I dined in the ward-room, enjoyed my chess, and, good, easy youth, with all my blushing honours thick upon me, of having given mate with only trifling odds in my favour, the drum beat to evening quarters. I was stationed to the four aftermost carronades on the quarter-deck. I had run up in a hurry; and at that period, straps to keep down the trousers not having been invented, my white jeans were riddled a good deal up the leg. I passed the captain, touched my hat, and began to muster my men. Unconscious of any offence, I stole a look at my commander, but met with no good-humoured glance in return. He had screwed up his little yellow physiognomy into the shape of an ill-conditioned and battered face on a brass knocker. He had his usual afternoon wine-flush upon him; but a feeling of vindictiveness had placed his feelings of incipient intoxication under complete mastery. "So you dined in the ward-room, Mr Rattlin?" "Yes, sir," my hat reverently touched, not liking the looks of my interrogator. "And you did not even condescend to return the compliments I sent you, with my misplaced invitation to dinner." "Don't recollect, sir." "Mr Rattlin, in consideration of your ignorance, I can forgive a personal affront--damme--but, by the living God, I cannot overlook disrespect to the service. You young misbegotten scoundrel! what do mean by coming to quarters undressed? Look at your trousers, sir!" "The captain is in a passion, certainly," thought I, as I quietly stooped to pull the offending garment down to my shoes. "Mr Farmer, Mr Farmer, do you see the young blackguard?" said the commander. "Confound me, he is making a dressing-room of my quarter-deck--and at quarters, too--which is the same as parade. Hither, sirrah;--ho-ho, my young gentleman. Young gentleman, truly--a conceited little bastard!" The word burnt deeply into my young heart, and caused a shock upon my brain, as if an explosion of gunpowder had taken place within my skull; but it passed instantaneously, and left behind it an unnatural calm. "Pray, sir," said I, walking up to him, deliberately and resolutely, "how do _you_ know that I am a bastard?" "Do you hear the impudent scoundrel? Pray, sir, who is your father?" "Oh! that I knew," said I, bursting into tears. "I bless God that it is not you." "To the mast-head! to the mast-head! Where's the boatswain? start him up! start him up!" The boatswain could not make his way aft till I was some rattlings up the main rigging, and thus, his intentional and kind dilatoriness saved me from the indignity of a blow. Twice I gazed upon the clear blue and transparent water, and temptation was strong upon me, for it seemed to woo me to rest; but when I looked inboard, and contemplated the diminutive, shrivelled, jaundiced figure beneath me, I said to myself, "Not for such a thing as that."