As the Admiral opened his
mouth to retort, the boat's nose jarred upon a sunken heap of
pebbles. The shock was slight, but enough to upset his equilibrium.
Without any warning, the Admiral's heels shot upwards, and the great
man himself, with a wild clutch at vacancy, soused backwards--
cocked-hat and all--into the water.
The three Misses Buzza with one accord clasped their hands and
uttered dismal shrieks; the three mushroom hats shook with terror.
Mr. Fogo looked up from his washing.
"Papa! oh, save him--save our dear Papa!"
There was no danger. Presently a crimson face rose over the boat's
stern, blowing like a grampus. A pair of dripping epaulets followed;
and then the Admiral stood up, knee-deep in water, and swore and spat
alternately.
How different from that glittering hero, at sight of whom, not an
hour before, the Trojan dames at their lattices had stopped their
needlework to whisper! Down his nose and chin ran a pitiable flood;
his scanty locks, before so wiry and obstinate, lay close against his
ears; his gorgeous uniform, tarnished with slime, hung in folds, and
from each fold poured a separate cascade; the whole man had become
suddenly shrunken.
Speechless with rage, the little man clambered over the stern and
shook his fist at the wondering spectacles of Mr.
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