"_Lieutenant, R.N., and son of Widow Donovan, who lives at_ 1050, _Sackville Street, Dublin, the widest thoroughfare in Europe._"
"And pray," said the commodore, "what captures may you have made in this redoubtable man-of-war of yours--in his Britannic Majesty's felucca, Midge?"
"Why, none, sir," said wee Middy, blushing; "but I hope you will soon put us in the way of having a brush, sir."
"We shall see, we shall see," said the good-hearted old sailor; "but come and take a glass of wine, Mr Binnacle, and after you have told Mr Lanyard all about the Midge, what she _has_, and _wants_, &c., get on board again, and keep near us for the evening.--I say, Mr Steelpen," to his clerk, who was lounging about, "Come to the cabin, now, will you, and draw out Mr Lanyard's instructions, as Mr Garboard is still confined to his cot."
This was the second lieutenant, who had been ill for a week with fever.
The moment I knew Lanyard was going in the Midge, I determined to accompany him if possible, so I asked the commodore's leave--hinting, that my knowledge of the rivers might be of use. He laughed.
"Pilot, indeed--mind you don't evaporate in one of your pilotings, and then what shall I say to your friends, Master Benjamin?"
"Why, my good boy, you had better not--take my word for it, if you carry on in this way, you will either get your head broken, or be caught by one of these infernal marsh fevers, which will be worse."
"No fear, Sir Oliver, I am a seasoned cask--do give me leave--I shall be back in a week."
"Well, well, as you please, my young master."
Lanyard heard the order given, and instantly set about getting his kit arranged for his departure, although he seemed to think it would have been more pleasing in his excellent captain had he appeared to have consulted him a little on the subject; but to hear was to obey, and Dick was quite ready to move by the time he was sent for to receive his orders, when I adjourned to the cabin also, to say good by. Sir Oliver was sitting at his wine; and so soon as the steward had left us to ourselves, the knight rang the bell, the cord of which, ending in a handsome brass handle, hung within a foot of his head.
"Potter, send the first lieutenant here."