"Brother," said the Sea Captain to me, staggering a little (for he
confessed to having much mixed punch under hatches), but still very
grave,--"brother, I think as how it's clear that we're both of us d--d
fools, and d--d lucky fellows at the same time."

"Amen!" cries one of the Bailiffs, with a guffaw.

"_You_ belay," remarked the Captain, turning towards the vermin of Law
with profound disdain. "Brother" (turning to me), "is the Press out?"

"What do you mean?" I inquired. "You know that there's no warrant for
press-gangs in this part of the Liberties of Westminster."

"Liberty be Hanged!" quoth the Sea Captain. "If there was any liberty,
there couldn't be a press, for which I don't care a groat, for I'm a
master mariner. This is what I mean. Is them landlubbers there part of a
press-gang? Are you trapped, brother? Are you in the bilboes? Are you in
any danger of being put under hatches?"

"Why," upspoke one of the Bailiffs, answering for me, "the truth is that
we are Sheriff's Sergeants, and have made seizure, according to due writ
of _fi. fa._ of this worthy lady's goods. We've nothing at all against
the gentleman who says that he married her this morning; but as you
said that you married her five years ago, it's very likely that we, or
some of our mates, shall have something to say to you, in the form of
parchment, between this and noon to-morrow."

"Very well," answers the Strange Seaman. "You speak like a Man o' War's
chaplain, some Lies and some Lingo, but all of it d--d Larned. Have you
got ere a drop of rum, brother?"

"There's nothing here but some Three-Thread Swipes," responds Mr.
Bailiff; "and, indeed, we were waiting until the gentleman treated us to
something better."

"Then," continues the Captain, "you shall have some rum. Younker, go and
fetch these gentlemen some liquor;" and he flings a crown to the
shop-lad. "You may drink your grog and blow your baccy," he went on, "as
long as ever you like, and much good may it do you. And as for you,
Pig-faced Nan,"--in this uncivil manner did he address the false Madam
Taffetas,--"you may go to bed, or to the Devil, 'zactly as you choose,
and settle your Business with the Bailiffs in the morning 'zactly as you
like. And you and I, brother," he wound up, taking me by the arm in
quite a friendly manner, "will just go and take our grog and blow our
baccy in peace and quietness, and thank the Lord for it."

All this he said with great thickness and indis