hall lay the
case before Lord Paramount, and let him know your deplorable situation.

ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Aye, do--and lay it behind him too; you've got the
weather-gage of us this tack, messmate; but I wish you a good voyage for
all--and don't forget to tell him, the poor worms are starving too,
having nothing to eat, but half starv'd dead soldiers and the ships'
bottoms. [_Aside._] A cunning old fox, he's gnaw'd his way handsomely
out of the Boston cage--but he'll never be a _wolf_, for all that.

MR. CAPER. I shall desire to be recalled too--I've not been us'd to such
fare--and not the least diversion or entertainment of any sort going
forward here--I neither can nor will put up with it.

ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. I think we're all a parcel of damn'd boobies for
coming three thousand miles upon a wild-goose chase--to perish with
cold--starve with hunger--get our brains knock'd out, or be hang'd for
sheep-stealing and robbing hen-roosts.

LORD BOSTON. I think, Admiral, you're always grumbling--never satisfied.

ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Satisfied? I see no appearance of it--we have been
here these twelve hours, scolding upon empty stomachs--you may call it a
council of war (and so it is indeed, a war with the guts) or what you
will--but I call it a council of famine.

LORD BOSTON. As it's so late, Gentlemen, we'll adjourn the council of
war till to-morrow at nine o'clock--I hope you'll all attend, and come
to a conclusion.

ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. And I hope you'll then conclude to favour us with one
of them fine turkeys you're keeping for your sea store [_Aside._] or
that fine, fat, black pig you or some of your guard stole out of the
poor Negroe's pen. As it's near Christmas, and you're going to make your
exit--you know the old custom among the sailors--pave your way
first--let us have one good dinner before we part, and leave us half a
dozen pipes of Mr. Hancock's wine to drink your health, and a good
voyage, and don't let us part with dry lips.

_Such foolish councils, with no wisdom fraught,
Must end in wordy words, and come to nought;
Just like St. James's, where they bluster, scold,
They nothing know--yet they despise being told._

[_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[9] See Burgoyne's letter.

ACT V.

SCENE I. _At Montreal._

_GENERAL PRESCOT and OFFICER._

GENERAL PRESCOT.

So it seems indeed, one misfortune seldom comes alone.--The rebe