"The _James and
Elizabeth_, sir."
"Captain's name?"
"Captain Antonius Merrydew."
"Ah, poor chap! He was lying sick below when she struck, wasn't he?
And he had a wife aboard, and a child born at sea, hadn't he?
Fell sick in the Bay o' Biscay, like any land-lubber, didn't he?
Why, 'tis like play-actin'; damme! 'tis better than that."
With this the man burst into a shout of laughter and slapped his
thigh until his face grew purple with merriment.
"What d'ye think of it, boy, for a rare farce? Was ever the likes of
it heard? Captain Antonius Merrydew sick in the Bay o' Biscay!
Ho, ho! Where's play-actin' beside it?"
"Wasn't it true, sir?"
"True? God bless the boy! Look me in the face: look me in the
face, and then ask me if it's true."
"But why should it not be true, sir?"
"Because I am Captain Antonius Merrydew!"
For the rest of the journey I sat stunned. Thomas beside me was wide
awake and staring, seeing his way to an adventure at last. It was I
that dreamed--I heard without comprehension the rest of the captain's
tale:--how he had come, after a quick passage from Ceylon, to
Falmouth with the barque _James and Elizabeth_, just in time to hear
of this monstrous lie; how he was unmarried, and never had a day's
illness in his life; how, suspecting foul play, he had hired a horse
and gig with a determination to drive over to Polkimbra and learn the
truth; how a horse and gig were the most cursedly obstinate of
created things; with much besides in the way of oaths and
ejaculations.
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