Had it not been for this friendly hint, I really believe I should have touched my hat to a drummer.

Having gone through this ordeal, I reached the inn at Plymouth, where I found my captain, and presented my father’s letter.  He surveyed me from top to toe, and desired the pleasure of my company to dinner at six o’clock.  “In the mean time,” he said, “as it is now only eleven, you may go aboard, and show yourself to Mr Handstone, the first lieutenant, who will cause your name to be entered on the books, and allow you to come back here to dine.”  I bowed and retired.  And on my way to Mutton Cove was saluted by the females, with the appellation of Royal Reefer (midshipman), and a Biscuit Nibbler; but all this I neither understood nor cared for.  I arrived safely at Mutton Cove, where two women, seeing my inquiring eye and span-new dress, asked what ship they should take “my honour” to, I told them the ship I wished to go on board of.

“She lays under the Obelisk,” said the elder woman, who appeared to be about forty years of age; “and we will take your honour off for a shilling.”

I agreed to this, both for the novelty of the thing, as well as on account of my natural gallantry and love of female society.  The elder woman was mistress of her profession, handling her scull (oar) with great dexterity; but Sally, the younger one, who was her daughter, was still in her noviciate.  She was pretty, cleanly dressed, had on white stockings, and sported a neat foot and ankle.

“Take care, Sally,” said the mother; “keep stroke, or you will catch a crab.”

“Never fear, mother,” said the confident Sally; and at the same moment, as if the very caution against the accident was the cause of it, the blade of her scull did not dip into the water.  The oar meeting no resistance, its loom, or handle, came back upon the bosom of the unfortunate Sally, tipped her backwards—­up went her heels in the air, and down fell her head into the bottom of the boat.  As she was pulling the stroke oar, her feet almost came in contact with the rosette of my cocked hat.

“There now, Sally,” said the wary mother; “I told you how it would be—­I knew you would catch a crab!”

Sally quickly recovered herself, blushed a little, and resumed her occupation.

“That’s what we calls catching a crab in our country,” said the woman.  I replied that I thought it was a very pretty amusement; and I asked Sally to try and catch another; but she declined; and, by this time, we had reached the side of the ship.

Having paid my naiads, I took hold of the man-rope, as I was instructed by them, and mounted the side.  Reaching the gangway, I was accosted by a midshipman in a round jacket and trousers, a shirt none of the cleanest, and a black silk handkerchief tied loosely round his neck.

“Who did you want, sir?” said he.

“I wish to speak with Mr Handstone, the first lieutenant,” said I. He informed me that the first lieutenant was then gone down to frank the letters, and, when he came on deck, he would acquaint him with my being there.