uch pomp and
ceremony, I, from the impulse of pure courtesy, could not do otherwise
than bow to it; for which act of politeness the first-lieutenant gave me
a very considerably tingling box of the ear.

My angry looks, my clenched fists, and my threatening attitude, told him
plainly that it was no want of spirit that made me duck to the shot.
Just as I was passionately exclaiming, "Sir--I--I--I--" Captain Reud put
his hand gently on my shoulder, and said, "Mr Rattlin, what are you
about? Mr Farmer, that blow was not deserved. I, sir," said he,
drawing himself up proudly, "ducked to the first shot. Many a fine
fellow that has bobbed to the first has stood out gallantly to the last.
What could you expect, Mr Farmer, from such a mere boy? And to strike
him! Fie upon it! That blow, if the lad had weak nerves, though his
spirit were as brave as Nelson's, and as noble as your namesake's, that
foul blow might have cowed him for ever."

"They are getting ready to fire again," was now reported from the
foreyard.

"Here, Rattlin," continued the captain, "take my glass, seat yourself
upon the hammock-cloths, and tell me if you can make out what they are
about."

Two flashes, smoke, and then the rushing of the shot, followed by the
loud and ringing report of the brass guns, and of the reverberation of
metal, was heard immediately beneath me. One of the shot had struck the
fluke of the anchor in the fore-chains.

"There, Mr Farmer," said the captain exultingly, "did you mark that? I
knew it--I knew it, sir. He neither moved nor flinched--even the long
tube that he held to his eye never quivered for an instant. Oh! Mr
Farmer, if you have the generous heart I give you credit for, never,
never again strike a younker for bobbing at the first, or even the fifth
shot."

"I was wrong, sir," was the humble reply; "I am sorry that I should have
given you occasion to make this _public_ reprimand."

"No, Farmer," said the little Creole very kindly; "I did not mean to
reprimand, only to remonstrate. The severest reprimand was given you by
Mr Rattlin himself."

I could at that moment have hugged the little yellow-skinned captain,
wicked as I knew him to be, and stood unmoved the fire of the grape of a
twenty-gun battery.

But was I not really frightened at the whistling of the shot?

Yes; a little.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

IT'S WELL TO HAVE A LONG SPOON WHEN ONE SIPS SOUP WITH THE DEVIL--THE
CAPTAIN'S SHOT SELDOM MIS