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“But a fine seaman, sir,” put in Fryer gruffly; “he has been a midshipman, and is a gentleman born.”

“I know, I know!” said Bligh in his most offensive way, “and no higher in my estimation for all that.” He turned to me, with what he meant to be a courteous smile. “Saving your presence, Mr. Byam, damn all midshipmen, I say! There could be no worse schools than the berth for the making of sea officers!” He turned to Christian once more, and his manner changed to an unpleasant truculence.

“As for Morrison, let him take care! I’ve my eye on him, for I can see that he spares the cat. A boatswain’s mate who was not a gentleman would have had half the hide off Burkitt’s back. Let him take care, I say! Let him lay on when I give the word or, by God, I have him seized up for a lesson from the boatswain himself!”

I perceived, as the meal went on, that the captain’s mess was anything but a congenial one. Fryer disliked the captain, and had not forgotten the incident of the cheeses. Bligh made no secret of his dislike for the master, whom he often upbraided before the men on deck; and he felt for Christian a contempt he was at no pains to conceal.