Chapter 32 - Page 2

both arduous and ominous, in order to maintain his
own claims to the merited distinctions of his sacred office. The
consciousness of his backsliding had so far lessened the earthly, if not
the spiritual, pride of the chaplain, as to induce him to relish the
society of the rude master, whose years had brought him, at times, to
take certain views of futurity that were singularly affected by the
peculiar character of the individual. It might have been that both found
themselves out of their places--but it was owing to some such secret
sympathy, let its origin be what it would, that the two came to be fond
of each other's company. On the night in question, Mr. Boltrope had
invited the chaplain to accompany him in the Alacrity; adding, in his
broad, rough language, that as there was to be fighting on shore, "his
hand might come in play with some poor fellow or other." This singular
invitation had been accepted, as well from a desire to relieve the
monotony of a sea-life by any change, as perhaps with a secret yearning
in the breast of the troubled divine to get as nigh to terra firma as
possible. Accordingly, after the Pilot had landed with his boisterous
party, the sailing-master and the chaplain, together with a boatswain's
mate and some ten or twelve seamen, were left in quiet possession of the
cutter. The first few hours of this peaceable intercourse had been spent
by the worthy messmates, in the little cabin of the vessel, over a can
of grog; the savory relish of which was much increased by a
characteristic disquisition on polemical subjects, which our readers
have great reason to regret it is not our present humor to record. When,
however, the winds invited the near approach to the hostile shores
already mentioned, the prudent sailing-master adjourned the discussion
to another and more suitable time, removing himself and the can, by the
same operation, to the quarter-deck.

"There," cried the honest tar, placing the wooden vessel, with great
self-contentment, by his side on the deck, "this is ship's comfort!
There is a good deal of what I call a lubber's fuss, parson, kept up on
board a ship that shall be nameless, but which bears, about three
leagues distant, broad off in the ocean, and which is lying to under a
close-reefed maintopsail, a foretopmast-staysail, and foresail--I call
my hand a true one in mixing a can--take another pull at the halyards!--
'twill make your eye twinkle like a lighthouse, this dark morning! You
won't? well, we must give no offence to the Englishman's rum."--After a
potent draught had succeeded this considerate declaration, he added:
"You are a little like our first lieutenant, parson, who drinks, as I
call it, nothing but the elements--which is,