“’You fished last night against orders, and therefore you have received your punishment.  You saved my life last night, and therefore it is my duty to reward you.  I could not let you off this punishment, as it would be making the King pay you for me, instead of my paying you myself.  I’m not a rich man, but here’s ten guineas for your purse, and here’s my gold watch.  Spend the first usefully, and keep the other; and observe, Jack Jervis, if ever you are again caught fishing in harbor, you will as surely get two dozen for your pains. You’ve your duty to do, and I’ve got mine.’”

“Well, messmate, that’s a queer story altogether, and queerer fellows in it.  I wouldn’t have minded sailing with that Old Duty.  Suppose we drink his health?”

“With all my heart; for you’re right, old chap.  When we knows what we are to expect, we’re always ready to meet-it; but some officers I’ve sailed with shift about like a dog-vane, and there’s no knowing how to meet them.  I recollect—­But I say, Jack, suppose you turn in—­your eyes are winking and blinking like an owl’s in the sunshine.  You’re tired, boy, so go to bed.  We shan’t tell any more yarns to-night.”

I was very tired indeed, and could not keep my eyes open any longer; so I went upstairs, and was asleep almost as soon as I laid my head upon the pillow.

CHAPTER SEVEN

     In which my Mother gives my Father a Scriptural Lesson—­My Father’s
     Grief at parting with an old Friend—­He expostulates with my Mother
     and quits the House.

I Woke early the next morning; for the whole night I had been restless, and dreaming of the unusual occurrences of the day before.  It was just daylight, and I was recalling what had passed, and wondering what had become of my father, when I heard a noise in my mother’s room.  I listened—­the door opened, and she went downstairs.

This surprised me; and being conscious, even at my age, of the vindictive temper shown by my mother upon every occasion, and anxious to know where my father was, I could not remain in bed.  I put on my trousers, and crept softly downstairs without my shoes.  The door of the front room was ajar, and I looked in.  The light was dimly peering through the window which pointed to the alley; the table was covered with the empty pipes, tobacco, and large pools of beer and liquor which had been spilled on it; the sofa was empty, and my father, who evidently had become deeply intoxicated the night before, was lying on the sanded floor with his face downward; my mother, in her short dressing-gown and flannel petticoat, was standing over him, her teeth set, her fists clinched, and arms raised, with a dire expression of revenge in her countenance.  I thought at the time that I never saw her look so ugly—­I may say so horrid; even now her expression at that moment is not effaced from my memory.  After a few minutes