“What! my setter’s tail?”

“Yes, sir, he did, I can assure you.”

“Mr Malcolm,” cried the captain, in great wrath, “how came you to cut off my dog’s tail?”

Before I went to sea I had always considered a London cock-sparrow to be the truest emblem of consummate impudence; but I have since discovered that he is quite modest compared to a midshipman.

“Me, sir?” replied the youngster, demurely.  “I didn’t cut off his tail, sir; he cut it off himself!”

“What, sir?” roared the captain.

“If you please, sir, I was chopping a piece of beef, and the dog, who was standing by, turned short round, and put his tail under the chopper.”

“Put his tail under the chopper, you little scamp!” replied Captain L——­, in a fury.  “Now just put your head above the maintop-gallant cross-trees, and stay there until you are called down.  Mr W——­, you’ll keep him up till sunset.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the first lieutenant, with a satisfactory smile at the description of punishment inflicted.

When I was a midshipman, it was extremely difficult to avoid the mast-head.  Out of six years served in that capacity, I once made a calculation that two of them were passed away perched upon the cross-trees, looking down with calm philosophy upon the microcosm below.  Yet, although I never deserved it, I derived much future advantage from my repeated punishments.  The mast-head, for want of something worse to do, became my study; and during the time spent there, I in a manner finished my education.  Volumes after volumes were perused to while away the tedious hours; and I conscientiously believe it is to this mode of punishment adopted by my rigid superiors that the world is indebted for all the pretty books which I am writing.

I was generally exalted either for thinking or not thinking; and as I am not aware of any medium between the active and passive state of our minds (except dreaming, which is still more unpardonable), the reader may suppose that there is no exaggeration in my previous calculation of one-third of my midshipman existence having been passed away upon “the high and giddy mast.”

“Mr M——­,” would the first lieutenant cry out, “why did you stay so long on shore with the jolly-boat?”

“I went to the post-office for the officers’ letters, sir.”

“And pray, sir, who ordered you?”

“No one, sir; but I thought—­”

“You thought, sir!  How dare you think?—­go up to the mast-head, sir.”

So much for thinking.

“Mr M——­,” would he say at another time, when I came on board, “did you call at the admiral’s office?”

“No, sir; I had no orders.  I didn’t think—­”

“Then why didn’t you think, sir?  Up to the mast-head, and stay there till I call you down.”

So much for not thinking.  Like the fable of the wolf and the lamb, it was all the same; bleat as I pleased, my defence was useless, and I could not avert my barbarous doom.