My respectable captain, who had been for many years living as a confirmed bachelor with his only relative, an old spinster sister, with whom he chummed, and I fancy had hardly been known to speak to another woman, was suddenly perceived walking about the street with a large bouquet in his hand, his hair well oiled, his coat (generally so loose and comfortable-looking) buttoned tight to show off his figure; and then he took to sporting beautiful kid gloves, and even to dancing.  He could not be persuaded to go on board at any cost, while he had never left his ship before, except for an occasional day’s shooting.  In short, he had fallen hopelessly in love with a buxom Spanish lady with lustrous eyes as black as her hair, the widow of a murdered governor of the town.

Our first and second lieutenants followed suit; both were furiously in love; and, as I said, every one, even a married man, one of my messmates, fell down and worshipped the lovely (and lovely they were, and no mistake) Spanish girls of Buenos Ayres, whose type of beauty is that which only the blue blood of Spain can boast of.  Now, reader, don’t be shocked, I fell in love myself, and my love affair proved of a more serious nature, at least in its results, than that of the others, because, while the daughter (she was sixteen, and I seventeen) responded to my affection, her mother, a handsome woman of forty, chose to fall in love with me herself.

This was rather a disagreeable predicament, for I didn’t, of course, return the mother’s affection a bit, while I was certainly dreadfully spoony on the daughter.

To make a long story short, the girl and I, like two fools as we were, decided to run away together, and run away we did.  I should have been married if the mother hadn’t run after us.  She didn’t object to our being married, but, in the meantime, she remained with us, and she managed to make the country home we had escaped to, with the intention of settling down there, so unbearable, that, luckily for me as regards my future, I contrived to get away, and went as fast as I could on board my ship for refuge, never landing again during our stay at Buenos Ayres.

Fortunately, shortly afterwards we were ordered away, and so ended my first love affair.

I shall never forget the melancholy, woebegone faces of my captain and brother officers on our re-assembling on board.  It was really most ludicrous.  However, a sea voyage which included several sharp gales of wind soon erased all sad memories; things gradually ‘brightened,’ and ere many weeks had passed all on board H.M.S.——­ resumed their usual appearance.

CHAPTER III.

A tragical affair.