I was reeling about more asleep
than awake; every now and then brought to my senses by
breaking my
Shins against the carronade slides; or, if I sat
down upon one of them to rest, by a playful whack with a
rope's end from one of the crusty old mates aforesaid, who
perhaps anticipated in my poor little personality the
arrogance of a possible commanding officer. Oh! those cruel
night watches! But the hard training must have been a useful
tonic too. One got accustomed to it by degrees; and hence,
indifferent to exposure, to bad food, to kicks and cuffs, to
calls of duty, to subordination, and to all that constitutes
discipline.
Luckily for me, the midshipman of my watch, Jack Johnson, was
a trump, and a smart officer to boot. He was six years older
than I, and, though thoroughly good-natured, was formidable
enough from his strength and determination to have his will
respected. He became my patron and protector. Rightly, or
wrongly I am afraid, he always took my part, made excuses for
me to the officer of our watch if I were caught napping under
the half-deck, or otherwise neglecting my duty. Sometimes he
would even take the blame for this upon himself, and give me
a 'wigging' in private, which was my severest punishment. He
taught me the ropes, and explained the elements of
seamanship. If it was very cold at night he would make me
wear his own comforter, and, in short, took care of me in
every possible way.
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