I might have indulged much longer in these reflections, but my musing
mood was interrupted by the Medina reaching her destination, and we
disembarked safely at Portsmouth Point.
[Illustration: page184]
On landing, the worthy veteran, who had, by his confabulation during the
voyage, claimed, in his own opinion, a right of becoming my companion
for a time, a privilege which, in such a scene, and at such a place, it
will easily be believed I was not averse from granting him, proceeded
along with me _carpere iter comites parati_, up Point Street, and at one
of the turnings my friend made a sudden stop. "My eyes!" he exclaimed,
"may I perish, but that is my old messmate, Tom Tackle. Many's the can
of flip we've scuttled while on board the _Leander_ frigate together;
and when we were obliged to part convoy and go on board different ships,
there was above a little matter of brine about both our eyes." At this
moment Tom Tackle came up with us: the warmth of affection with which
his old shipmate had spoken of him had interested me not a little in his
favour, and his mutilated frame spoke volumes in behalf of the gallantry
he had displayed in the service of his country. One eye was entirely
~184~~lost; one coat-sleeve hung armless by his side; and one vanished
leg had its place superseded by a wooden substitute.
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