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Updated: May 16, 2025
"What, a baronet, like Sir John?" "The divle a bit else." "And pray what for?" "What faw?" says Bullwig. "Ask the histowy of litwatuwe what faw? Ask Colburn, ask Bentley, ask Saunders and Otley, ask the gweat Bwitish nation, what faw?
"Ask him which is the Bwitish fleet," suggested the skipper. I put this question also, and the confusion appeared to become worse confounded; some half-a-dozen replies coming back to us all jumbled up together, English and French words being so hopelessly intermixed, that it was utterly impossible to make head or tail of what they were saying.
No, the question is this on the thwone of litewature I stand unwivalled, pwe-eminent; and the Bwitish government, honowing genius in me, compliments the Bwitish nation by lifting into the bosom of the heweditawy nobility, the most gifted member of the democwacy."
The Italian bwig which came in on the day we sailed was from Marseilles, and her master weported a succession of stwong easterly winds hereabouts, which would natuwally send the Bwitish fleet farther in; we shall find them there all wight; where else could they be?" remarked the skipper. "Very true, sir," observed the first lieutenant. "Shall we fill on her and heave about?
"Viva!" was the reply, accompanied by the wave of a navy cap. "He's Fwench," said the skipper; "one of the fellows who has suwendered to our fleet. Can any of you gentlemen speak Fwench well enough to ask him which is the Bwitish admiral's ship?"
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