They were obliged to join him in
his "prosnics" or carousals, and to drink "potations pottle deep." His
carousals, too, were not of the most quiet kind, nor were his potations
as mild as nectar. "He is continually," said Mr. Hunt, "giving
entertainments by way of parade, and if you do not drink raw rum, and
boiling punch as strong as sulphur, he will insult you as soon as he
gets drunk, which is very shortly after sitting down to table."
As to any "temperance captain" who stood fast to his faith, and refused
to give up his sobriety, he might go elsewhere for a market, for he
stood no chance with the governor. Rarely, however, did any cold-water
caitiff of the kind darken the doors of old Baranoff; the coasting
captains knew too well his humor and their own interests; they joined in
his revels, they drank, and sang, and whooped, and hiccuped, until they
all got "half seas over," and then affairs went on swimmingly.
An awful warning to all "flinchers" occurred shortly before Mr. Hunt's
arrival. A young naval officer had recently been sent out by the emperor
to take command of one of the company's vessels. The governor, as usual,
had him at his "prosnics," and plied him with fiery potations. The young
man stood on the defensive until the old count's ire was completely
kindled; he carried his point, and made the greenhorn tipsy, willy
nilly.
Pages:
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631