on a
fellow who holds a first command; and, as I have no interest to back me
up at the Admiralty board, I don't want a bad report to go in against
me, and a black mark be set before my name for ever!"

"Don't you fear, Tom," said I cheerfully, "you'll pass muster with
flying colours!"

Well, the admiral came on board and the inspection turned out just as I
expected.

Not only was the gallant chief satisfied with the condition of the
_Porpoise_; but, after having mustered the men at quarters, and having
them exercised at gun-drill and cutlasses, he was so pleased that he
publicly complimented Tom Finch on the state of his ship and crew,
saying that they were not only creditable to him, but to the service
generally.

So far, so good.

When the admiral, however, descended presently to Tom's cabin to sign
papers, and perhaps to give a look around him, too, to see how such an
efficient officer comported himself when "at home" so to speak, Tom's
evil genius placed Master Jocko in the way.

There he was, seated on the sofa, dressed up in some nondescript sort of
uniform with which the youngsters had invested him during Tom's absence
on deck--the young imps were always up to some of their larks--and being
of a kindred disposition himself, Tom was never hard on them for their
tricks.

The monkey had on a blue coat and trousers with a red sash across his
chest and a Turkish fez on his head, which gave him the appearance of
one of the many Chilian field marshals, and generals, and colonels whom
we had seen at Valparaiso, his wizened, dried-up face adding to the
delusion.

As luck would have it, too, what should Jocko do, as the admiral and Tom
entered the cabin, but rise from the sofa; and taking off the cap from
his head with one of his paws, while the other was laid deferentially on
his chest, he made a most polite bow, in the manner he had always been
used to do, when either of us greeted him on coming in.

"Who's this gentleman?" said the admiral pleasantly, taking off _his_
cocked hat likewise, and returning the salute--"I suppose someone you've
given a passage to on the way, eh?"

Tom was at his wit's end, as he told me afterwards, for the moment; but
his native "nous" came to the rescue, and, combined with his love of a
practical joke, suggested a loophole of escape.

"Oh, sir," said he, "this is one of the aides-de-camp of the Chilian
generalissimo, a Senor Carrambo, who begged me to land him at Callao on