He was always most kind and considerate to me; but in those days it was not a good thing for the skipper to have a near relation serving under him. That created a certain amount of suspicion, and at times made me feel that I might be thought the originator of some gossip that may have reached his ears. Having the run of his cabin was a great boon. On one occasion, having met with a nasty accident to my foot, I was laid up in a cot in his cabin for three weeks. I could never get into a pair of ready-mades afterwards. CHAPTER V PUNISHMENTS IN THE NAVY The new Captain was a horrid speculation to us juniors. When it was announced that he was Sir Lewis Tobias Jones, dread ran through us. He was what we called a “taut hand”: an officer with a stern sense of duty, which was all he lived for on board ship. That was his reputation. We were agreeably surprised after a very short time. For myself, I had great admiration for his character, and none could question his great abilities. I was soon made his A.D.C., and got on swimmingly. I recollect his running foul of me only on one occasion; and no doubt I deserved it. It was a bitterly cold day, and (as is the custom when a ship is under canvas) the wretched middy of the watch had to walk the lee side of the deck. Unfortunately, the main trysail was set--the most draughty sail in the world, sending all its winds bang down your neck from one end of the quarter-deck to the other. I felt perished with cold, and in a moment of inadvertence put my poor little fingers into my pocket, to keep them warm. Now, the weather side is the sheltered side (it sounds illogical, but so it is); and no doubt Captain Jones did not realise my benumbed state, he being on the more sheltered side of the deck. Seeing my hands in my pockets on the sacred precincts of Her Majesty’s quarter-deck was beyond what he could bear. He called me up, therefore, and said, in rather a stentorian voice, “Pray, sir, who allowed you to keep your hands in your pockets on the quarter-deck? Go down immediately to the tailor on the half-deck [a worthy who was always seen squatting with his mate between two guns at the after end of the main deck, sewing clothes], and tell him from me to sew your pockets up instantly; and report to me, sir, when he has done so.” I fled, feeling disgraced, and knowing that the only chance of retrieving my character was to urge the tailor to “bear a hand”; as the sooner I appeared on deck sewn up, the better. It was but the work of an instant. The tailor twigged the situation, dropped all his work, and sewed me up in no time. When I reached the deck, trembling almost, with my report ready, the stentorian voice had disappeared, and I was accosted in the most fatherly manner. “Now, my boy, this is a lesson to you. Do not do it again. Go below to the tailor, and tell him to unsew your pockets.”