m very partial to good music. My mother was a great
performer. I recollect once, she was performing a piece on the piano in
which she had to imitate a _thunderstorm_. So admirably did she hit it
off, that when we went to tea all the cream was _turned sour_, as well
as three casks of _beer_ in the cellar."

At this assertion Mr Phillott could contain himself no longer; he burst
out into a loud laugh, and having a glass of wine to his lips, spattered
it all over the table, and over me, who unfortunately was opposite to
him.

"I really beg pardon, Captain Kearney, but the idea of such an expensive
talent was too amusing. Will you permit me to ask you a question? As
there could not have been thunder without lightning, were any people
killed at the same time by the electric fluid of the piano?"

"No sir," replied Captain Kearney, very angrily; "but her performance
_electrified_ us, which was something like it. Perhaps, Mr Phillott, as
you lost your last glass of wine, you will allow me to take another with
you?"

"With great pleasure," replied the first lieutenant, who perceived that
he had gone far enough.

"Well, gentlemen," said the captain, "we shall soon be in the land of
plenty. I shall cruise a fortnight more, and then join the admiral at
Jamaica. We must make out our despatch relative to the cutting out of
the _Sylvia_ (that was the name of the privateer brig), and I am happy
to say that I shall feel it my duty to make honourable mention of all
the party present. Steward, coffee."

The first lieutenant, O'Brien, and I, bowed to this flattering avowal on
the part of the captain; as for me, I felt delighted. The idea of my
name being mentioned in the "Gazette," and the pleasure that it would
give to my father and mother, mantled the blood in my cheeks till I was
as red as a turkey-cock.

"_Cousin_ Simple," said the captain, good-naturedly, "you have no
occasion to blush; your conduct deserves it; and you are indebted to Mr
Phillott for having made me acquainted with your gallantry."

Coffee was soon over, and I was glad to leave the cabin, and be alone,
that I might compose my perturbed mind. I felt too happy. I did not,
however, say a word to my messmates, as it might have created feelings
of envy or ill-will. O'Brien gave me a caution not to do so, when I met
him afterwards, so that I was very glad that I had been so circumspect.

Chapter XXXV

Swinburne continues his narrative of the battle off Cap