They had
taken much notice of the boatswain, who was a fine sturdy seaman, and
evidently felt flattered by their attention. On one occasion the crew
were "piped to fun," and the sailors were dancing and cutting all kinds
of capers to the music of the ship's band. The boatswain looked on with
a wistful eye, as if he would like to join in; but a glance at Scott
and Ferguson showed that there was a struggle with his dignity, fearing
to lessen himself in their eyes. At length one at his messmates came
up, and seizing him by the arm, challenged him to a jig. The boatswain,
continued Scott, after a little hesitation complied, made an awkward
gambol or two, like our friend Maida, but soon gave it up. "It's of no
use," said he, jerking up his waistband and giving a side glance at us,
"one can't dance always nouther."
Scott amused himself with the peculiarities of another of his dogs, a
little shamefaced terrier, with large glassy eyes, one of the most
sensitive little bodies to insult and indignity in the world. If ever
he whipped him, he said, the little fellow would sneak off and hide
himself from the light of day, in a lumber garret, whence there was no
drawing him forth but by the sound of the chopping-knife, as if
chopping up his victuals, when he would steal forth with humble and
downcast look, but would skulk away again if any one regarded him.
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