Nothing, Indeed, Was Wanting, Except A
French Cook.
No single meal had ever disagreed with us in France; but
though partaking sparingly, we felt the inconvenience of the heavy
English mode of cookery.
Amongst the attendants at table was one who speedily grew into the
good graces of all the passengers. A little fellow, eight years
old, but who did not look more than seven, placed himself at the
commandant's elbow, who immediately upon seeing him exclaimed, with a
benevolent smile, "What, are you here, Jemmy? then we are all right."
Jemmy, it seems, was the boatswain's son, and no diminutive page
belonging to a spoiled lady of quality, or Lilliputian tiger in the
service of a fashionable aspirant, could have been dressed in more
accurate costume. Jemmy was every inch a sailor; but, while preserving
the true nautical cut, his garments were fashioned with somewhat
coxcombical nicety, and he could have made his appearance upon any
stage as a specimen of aquatic dandyism. Jemmy would be invaluable on
board a yacht. His services at table were rewarded by a plateful of
pudding, which he ate standing at the captain's right hand, after
having, with great propriety, said grace. The little fellow had been
afloat for a year and a half; but during this period his education
had not been neglected, and he could read as well as any person in the
ship.
Amongst our passengers was a French gentleman, the commandant and
owner of an Indiaman, which had sailed from Bordeaux to Bombay under
the charge of the first officer.
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