The Cruise of the Midge. Michael Scott

that I ever saw—what can it be? Sir Oliver, will you please to look at it?"

      The commodore took the glass with the greatest good-humour, while he handed me his trumpet—"Really," said he, "I cannot tell—Mr. Sprawl, can you?" Sprawl—honest man—took his spell at the telescope—but he was equally unsuccessful. The figure that was puzzling us was a half-naked man, in his shirt and trowsers, with a large blue shawl bound round his head, who had suddenly jumped on deck, with a hammock thrown over his shoulders as if it had been a dressing gown; the clew hanging half-way down his back, while the upper part of the canvass-shroud was lashed tightly round his neck, but so as to leave his arms and legs free scope; and there he was strutting about with the other clew trailing away astern of him, like the train of a lady's gown, as if he had in fact been arrayed in what was anciently called a curricle-robe. Over this extraordinary array there was slung a formidable Spanish trabuco, or blunderbuss, across his body; and one hand, as he walked backwards and forwards on the small confined deck of the felucca, held a large green silk umbrella over his head, although the sail of itself was shade enough at the time; while the other clutched a speaking trumpet.

      The craft, freighted with this uncouth apparition, was very peculiar in appearance. She had been a Spanish gun-boat—originally a twin-sister to one that Gazelle had, during the war, cut out from Rosas bay. She was about sixty feet long over all, and seventeen feet beam; her deck being as round as her bottom; in fact she was more like a long cask than any thing else, but with a most beautiful run notwithstanding, and without exception the roomiest vessel of her size that I ever saw. She had neither bulwarks, quarters, nor rail, nor in fact any ledge whatever round the gunnel, so that she had no use for scuppers. Her stern, peaked up like a New Zealand war-canoe, tapering away to a point, which was perforated to receive the rudder-head, while forward she had a sharp beak, shaped like the proa of a Roman galley; but she was as strong as wood and iron could make her—her bottom being a perfect bed of timbers, so that they might have been caulked—and tight as a bottle. What answered to a bowsprit was a short thumb of a stick about ten feet high, that rose at an angle of thirty degrees; and she had only one mast, a strong stump of a spar, about thirty feet high, stayed well forward, in place of raking aft; high above which rose the large lateen sail already mentioned, with its long elastic spliced and respliced yard tapering away up into the sky, until it seemed no thicker than the small end of a fishing-rod when bent by the weight of the line and bait. It was of immense length, and consisted of more than half a-dozen different pieces. Its heavy iron-shod heel was shackelled, by a chain a fathom long, to a strong iron-bar, or bolt, that extended athwart the forepart of the little vessel, close to the heel of the bowsprit, and to which it could be hooked and unhooked, as need were, when she tacked, and it became necessary to jib the sail.

      The outlandish-looking craft slowly approached, and we were now within hail. "I hope nothing is amiss with Mr. Donovan?" sung out the commodore.

      "By the powers, but there is though!" promptly replied the curious figure with the trumpet and umbrella, in a strong clear voice.—A pause.

      All our glasses were by this time levelled at the vessel, and everyone more puzzled than another what to make of it.

      "Who are you, sir?" again asked the commodore. "Where is Mr. Donovan?"

      Here Mr. Binnacle, a midshipman on board, hailed us through his hand, but we could not hear him; on which the man in the hammock struck him, without any warning, across the pate with his trumpet. The midshipman and the rest of the crew, we could see, now drew close together forward, and, from their gestures, seemed to be preparing to make a rush upon the figure who had hailed.

      Sir Oliver repeated his question—"Who are you, sir?"

      "Who am I, did you say? That's a good one," was the answer.

      "Why, Sir Oliver," said I, "I believe that is Mr. Donovan himself. Poor fellow, he must have gone mad."

      "No doubt of it—it is so, sir," whistled Sprawl.

      Here the crew of the felucca, led by little Binnacle, made a rush aft, seized the lieutenant, and having overpowered him, launched their little shallop, in which the midshipman, with two men, instantly shoved off; but they had not paddled above half a-dozen yards from the vessel's side, when the maniac, a most powerful man, broke from those who held him, knocked them down, right and left, like so many nine-pins, and seizing his trabuco, pointed it at the skiff, while he sung out in a voice of thunder—"Come back, Mr. Binnacle; come back, you small villain, or I will shoot you dead."

      The poor lad was cowed, and did as he was desired.

      "Lower away the jolly boat," cried the commodore, in a flaming passion; but checking himself, he continued—"Gently, men—belay there—keep all fast with the boat, Mr. Lanyard," who had jumped aft to execute the order—"We must humour the poor fellow, after all, who is evidently not himself."

      I could hear a marine, a half crazy creature, of the name of Lennox, who stood by, on this whisper to his neighbour—"Ay, Sir Oliver, better fleech with a madman than fecht with him."

      "Are you Mr. Donovan, pray?" said the commodore, mildly, but still speaking through the trumpet.

      "I was that gentleman," was the startling answer.

      "Then come on board, man; come on board," in a wheedling tone.

      "How would you have me to do that thing?" said poor Donovan. "Come on board, did you say? Divil now, Sir Oliver, you are mighthy unrasonable."

      His superior officer was somewhat shoved off his balance by this most extraordinary reply from his lieutenant, and rapped out, fiercely enough—"Come on board this instant, sir, or by the Lord, I"——

      "How can I do that thing, and me dead since three bells in the middle watch last night?" This was grumbled as it were through his trumpet, but presently he shouted out as loud as he could bellow—"I can't come; and, what's more, I won't; for I died last night, and am to be buried whenever it goes eight bells at noon."

      "Dead!" said the commodore, now seriously angry. "Dead, did he say? Why, he is drunk, gentlemen, and not mad. There is always some method in madness; here there is none." Till recollecting himself—"Poor fellow, let me try him a little farther; but really it is too absurd"—as he looked round and observed the difficulty both officers and men had in keeping countenance—"Let me humour him a little longer," continued he. "Pray, Mr. Donovan, how can you be dead, and speaking to me now?"

      "Because," said Donovan promptly, "I have a forenoon's leave from purgatory to see myself decently buried, Sir Oliver."

      Here we could no longer contain ourselves, and, notwithstanding the melancholy and humiliating spectacle before us, a shout of laughter burst from all hands fore and aft simultaneously, as the commodore, exceedingly tickled, sung out—"Oh, I see how it is—I see—so do come on board, Mr. Donovan, and we will see you properly buried."

      "You see, Sir Oliver!" said the poor fellow; "to be sure you do—a blind horse might persave it."

      "I say, Dennis dear," quoth I, "I will be answerable that all the honours shall be paid you." But the deceased Irishman was not to be had so easily, and again refused, point-blank, to leave the Midge.

      "Lower away the boat there, Mr. Sprawl," said Sir Oliver; "no use in all this; you see he won't come. Pipe away her crew, Mr. Lanyard, do you hear? So, brisk now—brisk—be off. Take the surgeon with you, and bring that poor fellow on board instantly. Here, Brail, go too, will ye—you are a favourite of his, and probably he will take more kindly to you than any one else."

      We shoved off—and in a twinkling we were alongside—"What cheer, Donovan, my darling? How are you, man, and how do you all do?"

      "Ah, Benjamin, glad to see you, my boy. I hope you have come to read the service: I'm to be buried at noon, you know."

      "Indeed!" said I, "I know nothing of the kind. I have come on board from the commodore to know how you are; he thought you had been ill."

      "Very much obliged," continued the poor fellow; "all that