Navy, I reside in a pleasant cottage in the suburbs of the
well-known and important seaport town of Wreckumoft, situate on the east
coast of England. My front windows command a magnificent view of the
sea; my back windows command an equally magnificent view of landscape.
I have a magnificent wife, and she commands the household, myself
included. There was a time--I reflect on it with melancholy pride and
subdued satisfaction--when I commanded a British seventy-four. I
command nothing now but my temper. That, however, is a stronghold from
which nothing terrestrial can drive me.

My friends style me "The Captain," but I am not the hero of this tale.
No, by no means. I am altogether unheroic in my nature, commonplace in
my character. If a novelist were to describe me, he would write me down
a stout little old gentleman, with a bald head and a mild countenance;
mentally weak in expression, active in habits, and addicted to pipes and
loose clothing.

Do not imagine that this is my account of myself; no, it is an ideal
resulting from the oft-repeated assurances of my wife, who is a
strong-minded woman, a few inches taller than myself, somewhat raw-boned
and much more powerful, physically, though less rotund. In fact, if I
were to attempt a brief comprehensive description of her, I would say,
without the most distant feeling of disrespect of course, that she is
square and skinny--singularly so!

Mrs Bingley's contempt for my intellect is excelled, I might almost say
redeemed, by her love for myself. How she manages to separate between
myself and my intellect I have never been able to understand; but then
she _is_ strong-minded, which perhaps accounts for her seeing farther
into this millstone than I can. She tells me, not unfrequently, that I
am weak-minded. She even goes the length at times of calling me
imbecile; but she is a dear good affectionate woman, and I have no
sympathy with the insolent remark I once overheard made by an
acquaintance of mine, to the effect that it was a pity Mrs Bingley had
not been born with a man's hat and trousers on--no, none whatever.

Before dismissing myself, descriptively at least, (for, being an
honorary agent of the Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariners' Society, and
an actor in some of the scenes which I am about to describe, I cannot
conveniently dismiss myself altogether); before dismissing myself, I
say, it may be as well to explain that my strong-minded wife, in concert
wit