Bret Harte

“ As the Frenchman lifted his legs and arms, at each jerk of Briggs’s, I could not help participating in the general mirth.
“You young devil, what are you doing?” said a stifled voice behind me. I looked up and beheld Captain Boltrope, endeavoring to calm his stern features, but the twitching around his mouth betrayed his intense enjoyment of the scene. “Go to the masthead—up with you, sir!” he repeated sternly to Briggs.
“Very good, sir,” said the boy, coolly preparing to mount the shrouds. “Good-by, Johnny Crapaud. Humph!” he added, in a tone intended for my ear, “a pretty way to treat a hero. ”

“ CHAPTER IV As we sat together in the cockpit, picking the weevils out of our biscuit, Briggs consoled me for my late mishap, adding that the “naval salute,” as a custom, seemed just then to be honored more in the breach than the observance. I joined in the hilarity occasioned by the witticism, and in a few moments we were all friends. Presently Swizzle turned to me:
“We have just been planning how to confiscate a keg of claret, which Nips, the purser, keeps under his bunk. The old nipcheese lies there drunk half the day, and there’s no getting at it.” ”

“ The next morning we heard that Nips was in the surgeon’s hands, with a bad wound in the fleshy part of his leg, and that the auger had not struck claret.
CHAPTER V “Now, Pills, you’ll have a chance to smell powder,” said Briggs as he entered the cockpit and buckled around his waist an enormous cutlass. “We have just sighted a French ship.”
We went on deck. Captain Boltrope grinned as we touched our hats. He hated the purser. “Come, young gentlemen, if you’re boring for French claret, yonder’s a good quality. Mind your con, sir,” he added, turning to the quartermaster, who was grinning. ”