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- CHAPTER LI.
ONE OF “THE PEOPLE” HAS AN AUDIENCE WITH THE COMMODORE AND THE CAPTAIN
ON THE QUARTER-DECK.
We had not lain in Rio long, when in the innermost recesses of the
mighty soul of my noble Captain of the Top—incomparable Jack Chase—the
deliberate opinion was formed, and rock-founded, that our ship’s
company must have at least one day’s “_liberty_” to go ashore ere we
weighed anchor for home.
Here it must be mentioned that, concerning anything of this kind, no
sailor in a man-of-war ever presumes to be an agitator, unless he is of
a rank superior to a mere able-seaman; and no one short of a petty
officer—that is, a captain of the top, a quarter-gunner, or boatswain’s
mate—ever dreams of being a spokesman to the supreme authority of the
vessel in soliciting any kind of favor for himself and shipmates.
After canvassing the matter thoroughly with several old quarter-masters
and other dignified sea-fencibles, Jack, hat in hand, made his
appearance, one fine evening, at the mast, and, waiting till Captain
Claret drew nigh, bowed, and addressed him in his own off-hand,
polished, and poetical style. In his intercourse with the quarter-deck,
he always presumed upon his being such a universal favourite.
“Sir, this Rio is a charming harbour, and we poor mariners—your trusty
sea-warriors, valiant Captain! who, with _you_ at their head, would
board the Rock of Gibraltar itself, and carry it by storm—we poor
fellows, valiant Captain! have gazed round upon this ravishing
landscape till we can gaze no more. Will Captain Claret vouchsafe one
day’s liberty, and so assure himself of eternal felicity, since, in our
flowing cups, he will be ever after freshly remembered?”
As Jack thus rounded off with a snatch from Shakspeare, he saluted the
Captain with a gallant flourish of his tarpaulin, and then, bringing
the rim to his mouth, with his head bowed, and his body thrown into a
fine negligent attitude, stood a picture of eloquent but passive
appeal. He seemed to say, Magnanimous Captain Claret, we fine fellows,
and hearts of oak, throw ourselves upon your unparalleled goodness.
“And what do you want to go ashore for?” asked the Captain, evasively,
and trying to conceal his admiration of Jack by affecting some
haughtiness.
“Ah! sir,” sighed Jack, “why do the thirsty camels of the desert desire
to lap the waters of the fountain and roll in the green grass of the
oasis? Are we not but just from the ocean Sahara? and is not this Rio a
verdant spot, noble Captain? Surely you will not keep us always
tethered at anchor, when a little more cable would admit of our
cropping the herbage! And it is a weary thing, Captain Claret, to be
imprisoned month after month on the gun-deck, without so much as
smelling a citron. Ah! Captain Claret, what sings sweet Waller:
‘But who can always on the billows lie?
The watery wilderness yields no supply.’
compared with such a prisoner, noble Captain,
‘Happy, thrice happy, who, in battle slain,
Press’d in Atrides’ cause the Trojan pain!’
Pope’s version, sir, not the original Greek.”
And so saying, Jack once more brought his hat-rim to his mouth, and
slightly bending forward, stood mute.
At this juncture the Most Serene Commodore himself happened to emerge
from the after-gangway, his gilded buttons, epaulets, and the gold lace
on his chapeau glittering in the flooding sunset. Attracted by the
scene between Captain Claret and so well-known and admired a commoner
as Jack Chase he approached, and assuming for the moment an air of
pleasant condescension—never shown to his noble barons the officers of
the ward-room—he said, with a smile, “Well, Jack, you and your
shipmates are after some favour, I suppose—a day’s liberty, is it not?”
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