University of Virginia Library

MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY.
A Naval Officer.
BY CAPTAIN M--R R Y--T, R. N.

1. CHAPTER I.

My father was a north-country surgeon. He had
retired, a widower, from her Majesty's navy many
years before, and had a small practice in his native
village. When I was seven years old he employed
me to carry medicines to his patients. Being of a
lively disposition, I sometimes amused myself, during
my daily rounds, by mixing the contents of the different
phials. Although I had no reason to doubt
that the general result of this practice was beneficial,
yet, as the death of a consumptive curate followed the
addition of a strong mercurial lotion to his expectorant,
my father concluded to withdraw me from the
profession and send me to school.

Grubbins, the schoolmaster, was a tyrant, and it
was not long before my impetuous and self-willed nature
rebelled against his authority. I soon began to

form plans of revenge. In this I was assisted by
Tom Snaffle—a schoolfellow. One day Tom suggested:

“Suppose we blow him up. I've got two pounds
of powder!”

“No, that's too noisy,” I replied.

Tom was silent for a minute, and again spoke:

“You remember how you flattened out the curate,
Pills! Couldn't you give Grubbins something—something
to make him leathery sick—eh?”

A flash of inspiration crossed my mind. I went
to the shop of the village apothecary. He knew me;
I had often purchased vitriol, which I poured into
Grubbins's inkstand to corrode his pens and burn up
his coat-tail, on which he was in the habit of wiping
them. I boldly asked for an ounce of chloroform.
The young apothecary winked and handed me the
bottle.

It was Grubbins's custom to throw his handkerchief
over his head, recline in his chair and take a
short nap during recess. Watching my opportunity,
as he dozed, I managed to slip his handkerchief from
his face and substitute my own, moistened with chloroform.
In a few minutes he was insensible. Tom
and I then quickly shaved his head, beard and eyebrows,
blackened his face with a mixture of vitriol
and burnt cork, and fled. There was a row and
scandal the next day. My father always excused
me by asserting that Grubbins had got drunk—but
somehow found it convenient to procure me an appointment
in Her Majesty's navy at an early day.

2. CHAPTER II

An official letter, with the Admiralty seal, informed
me that I was expected to join H. M. ship Belcher,
Captain Boltrope, at Portsmouth, without delay. In
a few days I presented myself to a tall, stern-visaged
man, who was slowly pacing the leeward side of the
quarter-deck. As I touched my hat he eyed me
sternly:

“So ho! Another young suckling. The service
is going to the devil. Nothing but babes in the
cockpit and grannies in the board. Boatswain's
mate, pass the word for Mr. Cheek!”

Mr. Cheek, the steward, appeared and touched his
hat. “Introduce Mr. Breezy to the young gentlemen.
Stop! Where's Mr. Swizzle?”

“At the masthead, sir.”

“Where's Mr. Lankey?”

“At the masthead, sir.”

“Mr. Briggs?”

“Masthead, too, sir.”

“And the rest of the young gentlemen?” roared
the enraged officer.

“All masthead, sir.”

“Ah!” said Captain Boltrope, as he smiled grimly,
“under the circumstances, Mr. Breezy, you had better
go to the masthead too.”

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!

4. CHAPTER IV.

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 been just planing 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.

5. CHAPTER V.

“Now, Pills, you'll have a chance to smell powder,”
said Briggs as he entered the cockpit and

buckled around his waist an enormous cutlass.
“We have just sighted a French ship.”

We went on deck. Captain Boltrope grinned as
we touched our hats. He hated the purser. “Come,
young gentlemen, if you're boring for French claret,
yonder's a good quality. Mind your con, sir,” he
added, turning to the quartermaster, who was grinning.

The ship was already cleared for action. The men,
in their eagerness, had started the coffee from the
the tubs and filled them with shot. Presently the
Frenchman yawed, and a shot from a long thirty-two
came skipping over the water. It killed the quartermaster
and took off both of Lankey's legs. “Tell
the purser our account is squared,” said the dying
boy, with a feeble smile.

The fight raged fiercely for two hours. I remember
killing the French Admiral, as we boarded, but
on looking around for Briggs, after the smoke had
cleared away, I was intensly amused at witnessing
the following novel sight:

Briggs had pinned the French captain against the
mast with his cutlass, and was now engaged, with all
the hilarity of youth, in pulling the captain's coattails
between his legs, in imitation of a dancing-jack.
As the Frenchman lifted his legs and arms, at each
jerk of Briggs's, I could not help participating in
the general mirth.

“You young devil, what are you doing?” said a
stifled voice behind me. I looked up and beheld
Captain Boltrope, endeavoring to calm his stern fea

[ILLUSTRATION]

The secret panel in the wall.—(After BRADDON.) See page 38.

[Description: 566EAF. Illustration Page. Image of girl standing in front of a secret wall compartment. Bracelets and necklaces lie on the floor at her feet.]

tures, but the twitching around his mouth betrayed
his intense enjoyment of the scene. “Go to the
masthead—up with you, sir!” he repeated sternly to
Briggs.

“Very good, sir,” said the boy, coolly preparing to
mount the shrouds. “Good-bye, Johnny Crapaud.
Humph!” he added, in a tone intended for my ear,
“A pretty way to treat a hero—the service is going
to the devil!”

I thought so too.

6. CHAPTER VI.

We were ordered to the West Indies. Although
Captain Boltrope's manner toward me was still severe
and even harsh, I understood that my name
had been favorably mentioned in the dispatches.

Reader were you ever at Jamaica. If so, you remember
the negresses, the oranges, Port Royal
Tom—the yellow fever. After being two weeks at
the station, I was taken sick of the fever. In a
month I was delirious. During my paroxysms, I
had a wild distempered dream of a stern face bending
anxiously over my pillow, a rough hand smoothing
my hair, and a kind voice saying:

“Bess his 'ittle heart! Did he have the naughty
fever!” This face seemed again changed to the well-known
stern features of Captain Boltrope.

When I was convalescent, a packet edged in black
was put in my hand. It contained the news of my

father's death, and a sealed letter which he had requested
to be given to me on his decease. I opened it
tremblingly. It read thus:

And so Captain Boltrope was my father. Heavens!
Was it a dream? I recalled his stern manner, his
observant eye; his ill-concealed uneasiness when in
my presence. I longed to embrace him. Staggering
to my feet I rushed in my scanty apparel to the
deck where Captain Boltrope was just then engaged
in receiving the Governor's wife and daughter. The
ladies shrieked; the youngest, a beautiful girl,
blushed deeply. Heeding them not, I sank at his
feet and embracing them cried:

“My Father!”

“Chuck him overboard!” roared Captain Boltrope.

“Stay,” pleaded the soft voice of Clara Maitland,
the Governor's daughter.

“Shave his head! he's a wretched lunatic!” continued
Captain Boltrope, while his voice trembled
with excitement.

“No, let me nurse and take care of him,” said the
lovely girl, blushing as she spoke. “Mamma, can't
we take him home.”

The daughter's pleading was not without effect.
In the meantime I had fainted. When I recovered
my senses I found myself in Governor Maitland's
mansion.

7. CHAPTER VII.

The reader will guess what followed. I fell deeply
in love with Clara Maitland, to whom I confided
the secret of my birth. The generous girl asserted
that she had detected the superiority of my manner
at once. We plighted our troth, and resolved to
wait upon events.

Briggs called to see me a few days afterward. He
said that the purser had insulted the whole cockpit,
and all the midshipmen had called him out.
But he added thoughtfully: “I don't see how we
can arrange the duel. You see there are six of us
to fight him.”

“Very easily,” I replied. “Let your fellows all
stand in a row, and take his fire; that, you see, gives
him six chances to one, and he must be a bad shot
if he can't hit one of you; while, on the other hand,
you see, he gets a volley from you six, and one of
you'll be certain to fetch him.”

“Exactly;” and away Briggs went, but soon returned
to say that the purser had declined—“like a
d—d coward,” he added.

But the news of the sudden and serious illness of
Captain Boltrope put off the duel. I hastened to his

bedside, but too late—an hour previous he had given
up the ghost.

I resolved to return to England. I made known
the secret of my birth, and exhibited my adopted
father's letter to Lady Maitland, who at once suggested
my marriage with her daughter, before I returned
to claim the property. We were married,
and took our departure next day.

I made no delay in posting at once, in company
with my wife and my friend Briggs, to my native
village. Judge of my horror and surprise when my
late adopted father came out of his shop to welcome
me.

“Then you are not dead!” I gasped.

“No, my dear boy.”

“And this letter?”

My father—as I must still call him—glanced on
the paper, and pronounced it a forgery. Briggs
roared with laughter. I turned to him and demanded
an explanation.

“Why, don't you see, Greeny, it's all a joke—a
midshipman's joke!”

“But—” I asked.

“Don't be a fool. You've got a good wife—be
satisfied.”

I turned to Clara, and was satisfied. Although
Mrs. Maitland never forgave me, the jolly old Governor
laughed heartily over the joke, and so well
used his influence that I soon became, dear reader,
Admiral Breezy, K. C. B.