Here his recollection failed him; he began to talk to himself, and to confound me with the first lieutenant.

“I’ll teach him to write to port-admirals for leave—­son of a sea cook.”

He was now drawing to the finale, and began to sing,

  “The cook of the huffy got drank,
  Fell down the fore-scuttle, and
  Broke his gin bottle.”

Here his head fell back, he tumbled off his chair, and lay motionless on the carpet.

Having previously determined not to let him be exposed in the streets in that state, I had provided a bed for him at the inn; and, ringing the bell, I ordered the waiter to carry him to it.  Having seen him safely deposited, untied his neckcloth, took off his boots, and raised his head a little, we left him, and returned to the table, where we finished our evening in great comfort, but without any other instance of intoxication.

The next morning, I waited on him.  He seemed much annoyed at seeing me, supposing I meant, by my presence, to rebuke him for his intemperance; but this was not my intention.  I asked him how he felt; and I regretted that the hilarity of the evening had been interrupted in so unfortunate a manner.

“How do you mean, sir?  Do you mean to insinuate that I was not sober?”

“By no means, Sir,” said I; “but are you aware, that in the midst of your delightful and entertaining conversation, you tumbled off your chair in an epileptic fit?—­are you subject to these?”

“Oh, yes, my dear fellow, indeed I am; but it is so long since I last had one, that I was in hopes they had left me.  I have invalided for them four times, and just at the very periods when, if I could have remained out, my promotion was certain.”

He then told me I might remain on shore that day, if I pleased.  I gave him credit for his happy instinct in taking the hint of the fit; and as soon as I left him, he arose, went on board, and flogged two men for being drunk the night before.

I did not fail to report all that had passed to my messmates, and we sailed a few days afterwards for Barbadoes.

On the first Sunday of our being at sea, the captain dined in the gun-room with the officers.  He soon launched out into his usual strain of lying and boasting, which always irritated our doctor, who was a sensible young Welshman.  On these occasions, he never failed to raise a laugh at the captain’s expense, by throwing in one or two words at the end of each anecdote; and this he did in so grave and modest a manner, that without a previous knowledge of him, anyone might have supposed he was serious.  The captain renewed his story of the corps of poodles to extract the fuses from the shells.  “I hoped,” he said, “to see the institution of such a corps among ourselves; and if I were to be the colonel of it, I should soon have a star on my breast.”

“That would be the Dog Star,” said the doctor, with extreme gaiety.