“Please, sir, I be hanging the goat,” was Billy’s reply.

“Hanging the goat! who told you to do that?” inquired Perigal.

“It was the first-lieutenant, sir. She knocked him over right flat on the deck, and so he told me to go and hang her.”

“Well, you are a precious—,” exclaimed the old mate. “Let free the beast, and thank your stars that you didn’t hang her. The captain is a wonderfully good-natured man, there can be no doubt of it; but even he wouldn’t have stood having his goat hung.”

Of course I do not dress the language of my shipmates with the expletives in which many of them were apt to indulge, when the use of strange oaths and swearing of all descriptions was more common than even at present, when the practice would be more honoured in the breach than in the observance. One thing I must say, I never heard our gallant captain utter an oath or abuse a man during the whole time I had the happiness of serving under him, and a braver, more spirited, or more sensible man never trod the deck of a man-of-war as her chief. His memory is dear, not only to all those who served with him, but to all of high or low degree who knew him during his long and glorious naval career. His manners were mild and gentle—though he had an abundance of humour and spirit. He could, however, when he thought it necessary, speak with the gravest severity to a delinquent. I never saw any man more cool and calm and thoughtful in action. It may truly be said of him that in battle he was as brave as a lion, and in peace as gentle as a lamb. I could not resist uttering this panegyric on our well-loved captain.

To return to Billy Wise and the goat. The poor animal’s life was saved, though she had a strange way of stretching out her neck for some weeks afterwards, and always gave Billy a wide berth when she encountered him in her rambles about the decks.

When the captain heard the account, instead of being angry, he laughed heartily, and added the story to his batch of anecdotes.

“I must do something with that poor fellow,” he remarked. “He is not fit to be made Lord Chief Justice, I fear.”

It was not always plain sailing with me. Spellman and I were pretty good friends, but he was somewhat inclined to play the bully. He was called Miss Susan simply because he was as unlike a girl as a great awkward gawky fellow, with red hair and a freckled face, could well be.

One day, as I was going along the lower-deck, with a message to old Perigal, who was attending to some duty forward, I came suddenly on Toby Bluff, whose ear Spellman had seized, while with his heel he was bestowing sundry hard blows on the corpus of my sturdy follower, who already knew enough of naval discipline not to venture on retaliation. Toby, though short, was as strong as a lion, and could have hurled him to the deck if he had dared. This made Miss Susan’s attack all the more cowardly. What Toby had done to give offence I did not stop to inquire. My anger was up in a moment.

“Let go the boy, Spellman!” I exclaimed; “you shall not strike him again.”

Toby gained little by this, for Miss Susan only kicked him the harder; whereon, up I rushed and hit my tall messmate a blow between the eyes, which made lightning flash from them, I suspect. Spellman instantly let go Toby and sprang at me. I stood prepared for the onslaught. Blinded by my first blow, my antagonist hit out at random, and though double my weight, was far from getting the best of it. While we were thus pleasantly occupied, Mr Lukyn, with the sergeant-at-arms, was going his rounds. We were so earnestly engaged in endeavouring to the utmost of our power to hurt each other, that we did not perceive their approach. Toby knew too well the laws of British pugilism to interfere, though had my opponent been an enemy of a different nation, and had we been engaged in mortal combat, I have no doubt that I should have found my young follower an able supporter. An exclamation from Toby threw Spellman off his guard, when a full blow, which I had planted on his breast, sent him reeling back into the not very tender clutches of old Krause, the master-at-arms.

“What is this about, young gentlemen?” exclaimed Mr Lukyn, in a severe tone. “Fighting is against the articles of war.”

“He hit me, sir;” “He kicked the boy Bluff,” we both exclaimed in the same breath.

“I must have you both up before the captain, and ascertain who is the culprit,” said Mr Lukyn. “Master-at-arms, take these young gentlemen into custody.”

I, on this, represented that I had been sent on a message to Mr Perigal, and was allowed to go and deliver it. While I was absent, Spellman took care to put his case in the best light, and mine in the worst. In about an hour we were both taken before the captain, and Toby was summoned as a witness. For fear of committing me, he was only puzzled what to say.

“Speak the truth, and nothing but it,” said I boldly. The captain cast a look of approbation on me. Toby frankly confessed that, not seeing Mr Spellman, he had run against him, when he had been seized by the ear, and that I, coming up, had taken his part. Toby was dismissed.

“Now, young gentlemen, you are both in the wrong,” said the captain. “You, Mr Spellman, should not have struck the boy for his heedlessness, and you, Mr Merry, should not have taken the law into your own hands. You will both of you go to the mast-head, and remain there till Mr Lukyn calls you down; Mr Merry to the foremast, Mr Spellman to the mainmast.”

We thought that we had got off very easily; and we should, had not the first-lieutenant gone below and forgotten all about us. Hour after hour passed by: we had had no dinner: I was almost starved, and could scarcely have held on longer, when my eye fell on a sail to the southward. We were in the chops of the channel, with the wind from the northward. “Sail, O!” I shouted in a shrill tone. Fortunately Mr Lukyn was on deck, and when I had told him the direction in which I had seen the stranger, he called me down, it having probably occurred to him that I had been mast-headed rather longer than he intended.

When I got on deck I went up to him, and, touching my hat, said, “Please, sir, Spellman is still at the mast-head.”

“Oh, is he? ah!” he answered, taking a turn.

I guessed from this that he did not think I was much to blame. Still I was anxious to get poor Miss Susan out of this unpleasant predicament, for I knew he was almost dead with hunger. I had resolved to go up to Mr Lukyn to tell him so, when he hailed my late antagonist, and ordered him on deck.

“You have to thank Mr Merry that you are not up still,” observed the first-lieutenant, walking away.

Meantime the helm had been put up, and sail made in chase of the stranger. All hands earnestly hoped that she might prove an enemy. A sharp look-out was kept on her. One thing soon became evident—that we must have been seen, and that she was not inclined to fly.

“Now, Mr Merry, we’ll show you what fighting is,” observed Mr Johnson, the boatswain, as I stood near him on the forecastle. “You’ll soon see round-shot, and langrage, and bullets rattling about us, thick as hail; and heads, and arms, and legs flying off like shuttle-cocks. A man’s head is off his shoulders before he knows where he is. You’ll not believe it, Mr Merry, perhaps; but it’s a fact. I once belonged to a frigate, when we fell in with two of the enemy’s line-of-battle ships, and brought them to action. One, for a short time, was on our starboard beam, and the other right aft; and we were exposed to a terrible cross and raking fire: it’s only a wonder one of us remained alive, or that the ship didn’t go down. It happened that two men were standing near me, looking the same way—athwart ships, you’ll understand. The name of one was Bill Cox—the other, Tom Jay. Well, a round-shot came from our enemy astern, and took off the head of Bill Cox, who was on the larboard side; while