It was now ten years since he ought to have been a
lieutenant, having once actually outranked Cuffe, in the way of date of
service at least; and his conscience told him two things quite
distinctly: first, the fact of his long and weary probation; second,
that it was, in a great degree, his own fault.
"I love His Majesty, sir," Clinch observed, after giving a gulp, "and I
never lay anything that goes hard with myself to his account. Still,
memory will be memory; and spite of all I can do, sir, I sometimes
remember what I _might_ have been, as well as what I _am_. If his
Majesty _does_ feed me, it is with the spoon of a master's mate; and if
he _does_ lodge me, it is in the cockpit."
"I have been your shipmate often, and for years at a time," answered
Cuffe good-naturedly, though a little in the manner of a superior; "and
no one knows your history better. It is not your friends who have failed
you at need, so much as a certain enemy, with whom you will insist on
associating, though he harms them most who love him best."
"Aye, aye, sir--that can't be denied, Captain Cuffe; yet it's a hard
life that passes altogether without hope."
This was uttered with an expression of melancholy that said more for
Clinch's character than Cuffe had witnessed in the man for years, and it
revived many early impressions in his favor. Clinch and he had once been
messmates, even; and though years of a decided disparity in rank had
since interposed their barrier of etiquette and feeling, Cuffe never
could entirely forget the circumstance.
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