(Whack.) I'll give you my grog for a week
only to let me fling the ---- stuff over the side. (Whack, whack, whack.)
Oh, good, kind, dear Mr. Tickell, do go down to the captain for me."
(Whack, whack.)
"Avast!" cried the captain, reappearing; and the uplifted rope fell
harmless.
"Silence, fore and aft!"
(Pipe.)
"The cook has received a light punishment this time, for spoiling the
men's mess. My crew shall eat nothing I can't eat myself. My care is
heavier than theirs is; but not my work, nor my danger in time of danger.
Mind that, or you'll find I can be as severe as any master afloat.
Purser."
"Sir."
"Double the men's grog: they have been cheated of their meal."
"Ay, ay, sir."
"And stop the cook's and his mate's for a week."
" Ay, ay, sir."
"Bosen, pipe down."
"Shipmates, listen to me," said the foretopman. "This old _Agra_ is a
d----d com--for--table ship."
The oracular sentence was hailed with a ringing cheer. Still, it is
unlucky the British seaman is so enamoured of theological terms; for he
constantly misapplies them.
After lying a week like a dead log on the calm but heaving waters, came a
few light puffs in the upper air and inflated the topsails only: the ship
crawled southward, the crew whistling for wind.
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