My Uncle, Sea-dog 'Biscuits'

There was a time none in our family knew where the sorrow of my grandparents, Rupert Bonham- Farlan had disappeared. He used to be called lammikins as a toddler; and when he reached the age of reason everyone in the family knew the little squirt had become the most promising in our family: you see he found he could raise hell with his one little finger with no harm to himself. For that precise reason, so I believe, he went and became a seadog.
Sea- dog ‘Biscuits’ was always an enigma to me.
It is a matter still debated between other uncles as something of a visitation: you see we have enough skeletons in our family cupboard that keep coming at odd hours to whisper , ‘Psst, Death and Damnation!’ The many uncles who have one time or other wanted to take up law or go to Indies to preach the word, always had a change of heart at the crucial moment. The same nocturnal visit repeated down the line, since Knight Macfarlan was skewerd, by an arrow meant for the Sherrif of Nottingham. (It was an accident. There were a few more and this has puzzled me ever since). It must have been most trying to my father who as the eldest inherited the family escutcheon and some baleful ghosts, who never led him to a buried treaure other than post a stern reminder of ‘ Death and Damnation.) Every now and then. Such visitations, though seldom, was most boring to say the least.
My Uncle Rupert, while my father seemed to fall apart ('a middle-life crisis' he calls it. Ha! Ha!), was out there living it up. So much so I was certain. (2 b cont'd)
benny