The first lieutenant smiled and gave me a wink, when the captain had
finished his speech to me, as much as to say, "You're in luck," and then
the conversation changed. Captain Kearney certainly dealt in the
marvellous to admiration, and really told his stories with such
earnestness, that I actually believe that he thought he was telling the
truth. Never was there such an instance of confirmed habit. Telling a
story of a cutting-out expedition, he said, "The French captain would
have fallen by my hand, but just as I levelled my musket, a ball came,
and cut off the cock of the lock as clean as if it was done with a
knife--a very remarkable instance," observed he.
"Not equal to what occurred in a ship I was in," replied the first
lieutenant, "when the second lieutenant was grazed by a grape-shot,
which cut off one of his whiskers, and turning round his head to
ascertain what was the matter, another grape-shot came and took off the
other. Now that's what I call a _close shave_."
"Yes," replied Captain Kearney, "very close, indeed, if it were true;
but you'll excuse me, Mr Phillott, but you sometimes tell strange
stories. I do not mind it myself, but the example is not good to my
young relation here, Mr Simple."
"Captain Kearney," replied the first lieutenant, laughing very
immoderately, "do you know what the pot called the kettle?"
"No, sir, I do not," retorted the captain, with offended dignity. "Mr
Simple, will you take a glass of wine?"
I thought that this little _brouillerie_ would have checked the captain;
it did so, but only for a few minutes, when he again commenced.
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