The Pirate. Фредерик Марриет
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had been making divers complaints of divers persons, and the captain had hitherto appeared imperturbable. Captain Plumbton was an even-tempered man, who was satisfied with a good dinner. Lieutenant Markitall was an odd-tempered man, who would quarrel with his bread and butter.
“Quite impossible, sir,” continued the first-lieutenant, “to carry on the duty without support.”
This oracular observation, which, from the relative forms of the two parties, descended as it were from above, was replied to by the captain with a “Very true.”
“Then, sir, I presume you will not object to my putting that man in the report for punishment?”
“I’ll think about it, Mr Markitall.” This, with Captain Plumbton, was as much as to say, No.
“The young gentlemen, sir, I am sorry to say, are very troublesome.”
“Boys always are,” replied the captain.
“Yes sir: but the duty must be carried on, and I cannot do without them.”
“Very true—midshipmen are very useful.”
“But I am sorry to say, sir, that they are not. Now sir, there’s Mr Templemore; I can do nothing with him—he does nothing but laugh.”
“Laugh!—Mr Markitall, does he laugh at you?”
“Not exactly, sir; but he laughs at everything. If I send him to the mast-head, he goes up laughing; if I call him down, he comes down laughing; if I find fault with him, he laughs the next minute: in fact, sir, he does nothing but laugh. I should particularly wish, sir, that you would speak to him, and see if any interference on your part—”
“Would make him cry—eh? better to laugh than cry in this world. Does he never cry, Mr Markitall?”
“Yes, sir, and very unseasonably. The other day, you may recollect, when you punished Wilson the marine, whom I appointed to take care of his chest and hammock, he was crying the whole time; almost tantamount—at least an indirect species of mutiny on his part, as it implied—”
“That the boy was sorry that his servant was punished; I never flog a man but I’m sorry myself, Mr Markitall.”
“Well, I do not press the question of his crying—that I might look over; but his laughing, sir, I must beg that you will take notice of that. Here he is, sir, coming up the hatchway. Mr Templemore, the captain wishes to speak to you.”
Now the captain did not wish to speak to him, but, forced upon him as it was by the first-lieutenant, he could do no less. So Mr Templemore touched his hat, and stood before the captain, we regret to say, with such a good-humoured, sly, confiding smirk on his countenance, as at once established the proof of the accusation, and the enormity of the offence.
“So, sir,” said Captain Plumbton, stopping in his perambulation, and squaring his shoulders still more, “I find that you laugh at the first-lieutenant.”
“I, sir?” replied the boy, the smirk expanding into a broad grin.
“Yes; you, sir,” said the first-lieutenant, now drawing up to his full height; “why you’re laughing now, sir.”
“I can’t help it, sir—it’s not my fault; and I’m sure it’s not yours, sir,” added the boy, demurely.
“Are you aware, Edward—Mr Templemore, I mean—of the impropriety of disrespect to your superior officer?”
“I never laughed at Mr Markitall but once, sir, that I can recollect, and that was when he tumbled over the messenger.”
“And why did you laugh at him then, sir?”
“I always do laugh when any one tumbles down,” replied the lad; “I can’t help it, sir.”
“Then, sir, I suppose you would laugh if you saw me rolling in the lee-scuppers?” said the captain.
“Oh!” replied the boy, no longer able to contain himself, “I’m sure I should burst myself with laughing—I think I see you now, sir.”
“Do you, indeed! I’m very glad that you do not; though I’m afraid, young gentleman, you stand convicted by your own confession.”
“Yes, sir, for laughing, if that is any crime; but it’s not in the Articles of War.”
“No, sir; but disrespect is. You laugh when you go to the mast-head.”
“But I obey the order, sir, immediately—Do I not, Mr Markitall?”
“Yes, sir, you obey the order; but, at the same time, your laughing proves that you do not mind the punishment.”
“No more I do, sir. I spend half my time at the mast-head, and I’m used to it now.”
“But, Mr Templemore, ought you not to feel the disgrace of the punishment?” inquired the captain, severely.
“Yes, sir, if I felt I deserved it I should. I should not laugh, sir, if you sent me to the mast-head,” replied the boy, assuming a serious countenance.
“You see, Mr Markitall, that he can be grave,” observed the captain.
“I’ve tried all I can to make him so, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant; “but I wish to ask Mr Templemore what he means to imply by saying, ‘when he deserves it.’ Does he mean to say that I have ever punished him unjustly?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the boy, boldly; “five times out of six, I am mast-headed for nothing—and that’s the reason why I do not mind it.”
“For nothing, sir! Do you call laughing nothing?”
“I pay every attention that I can to my duty, sir; I always obey your orders; I try all I can to make you pleased with me—but you are always punishing me.”
“Yes, sir, for laughing, and, what is worse, making the ship’s company laugh.”
“They ‘haul and hold’ just the same, sir—I think they work all the better for being merry.”
“And pray, sir, what business have you to think?” replied the first-lieutenant, now very angry. “Captain Plumbton, as this young gentleman thinks proper to interfere with me and the discipline of the ship, I beg you will see what effect your punishing may have upon him.”
“Mr Templemore,” said the captain, “you are, in the first place, too free in your speech, and, in the next place, too fond of laughing. There is, Mr Templemore, a time for all things—a time to be merry, and a time to be serious. The quarter-deck is not a fit place for mirth.”
“I’m sure the gangway is not,” shrewdly interrupted the boy.
“No—you are right, nor the gangway; but you may laugh on the forecastle, and when below with your messmates.”
“No, sir, we may not; Mr Markitall always sends out if he hears us laughing.”
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