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Updated: June 1, 2025
Larkyns. Mr. Verdant Green tried back, but with an increased confusion of ideas, resulting from the mixture of milk-punch and strong cigars. "'I dre-eamt that I dwe-elt in Mar-arble Halls, with vassals and serfs at my si-hi-hide; and I beg your pardon, gentlemen, I really forget oh, I know 'And I also dre-eamt, which ple-eased me most No, that's not it."
My friend Larkyns, able caterer of the mess as he had hitherto proved himself to be from the date of his deposing poor Mr Stormcock up to our going to the Peiho, was at his wits' end to replenish our sadly-depleted larder, which brought on the head of the unfortunate Dobbs every day at dinner more abuse than even the long-suffering steward could well bear.
Meanwhile, the new hands who were awaiting their medical examination were drawn up on the other side of the gangway, "marking time" until these regular, or rather irregular, patients were disposed of in turn, no doubt enjoying the fun like ourselves. "Listen," whispered Larkyns, the senior midshipman, nudging the fellow next him and winking to me as I came up.
"He'll hear you." "No matter if he does," rejoined Larkyns. "I suppose he knows he has got the Cork brogue strong enough to hang a cat-block from. Besides, he won't mind what I say." "Faix, that's thrue for yez, sor," muttered the corporal, who caught this remark as he was going out of the gunroom door, his ears being as sharp as those of a fox.
"I suppose," said I, after we had cast anchor, to Larkyns, who had kindly noticed me the first day I came aboard and had been very friendly with me since, patronising me in the way the elder boys of the sixth form sometimes do the younger fellows at school, "we'll sail to-morrow, eh?" "Sail to-morrow? Your grandmother!" he answered with his usual grin.
Amongst these were, the Honourable Digby Lanyard, our swell first lieutenant, eyeglass in eye as usual, and dressed as neatly as if going to divisions, although he had only such very short notice for his toilet; Joe Jellaby, the proper officer of my watch, whose place Mr Bitpin had taken for the nonce, rubbing his eyes and only half awake from his dreams of "that chawming gurl" at the admiral's ball; Charley Gilham, our third lieutenant, a manly, blue-eyed sailor and fond of his profession, but no bookworm and bad at head-work; Mr Cheffinch, or "Gunnery Jack" as he was styled; the three other mates; and, all the middies and cadets, including Larkyns.
"Oh, yes, I quite believe that, Mr Triggs," said I, taking advantage of the opportunity of giving a "snop" to Larkyns, who was also standing by and, of course, grinning as usual. "Not all smoke and noise, like some fellows' talk." "No, that they ain't, except, in course, when saluting," replied the gunner, who was a plain matter-of-fact man and did not see the drift of my observation.
"Don't cry, my little pet, you haven't got your mammy here to mollycoddle you!" "Let me go, Larkyns, you're choking me," I gasped out, wriggling violently and kicking out behind. "I'll hurt you if you don't loose me; I will, indeed!"
"All right, old chappie, I'd better get out of your way, if that's the case," rejoined Larkyns, chuckling. "I'll go below and finish my tea, which I would certainly not have left behind me, with you about, had it been grog!"
"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!"
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