About half-past eight the next morning, I was called up by Tom to assist in getting the under weigh. When on deck I found old Tom as fresh as if he had not drunk a drop the night before, very busily about the windlass, with which we hove up first the anchor, and then the mast. “Well, Jacob, my boy, had sleep enough? Not too much, I dare say; but a like last night don’t come often, Jacob—only once in a way; now, and then I do believe it’s good for my health. It’s a great comfort to me, my lad, to have you on board with me, because as you never drinks, I may now indulge a little oftener. As for Tom, I can’t trust him—too much like his father—had nobody to trust to for the look-out, except the dog Tommy, till you came with us. I can trust Tommy as far as keeping off the river sharks; he’ll never let them take a rope-yarn off the deck, night or day; but a dog’s but a dog, after all. Now we’re brought to; so clap on, my boy, and let’s heave up with a will.”  
“How’s the old gentleman, father?” said Tom, as we paused a moment from our labour at the windlass.
 
“Oh! he’s got a good deal more to sleep off yet. There he lies, flat on his back, blowing as hard as a grampus. Better leave him as long as we can. We’ll rouse him as soon as we turn Greenwich reach. Tom, didn’t you think his nose devilish large yesterday?”
 
“Never seed such a devil of a cutwater in my life, father.”
 
“Well, then, you’ll see a larger when he gets up, for it’s bigger than the brandy bottle. Heave and haul! Now bring to the fall, and up with the mast, boys, while I goes aft and takes the helm.”
 
Old Tom went aft. During the night the wind had to the north, and the frost had set in sharp, the covered the deck of the , and here and there floating ice was to be seen coming down with the tide. The banks of the river and fields adjacent were white with hoar frost, and would have presented but a cheerless aspect, had not the sun shone out clear and bright. Tom went aft to light the fire, while I coiled away and made all forward. Old Tom as usual carolled forth—
 
“Oh! for a soft and gentle wind,
 
    I heard a fair one cry
 
But give to me the roaring breeze,
 
    And white waves beating high,
 
And white waves beating high, my boys,
 
    The good ship tight and free,
 
The world of waters is our own,
 
    And merry men are we.”
 
“A nice morning this for cooling a hot head, that’s sartain. Tommy, you , you’re like a court lady, with her gownd, covered all over with diamonds,” continued old Tom, looking at the Newfoundland dog, whose black hair was besprinkled with little icicles, which glittered in the sun.
 
“You and Jacob were the only sensible ones of the party last night, for you both were sober.”
 
“So was I, father. I was as sober as a judge,” observed Tom, who was blowing up the fire.
 
“May be, Tom, as a judge a’ter dinner; but a judge on the bench be one thing, and a judge over a bottle be another, and not bad judges in that way either. At all events, if you warn’t sewed up, it wasn’t your fault.”
 
“And I suppose,” replied Tom, “it was only your misfortune that you were.”
 
“No, I don’t say that; but still, when I look at the dog, who’s but a beast by nature, and thinks of myself, who wasn’t meant to be a beast, why, I blushes, that’s all.”
 
“Jacob, look at father—now, does he blush?” cried Tom.
 
“I can’t say that I perceive it,” replied I, smiling.
 
“Well, then, if I don’t it’s the fault of my having no legs. I’m sure when they were knocked off I lost half the blood in my body, and that’s the reason, I suppose. At all events, I meant to blush, so we’ll take the will for the deed.”
 
“But do you mean to keep sober in future, father?” said Tom.
 
“Never do you mind that—mind your own business, Mr Tom. At all events, I sha’n’t get tipsy till next time, and that’s all I can say with safety, ’cause, d’ye see, I knows my failing. Jacob, did you ever see that old gentleman sail too close to the wind before?”
 
“I never did—I do not think that he was ever tipsy before last night.”
 
“Then I pities him—his headache, and his . Moreover, there be his nose and the swallow-tail of his coat to make him unhappy. We shall be down of the Hospital in half-an-hour. Suppose you go and give him a shake, Jacob. Not you, Tom; I won’t trust you—you’ll be doing him a ; you haven’t got no fellow-feeling, not even for dumb .”
 
“I’ll thank you not to take away my character that way, father,” replied Tom. “Didn’t I put you to bed last night when you were speechless?”
 
“Suppose you did—what then?”
 
“Why, then, I had a feeling for a dumb . I only say that, father, for the joke of it, you know,” continued Tom, going up to his father and patting his rough cheek.
 
“I know that, my boy; you never were unkind, that’s sartain; but you must have your joke—
 
“Merry thoughts are link’d with laughter,
 
    Why should we bury them?
 
Sighs and tears may come hereafter,
 
    No need to hurry them.
 
They who through a spying-glass,
 
    View the minutes as they pass,
 
Make the sun a gloomy mass,
 
    But the fault’s their own, Tom.”
 
In the meantime I was vainly attempting to rouse the Dominie. After many fruitless attempts, I put a large quantity off snuff on his upper lip, and then blew it up his nose. But, merciful powers! what a nose it had become—larger than the largest pear that I ever saw in my life. The whole weight of old Tom had fallen on it, and instead of being crushed by the blow, it appeared as if, on the contrary, it had swelled up, indignant at the injury and which it had received. The skin was as tight as the parchment of a drum, and shining as if it had been oiled, while the colour was a bright purple. Verily, it was the Dominie’s nose in a rage.
 
The snuff had the effect of him from his lethargy. “Six o’clock—did you say, Mrs Bately? Are the boys washed—and in the schoolroom? I will rise speedily—yet I am overcome with much heaviness. Delapsus somnus ab—” and the Dominie snored again. I renewed my attempts, and gradually succeeded. The Dominie opened his eyes, stared at the deck and carlines above him, then at the cupboard by his side; lastly, he looked at and recognised me.
 
“Eheu, Jacobe!—where am I? And what is that which presses upon my brain? What is it so loadeth my cerebellum, even as if it were lead? My memory—where is it? Let me recall my senses.” Here the Dominie was silent for some time. “Ah me! yea, and verily, I do recollect—with pain of head and more pain of heart—that which I would fain forget, which is, that I did forget myself; and indeed have forgotten all that passed the latter portion of the night. Friend Dux hath proved no friend, but hath led me into the wrong path: and as or the potation called Grog—Eheu, Jacobe! how have I fallen—fallen in my own opinion—fallen in thine—how can I look thee in the face! O, Jacob! what must thou think of him who hath hitherto been thy preceptor and thy guide!” Here the Domin............