This is a picture of a
sailor _ashore_, but a sailor _aground_ is a different being altogether.
An unlucky shot may deprive him of a leg or arm; he may be frost-nipped at
the pole, or get a _coup de soleil_ in the tropics, and then be turned
upon the world to shape his course amongst its rocks and shallows, with
the bitter blast of poverty in his teeth. But Jack is not to be beaten so
easily; although run aground, he refuses to strike his flag, and, with a
cheerful heart, goes forth into the highways and byeways to sing "the
dangers of the sea," and, to collect from the pitying passers-by, the
coppers that drop, "like angel visits," into his little oil-skin hat.
These nautical melodists, with voices as rough as their beards, are to be
met with everywhere; but they abound chiefly in the neighbourhood of
Deptford and Wapping, where they seem to be indigenous. The most
remarkable specimen of the class may, however, frequently be seen about
the streets of London, carrying at his back a good-sized box, inside
which, and peeping through a sort of port-hole, a pretty little girl of
some two years old exhibits her chubby face. Surmounting the box, a small
model of a frigate, all a-tant and ship-shape, represents "Her Majesty's
(God bless her!) frigate Billy-ruffian, on board o' which the exhibitor
lost his blessed limb.
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