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"Funchal," put in Mr Fortescue Jones, the assistant-paymaster, caressing his whiskers as usual and cocking his eye as if he were going to catch Larkyns tripping. "When were you there?" "In the Majestic, when I was a cadet," promptly returned the mid, taking up the cudgels at once. "It was in the same year you were tried by court-martial for breaking your leave!"
"Oh, yes," put in Mr Stormcock, satirically "I recollect it all quite well. Heave ahead, my hearty!" The assistant-paymaster, however, took no notice whatever of the interruption, pursuing the even tenor of his narrative.
Going round with Mr Fortescue Jones, the assistant-paymaster, whom I had taken a liking to in consequence of his having served under Sir Charles Napier, Dad's old captain and my own personal patron, he noticed this screen and he told me another anecdote of the old admiral, to add to my list.
This caught Mr Fortescue Jones, the unoffending assistant-paymaster, in the eye, and made all the purser's clerks yell with laughter. When I went on deck again, shortly after Three Bells, we were pretty well clear of the Isle of Wight, the Needles Rocks being off our weather quarter and some miles distant, with the Dorset coast looming ahead.
It was not "all work and no play," either, for we had plenty of fun and skylarking down in the gunroom; making the oldsters there, like Mr Stormcock and the assistant-paymaster, Mr Fortescue Jones, frequently wish they, or rather that we, had never been born to come to sea to torment them.
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