"Bravo, socks!"
The Duke roared—and so did every one else. I lost my head and could hear nothing but the jeers and yells of delight from the two hundred or more young devils in the "gallery." At length, stung to desperation, I tore open my bosom, and seizing the rest of my "figure," threw the socks like so many cannon balls at the heads of my tormentors. There was an uproar. Back came the socks. Amidst a scene of uproarious laughter and confusion, the curtain fell upon my first appearance on any stage.
We all got a horrible wigging from the Captain, but His Royal Highness was perfectly delighted, and voted that the amusement he had derived from our escapade was far beyond what he anticipated, and begged Captain Moull to pass the matter over. The Duke looked up aloft as we manned yards when he left the ship and he was still laughing when he got into the barge that pulled him away.
Some years afterwards, His Royal Highness visited India in the H. M. S. Galatea, of which ship Fred Passow was one of the junior officers. My ship was in Bombay, and I was in charge of the boat our ship sent ashore to the Apollo Bunder, where the Duke embarked to report himself on board the "Forte" frigate, then carrying the Commodore's flag at the station.
There were boats from each of the various ships in the harbor. All the crews tossed oars as the Prince came down the bunder, and we stood up in the stern sheets and saluted as he passed along.
Suddenly he stopped opposite my boat and a broad grin lit up his features. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before, youngster?" he asked.
I saluted and answered, "Yes, sir."
"Where was it?"
"On the Conway, sir."
"Socks, by God! I thought so!" cried the Prince and passed on roaring with laughter.
