being assisted to the spar-deck, the unfortunate Marquis
was found to have escaped without serious harm; but,
from the marked coolness of his royal master, when the Marquis
drew near to apologize for his awkwardness, it was plain
that he was condemned to languish for a time under the royal
displeasure.
Shortly after, the Imperial party withdrew, under another
grand national salute.
