The reader may think I was over fastidious when I inform him that I cannot describe the disgust I felt at the licentious impurity of manners which I found in the midshipmen’s berth; for although my connection with Eugenia was not sanctioned by religion or morality, it was in other respects pure, disinterested, and, if I may use the expression, patriarchal, since it was unsullied by inconstancy, gross language, or drunkenness.  Vicious I was, and I own it to my shame; but at least my vice was refined by Eugenia, who had no fault but one.

As soon as I had settled myself in my new abode, with all the comfort that circumstances would permit, I wrote a long letter to Eugenia, in which I gave an exact account of all that had passed since our separation; I begged her to come down to Portsmouth and see me; told her to go to the “Star and Garter,” as the house nearest the water-side, and consequently where I should be the soonest out of sight after I had landed.  Her answer informed me that she should be there on the following day.

The only difficulty now was to get on shore.  No eloquence of mine, I was sure, would induce the first lieutenant to relax his Cerberus-like guard over me.  I tried the experiment, however; begged very hard “to be allowed to go on shore to procure certain articles absolutely necessary to my comfort.”

“No, no,” said Mr Talbot, “I am too old a hand to be caught that way.  I have my orders, and I would not let my father go on shore, if the captain ordered me to keep him on board; and I tell you, in perfect good humour, that out of this ship you do not go, unless you swim on shore, and that I do not think you will attempt.  Here,” continued he, “to prove to you there is no ill-will on my part, here is the captain’s note.”

It was short, sweet, and complimentary, as it related to myself, and was as follows:—­

“Keep that d——­d young scamp, Mildmay, on board.”

“Will you allow me, then,” said I, folding up the note, and returning it to him without any comment, “will you allow me to go on shore under the charge of the sergeant of marines?”

“That,” said he, “would be just as much an infringement of my orders as letting you go by yourself.  You cannot go on shore, sir.”

These last words he uttered in a very peremptory manner, and, quitting the deck, left me to my own reflections and my own resources.

Intercourse by letter between Eugenia and myself was perfectly easy; but that was not all I wanted.  I had promised to meet her at nine o’clock in the evening.  It was now sunset; the boats were all hoisted up; no shore boat was near, and there was no mode of conveyance but a la nage, which Mr Talbot himself had suggested only as proving its utter impracticability; but he did not know me half so well at the time as he did afterwards.