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- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.274Z
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- Amazed at his earnestness, and hardly able to account for it
altogether, I stood silent a moment; then said, “Why, Frank, this
midshipman is your own brother, you say; now, do you really think that
your own flesh and blood is going to give himself airs over you, simply
because he sports large brass buttons on his coat? Never believe it. If
he does, he can be no brother, and ought to be hanged—that’s all!”
“Don’t say that again,” said Frank, resentfully; “my brother is a
noble-hearted fellow; I love him as I do myself. You don’t understand
me, White-Jacket; don’t you see, that when my brother arrives, he must
consort more or less with our chuckle-headed reefers on board here?
There’s that namby-pamby Miss Nancy of a white-face, Stribbles, who,
the other day, when Mad Jack’s back was turned, ordered me to hand him
the spy-glass, as if he were a Commodore. Do you suppose, now, I want
my brother to see me a lackey abroad here? By Heaven it is enough to
drive one distracted! What’s to be done?” he cried, fiercely.
Much more passed between us, but all my philosophy was in vain, and at
last Frank departed, his head hanging down in despondency.
For several days after, whenever the quarter-master reported a sail
entering the harbour, Frank was foremost in the rigging to observe it.
At length, one afternoon, a vessel drawing near was reported to be the
long-expected store ship. I looked round for Frank on the spar-deck,
but he was nowhere to be seen. He must have been below, gazing out of a
port-hole. The vessel was hailed from our poop, and came to anchor
within a biscuit’s toss of our batteries.
That evening I heard that Frank had ineffectually endeavoured to get
removed from his place as an oarsman in the First-Cutter—a boat which,
from its size, is generally employed with the launch in carrying
ship-stores. When I thought that, the very next day, perhaps, this boat
would be plying between the store ship and our frigate, I was at no
loss to account for Frank’s attempts to get rid of his oar, and felt
heartily grieved at their failure.
Next morning the bugler called away the First-Cutter’s crew, and Frank
entered the boat with his hat slouched over his eyes. Upon his return,
I was all eagerness to learn what had happened, and, as the
communication of his feelings was a grateful relief, he poured his
whole story into my ear.
It seemed that, with his comrades, he mounted the store ship’s side,
and hurried forward to the forecastle. Then, turning anxiously toward
the quarter-deck, he spied two midshipmen leaning against the bulwarks,
conversing. One was the officer of his boat—was the other his brother?
No; he was too tall—too large. Thank Heaven! it was not him. And
perhaps his brother had not sailed from home, after all; there might
have been some mistake. But suddenly the strange midshipman laughed
aloud, and that laugh Frank had heard a thousand times before. It was a
free, hearty laugh—a brother’s laugh; but it carried a pang to the
heart of poor Frank.
He was now ordered down to the main-deck to assist in removing the
stores. The boat being loaded, he was ordered into her, when, looking
toward the gangway, he perceived the two midshipmen lounging upon each
side of it, so that no one could pass them without brushing their
persons. But again pulling his hat over his eyes, Frank, darting
between them, gained his oar. “How my heart thumped,” he said, “when I
actually, felt him so near me; but I wouldn’t look at him—no! I’d have
died first!”
To Frank’s great relief, the store ship at last moved further up the
bay, and it fortunately happened that he saw no more of his brother
while in Rio; and while there, he never in any way made himself known
to him.
- title
- Chunk 2