We ate our meal on deck; after it was ended I went below, and took a book to while away the time in the least wearisome manner possible; but being a dull dog I had got hold of, I soon tired; and, as I stretched myself on the locker, I saw Lennox, in his small pantry of a place behind the companion ladder, busy writing. When I first noticed him, he seemed very serious and melancholy. I could see a tear stand in his eye now and then, and he would blow his nose in a very pathetic and interesting manner; but as he went on, he once or twice laid down his pen, and laughed to himself, rubbing his hands in ecstasy. He again plied his task for some time quietly, until the laughing fit once more overtook him, when he threw himself back on the small _settle_ or block on which he sat, with such vehemence, that he cracked the back of his skull against the ladder very sharply, and uttered an involuntary "Oh!" In the confusion which this lapse threw him into, he upset the ink on his paper. Out of pure wickedness, I called out, "Lennox!"
"Coming, sir,"--while he bustled to gather up the ink, a precious article on board, with his pen, and to shovel it into the bottle again; but he did not come great speed this way, so he next tried a tea-spoon.
"Coming? why, do come, man, and give me a glass of water, will you?"
"This instant, sir--beg pardon, sir--but--but"--
By this he had got his papers stowed away, and made his appearance with his trowsers covered with ink. I looked at him; he was blushing to the eyes.
"Why, what _have_ you been after? You have spilled all my ink, I see--writing love-letters, I suppose?"--In his bashfulness he here drew his hand across his face, and thereby transferred a good dash of the "best Japan" to his nose and cheeks, the effect of which was so absurd that I could not help laughing outright.--"You are an author, perhaps?"
He blushed still deeper, and seeing I waited for an answer, rapped out, "I am, sir, in a small way."
"The deuce!" said I, rather surprised that I should have hit the right nail on the head thus unexpectedly; "and pray, what works have you produced--what walk in literature have you especially followed out?"
"The novel line! A _novel_ line, certainly, for a corporal of marines," said I, interrupting him rather sneeringly.--"Pray, who and what were you before you joined Gazelle, Lennox; that is, if you have no objections to tell?"