“And why do you think that he has any feeling at all?  I have heard Spike say he left the fellow ashore, somewhere down on the Spanish Main, or in the Islands, quite twenty years since; but a sailor would scarce carry a grudge so long a time, for such a thing as that.”

“I do not know—­but feeling there is, and much of it, too; though, whether hostile or friendly, I will not undertake to say.”

“I’ll look to the chap, now you tell me this.  It is a little odd, the manner in which he got on board us, taken in connection with the company he was in, and a discovery may be made.  Here he is, however; and, as I keep the keys of the magazine, he can do us no great harm, unless he scuttles the brig.”

“Magazine!  Is there such a thing here?”

“To be sure there is, and ammunition enough in it to keep eight carronades in lively conversation for a couple of hours.”

“A carronade is what you call a gun, is it not?”

“A piece of a one—­being somewhat short, like your friend, Jack Tier, who is shaped a good deal like a carronade.”

Rose smiled—­nay, half laughed, for Harry’s pleasantries almost took the character of wit in her eyes, but she did not the less pursue her inquiries.

“Guns!  And where are they, if they be on this vessel?”

“Do not use such a lubberly expression, my dear Rose, if you respect your father’s profession.  On a vessel, is a new-fangled Americanism, that is neither fish, flesh, nor red-herring, as we sailors say—­neither English nor Greek.”

“What should I say, then?  My wish is not to parade sea-talk, but to use it correctly, when I use it at all.”

“The expression is hardly `sea-talk,’ as you call it, but every-day English—­that is, when rightly used.  On a vessel is no more English than it is nautical—­no sailor ever used such an expression.”

“Tell me what I ought to say, and you will find me a willing, if not an apt scholar.  I am certain of having often read it, in the newspapers, and that quite lately.”

“I’ll answer for that, and it’s another proof of its being wrong.  In a vessel is as correct as in a coach, and on a vessel as wrong as can be; but you can say on board a vessel, though not `on the boards of a vessel;’ as Mrs. Budd has it.”

“Mr. Mulford!”

“I beg a thousand pardons, Rose, and will offend no more—­though she does make some very queer mistakes!”

“My aunt thinks it an honour to my uncle’s memory, to be able to use the language of his professional life, and if she does sometimes make mistakes that are absurd, it is with motives so respectable that no sailor should deride them.”

“I am rebuked for ever.  Mrs. Budd may call the anchor a silver spoon, hereafter, without my even smiling.  But if the aunt has this kind remembrance of a seaman’s life, why cannot the niece think equally well of it?”

“Perhaps she does,” returned Rose, smiling again—­“seeing all its attractions through the claims of Captain Spike.”