he was caught pilfering the skipper's private supply of fresh butter,
which he kept in a jar in his bunk and was very jealous of, so Bertie
had to be made away with. He walked the plank at daybreak one grey
stormy morning just off the Nethermost Ruff of the Dogger. The second
was very upset for a day or two; he said he would have staked anything
on Bertie's honesty.

We kept Mnemosyne for over two months, and never once did she
misconduct herself or behave in an unseamanlike manner. Her one
failing, if such it can be called, was a weakness for condensed milk,
and this it was that led to her untimely end. We had come to regard
her as one of the crew, and had a little lifebelt made for her in case
of need. Jones, our signaller, who has poetical moments, was inspired
by her to make verse, which began:--

There is something very evil
In the war-whoop of a weevil.

This was indignantly censored as a libel, but he excused himself on
the plea that "evil" was the only possible rhyme to be found for
"weevil," and declared that his very last intention had been to be
personal or to cast the least reflection on the lovable disposition of
Mnemosyne, so we forgave him with a caution.

Well, Mnemosyne is gone, and the ship seems a dull place without this
exhilarating little pet. Never so long as ship's biscuits continue
to buckle the jack-knives of British seafarers will there be another
weevil like Mnemosyne.

We flew the White Ensign at halfmast from dawn to sundown on the day