THE GREEN HAND
THE
GREEN HAND
Adventures of a Naval Lieutenant
BY
GEORGE CUPPLES
AUTHOR OF "THE TWO FRIGATES"
[Illustration]
SANDS & COMPANY
23 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.C.
AND EDINBURGH.
LIFE OF GEORGE CUPPLES
(AUTHOR OF "THE GREEN HAND")
Excepting for one short episode--that, indeed, to which we owe "The
Green Hand"--the life of George Cupples was almost devoid of those
external incidents and vicissitudes which lend the interest of romance
to biographical narrative. It is therefore possible, even within the
narrow limits assigned to the present sketch, to satisfy reasonable
curiosity regarding the mere facts of this distinguished author's
career.
Cupples was, by virtue of two or three generations, a son of the manse.
His grandfather, the Rev. George Cupples, was the minister of Swinton;
and his father, who bore the same name, was also a minister. The George
Cupples with whom we have to do was born at Legerwood, in Berwickshire,
on the 2nd of August 1822. He was the eldest of the family, which
consisted, including George, of three sons and one daughter. The father
was a clergyman of orthodox views, and from the descriptions of him that
have been left we may infer that the severity of his Calvinism had
imparted a decided severity to his character. "He was much respected,"
says his son Joseph, "and, indeed, a good deal feared." The children
were accordingly treated by him with rigid strictness, modified by their
mother's greater leniency.
This stern master was George's only teacher during the first ten years
of his life. His books were an Arithmetic, Cordery, Ruddiman's
Rudiments, and Cornelius Nepos. In his tenth year he and his brother
Joseph went to school at Earlston, "walking daily a weary four and a
half miles and back again--to lessons at home!"
George was in his twelfth year when his father was "translated" to
Stirling. While the family was settled here, the wish to go to sea
seems to have grown in the boy's mind to a settled determination,
fostered, it appears, by his reading of novels, of which he was
extremely fond. He was sixteen years of age when his father, probably
much against his will, allowed him to be apprenticed as a sailor. So it
came about that the minister's son, nurtured on the classics and
Calvinism with quite different purposes in view, made a voyage to India
and back--an eighteen months' affair it turned out--as a ship's boy.
On the nature of his experiences we need not speak here, for whoever
reads "The Green Hand" will understand it without further aid. As his
biographer strikingly says: "It had a physical effect on him ... made
him quiet and still in every expression, in every externality of life
afterwards." At all events, the young adventurer returned home perfectly
cured of his taste for the sea, petitioned his father to get his
indentures cancelled, and declared he would content himself for the
future on land.
Resuming his interrupted studies, he proceeded to Edinburgh University,
where he took the Arts course. One of the professors was Wilson, the
famous "Christopher North," for whom Cupples felt an admiration scarcely
short of hero-worship, and of whom he afterwards wrote a "Memorial
Sketch." Later on he went through the Divinity course, and had the
privilege of sitting at the feet of the great Chalmers, of whom he
always writes with enthusiasm.
But though prepared and equipped for the paternal calling, Cupples
"recoiled from the stairs of the pulpit," more, it would seem, from a
growing inclination to literature than from any heterodoxy in his
religious views. He became a contributor to _Blackwood's Magazine_,
where his essay on Emerson appeared in 1848. In _Maga_ also was first
published "The Green Hand," that magnificent story of the sea which we
are now sending forth, to delight and enthral, we feel sure, a new
generation of readers. Two opinions may here be quoted of the story, to
which each of our readers may afterwards add his own. George MacDonald
pronounced it "the best sea-novel I have ever read"; and Clark Russell,
whose right to speak on such a subject will scarcely be disputed,
declares "it is the colours of 'The Green Hand' that I have nailed to my
mast."
Cupples was a constant and unwearied writer. Much of his work was done
for newspapers and periodicals, but even the most ephemeral of his
productions bore testimony to the earnest and solid qualities of the
man. That these qualities were duly appreciated is proved by the
frequent kindly mention of him by men of the highest literary repute.
He was married, in 1858, to Ann Jane Douglas, an Edinburgh lady, who,
though much younger than her husband, was singularly congenial in her
tastes and pursuits. She has written a large number of books, mostly for
children.
Even before the time of his marriage, Cupples suffered from the
_sequelæ_ of hip-joint disease, and all the remainder of his life he
seems never to have been quite free from the burden of ill-health. His
home during his literary career was in different parts of Edinburgh or
its vicinity, latterly in Newhaven, where he succumbed to heart-disease
on the 17th of October 1891. His tombstone testifies to the admiration
of his friends for his "varied literary gifts, and his simple, upright,
and reverent character."
One of the literary projects which Cupples had long cherished has been
happily carried out since his death in the publication, by Messrs
Blackwood, of a splendid volume on "Scotch Deerhounds and their
Masters." This volume contains a fine portrait of the author, and also
an interesting memoir, written by Dr. Hutchison Stirling, which is in
itself at once a tribute and a testimony to the lasting impression which
both the works and the character of George Cupples made upon cultured
and critical minds.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
The popularity of "The Green Hand," both among seamen and others, as
being true to life, has been wide. It has, however, been thought
desirable to issue a revised edition, freed from various expressions now
to a certain extent obsolete or otherwise unsuitable, so as to make it
more thoroughly fit for juvenile readers.
Some considerable time has now elapsed since the period to which these
adventures refer, not without producing a good deal of alteration in
much that goes on at sea, most especially in the outward accessories of
nautical life. The spanking frigate of former days, for instance, is now
no more; her place being, to the eye at any rate, ill taken up by the
ironclad screw-steamer. The mechanical appliances have been improved,
particularly in the merchant service, as, for example, by the
Patent-Reefing-Topsail, which is only one of the countless new helps to
the seaman. In navigation, instead of now taking five, six, or seven
months to reach Australia from this country, the captain of any
clipper-line sailing ship would be ashamed of himself if he did not do
it within three. Not to multiply cases, Jack himself has, as a rule,
added the moustache to his exuberance of whisker; he thinks better than
he used to do of these excellent institutions, the Sailors' Homes; he is
frequently a temperance man, and has even been known to take the chair
at a meeting for vindication of sailors' rights.
But the state of the case, from a plain practical point of view, is
pretty well illustrated by an anecdote current at sea among forecastle
story-tellers. According to them, a singular discovery was made, some
forty years or so back, in Portsmouth harbour, aboard no less
conspicuous a craft than that immortal three-decker hulk, H.M.S.
_Victory_ herself, when some alterations were being made down in her
lower decks. There certain of the dock-yard people, having occasion to
lift a small out-of-the-way lazarette hatch, down on the after-part of
the orlop, which had been long covered with old coils of hawsers or the
like, were surprised to find a man lying beneath, who rubbed his eyes,
stretched himself as if waking out of sleep, and was finally brought up
on deck. From undoubted evidence, it turned out that he had been shut
down in joke, under the effect of some strange potion, his rough
messmates having, of course, intended to release him before long; but a
sudden commotion of a more important nature had arisen, owing to which
they had forgotten him until too late, being themselves appointed on
active service abroad. Hence it occurred that he had been left there,
fast enclosed and asleep, ever since shortly after Trafalgar, when the
_Victory_ had come home with Nelson's body, and been paid off,
dismantled, and moored in her place as a hulk. From a young reefer, this
gentleman had meanwhile grown into a grizzled oldster, on midshipman's
half-pay, not likely to have his services further required, seeing that
the French had long ceased to offer battle afloat. He was, however,
freely invited into professional society, where his opinions on the
changes that had taken place were naturally much looked to. The things
he is said to have principally remarked as new, were that pigtails had
gone out of fashion; the midshipmen's messes were supplied with silver
forks; boatswains--in stimulating the men at work--put more force into
their language, less into their rattans, and that the leading-blocks of
the mizzen-topsail-reef-tackles hung at the slings of the yard instead
of being as formerly at the rim of the round-top; nor did he ever feel
sure that such changes were for the better. This yarn, with a good moral
tacked on at the end, in one form or another, still affords
entertainment to many a tarry audience in ships outward bound, at second
dog-watch time, when rolling down the Trades; particularly if spun by
some fluent ex-man-o'-war's-man from any of Her Majesty's iron-clads.
The said moral generally being to the effect, that little difference is
made in essentials at sea by progress in the mere shoregoing world.
In the following story no great amount of correction requires to be made
in bringing it up to date; and, except in a few minor points, I have
left this to be done by each juvenile reader for himself, supposing the
case that he should ever find reason in his own professional
experience. The terms _larboard_ and _starboard_ are both left in use
throughout the book, although the former has long been replaced by the
word port--which, in my time, was chiefly confined to the helm, when the
resemblance of sound would always have been dangerous at a sudden
emergency. The cry "All larbowlins ahoy!" no longer is added to the
summons that rouses the sleepy watch below. But after everything is
said, the main realities of sea-life continue to be what they were.
There is constant truth in those grand words known to us all:
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save Thee--
* * * * *
Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play, Time writes no wrinkle
on thine azure brow.
The strangeness of foreign sights and tropical wonders has not altered;
nor the thrill of excitement amid tempest; wind and weather are no-way
different; the sailor feels as much pride as ever in his ship's good
qualities; the occasion of danger still brings out his manhood;
hearts-of-oak will always be ready to man our floating bulwarks so long
as Britain remains.
If it were only in order to express a hearty belief in this, I am glad
to have had the opportunity afforded by the few words prefixed to a
fresh edition of "The Green Hand." And to all you young readers who must
ere long embark upon the troubled sea of life, success and a good voyage
to you is the cordial wish of your sincere friend,
THE AUTHOR.
_Edinburgh, August 31, 1878._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I 1
CHAPTER II 19
CHAPTER III 38
CHAPTER IV 58
CHAPTER V 69
CHAPTER VI 79
CHAPTER VII 89
CHAPTER VIII 98
CHAPTER IX 109
CHAPTER X 125
CHAPTER XI 135
CHAPTER XII 162
CHAPTER XIII 170
CHAPTER XIV 188
CHAPTER XV 203
CHAPTER XVI 218
CHAPTER XVII 234
CHAPTER XVIII 248
CHAPTER XI 260
CHAPTER XX 270
CHAPTER XXI 290
CHAPTER XXII 310
CHAPTER XXIII 328
CHAPTER XXIV 346
CHAPTER XXV 357
CHAPTER XXVI 372
CHAPTER XXVII 390
CHAPTER XXVIII 401
CHAPTER XXIX 413
CHAPTER XXX 420
CHAPTER XXXI 429
CHAPTER XXXII 436
THE GREEN HAND
CHAPTER I
"Ah! Come, old ship, give us a yarn!" said the younger forecastlemen to
an old one, on board of an Indiaman then swiftly cleaving the waves of
the western Atlantic before the trade-wind, and outward-bound, with a
hearty crew and a number of passengers. It was the second of the two
dog-watches; and, the ship being still in the region of evening
twilights, her men, in a good humour and with leisure, were then usually
disposed, as on this occasion, to make fast their roaming thoughts by
help of a good yarn, when it could be got. There were plenty of
individuals, amongst a crew of forty, calculated by their experience, or
else by their flow of spirits and fancy, to spin it. Each watch into
which they were divided had its especial story-teller, with whose merits
it twitted the other, and on opportunity of a general reunion, they were
pitted against one another like two fighting-cocks. The one was a grave,
solemn, old North-Sea whaler, with one eye, who professed to look down
with contempt upon all raw head-work, on navigation compared with
seamanship, and fiction against fact. As for himself, he rested all his
fame upon actual experience, and told long dry narratives of old
shipmates, of his voyages and adventures, and sometimes of the most
incredible incidents, with a genuine briny gusto, which pleased the
veteran stagers beyond expression. They were full of points of
seamanship--expedients for nice emergencies, tacks, knots, and splices;
he gave the very conversation of his characters, with all the "says he"
and "says I"; and one long recital of the old fellow's turned upon the
question between himself and a new-fangled second-mate, about the right
way to set up back-stays, in which he, the sailor, was proved correct by
the loss of the ship. The other story-teller, again, was a Wapping man;
a lively, impudent young Cockney, who had the most miraculous faculty of
telling lies--not only palpable lies, but lies absolutely impossible;
yet they were so sublimely told often, and he contrived to lug into them
such a quantity of gorgeous tinsel ornament, as, in his happier efforts,
decidedly to carry the day against his opponent. The London hand had
seen _life_ too, of which, with respect to what is called the world, his
competitor was as ignorant as a child. He had his sentimental vein,
accordingly, in which he took the last love-tale out of some "Penny
Story-Teller" or fashionable novel he had spelled over below, and made
of it a parody that would have thrown its unfortunate author into
convulsions of horror, and his critics into shrieks of laughter. The
fine language of lords and ladies, of romantic heroines, or of foreign
counts and bandits, was gravely retailed, and gravely listened to by a
throng of admiring jack-tars; while the old whaler smoked his pipe
sulkily apart, gave now and then a scornful glance out of his
weather-eye, and called it "all _high-dic'_ and soger's gammon."
On this occasion, however, the group for'ard did not solicit the
services of either candidate, as they happened to have present among
them a shipmate who, by general confession, "took the shine" out of
both, although it was rarely they could get hold of him. "Old Jack," the
captain's private steward, was the oldest seaman on board, and having
known the captain when the latter went to sea, had sailed with him
almost ever since he commanded a ship, as well as lived in his house on
shore. He did not now keep his watch, nor take his "trick at the helm,"
except when he chose, and was altogether a privileged sort of person, or
one of "the idlers." His name was Jacobs, which afforded a pretext for
calling him "Old Jack," with the sailor's fondness for that Christian
cognomen, which it is difficult to account for, unless because Jonah and
St John were seafaring characters, and the Roman Catholic holy clerk St
Nicholas was baptised "Davy Jones," with sundry other reasons good at
sea. But Old Jack was, at any rate, the best hand for a yarn in the
_Gloucester_ Indiaman, and had been once or twice called upon to spin
one to the ladies and gentlemen in the cuddy. It was partly because of
his inexhaustible fund of good-humour, and partly from that love of the
sea which looked out through all that the old tar had seen and
undergone, and which made him still follow the bowsprit, although able
to live comfortably ashore. In his blue jacket, his white canvas
trousers edged with blue, and glazed hat, coming forward to the galley
to light his pipe, after serving the captain's tea of an evening, Old
Jack looked out over the bulwarks, sniffed the sharp sea-air, and stood
with his shirt-sleeve fluttering as he put his finger in his pipe, the
very embodiment of the scene--the model of a prime old salt who had
ceased to "rough it," but could do so yet if needful.
"Come, old ship!" said the men near the windlass, as soon as Old Jack
came forward, "give us a yarn, will ye?" "Yarn!" said Jack,
smiling--"what yarn, mates? 'Tis a fine night, though, for that
same--the clouds flies high, and she's balling off a good ten knots sin'
eight bells." "That she is, bo'--so give us a yarn now, like a reg'lar
old A1, as you are!" said one. "'Vast there, mate," said a
man-o'-war's-man, winking to the rest--"you're always a-cargo-puddling,
Bill! D'ye think Old Jack answers to any other hail nor the Queen's? I
say, old three-decker in or'nary, we all wants one o' your close-laid
yarns this good night. Whaling Jim here rubs his down with a thought
overmuch o' the tar, an' young Joe dips 'em in yallow varnish--so if you
says nay, why, we'll all save our grog, and get slewed as soon as may
be." "Well, well, mates," said Jack, endeavouring to conceal his
flattered feelings, "what's it to be, though?" "Let's see," said the
man-o'-war's-man--"ay, give us the Green Hand!" "Ay, ay, the Green
Hand!" exclaimed one and all. This "Green Hand" was a story Old Jack had
already related several times, but always with such amusing variations,
that it seemed on each repetition a new one--the listeners testifying
their satisfaction by growls of rough laughter, and by the emphatic way
in which, during a pause, they squirted their tobacco-juice on the deck.
What gave additional zest to this particular yarn, too, was the fact of
its hero being no less than the captain himself, who was at this moment
on the poop quarter-deck of the ship, pointing out something to a group
of ladies by the round-house--a tall good-looking man of about forty,
with all the mingled gravity and frank good-humour of a sailor in his
firm weather-tinted countenance. To have the power of secretly
contrasting his present position and manners with those delineated by
Old Jack's episode from the "skipper's" previous biography, was the
_acme_ of comic delight to these rude sons of Neptune, and the narrator
just hit this point.
"Ye see," began he, "'tis about six-an'-twenty year gone since I was an
able seaman before the mast, in a small Indyman they called the _Chester
Castle_, lying at that time behind the Isle of Dogs in sight of
Grennidge Hospital. She was full laden, but there was a strong breeze
blowing up that wouldn't let us get under weigh; and, besides, we waited
for the most part of our hands. I had sailed with the same ship two
voyages before; so, says the captain to me one day, 'Jacobs, there's a
lady over at Greenwich yonder wants to send her boy to sea in the
ship--for a sickening I s'pose. I'm a-going up to town myself,' says he,
'so take the small quarter-boat and two of the boys, and go ashore with
this letter, and see the young fool. From what I've heard,' says the
skipper, 'he's a jackanapes as will give us more trouble than thanks.
However, if you find the lady's bent on it, why she may send him aboard
to-morrow if she likes. Only we don't carry no young gentlemen, and if
he slings his hammock here, you must lick him into shape. I'll make a
sailor of him, or else a cabin boy.' 'Ay, ay, sir,' says I, shoving the
letter into my hat; so in half-an-hour's time I knocks at the door of
the lady's house, rigged out in my best, and hands over the screed to a
fat fellow with red breeches and yaller swabs on his shoulders, like a
captain of marines, that looked frightened at my hail, for I thou't he'd
been deaf by the long spell he took before he opened the door. In five
minutes I hears a woman's v'ice ask at the footman if there was a sailor
a-waiting below. 'Yes, marm,' says he; and 'show him up,' says she.
Well, I gives a scrape with my larboard foot, and a tug to my hair, when
I gets to the door of _sich_ a fine room above decks as ever you see,
all full o' tables, an' chairs, an' sofers, an' piangers, an' them sort
o' high-flying consarns. There was a lady all in silks and satins on one
of the sofers, dressed out like a widow, with a pretty little girl as
was playing music out of a large portmankey--and a picter of a man upon
the wall, which I at once logged it down for his as she'd parted
company from. 'Sarvint, marm,' says I. 'Come in, my good man,' says the
lady. 'You're a sailor?' says she--asking, like, to be sure if I warn't
the cook's mate in dish-guise, I fancy. 'Well, marm' I raps out, 'I make
bould to say as I hopes I am!'--an' I catches a sight o' myself in a big
looking-glass behind the lady, as large as our sky-sail--and, being a
young fellow in them days, thinks I, 'Blow me, if Betsy Brown axed me
that now, I'd up an' hax her if _she_ war a _woman_!' 'Well,' says she,
'Captain Steel tells me, in this here letter, he's a-going to take my
son. Now,' says she, 'I'm sore against it----couldn't you say some'at to
turn his mind?' 'The best way for that, yer ladyship,' says I, 'is for
to let him go, if it was only the length of the Nore. The sea'll turn
his stomich for him, marm,' I says, 'an' then we can send him home by
the pilot.' 'He wanted for to go into the navy,' says the lady again,
'but I couldn't think on that for a moment, on account of this here
fearful war; an', after all, he'll be safer in sailing at sea nor in the
army or navy--doesn't you think so, my good man?' 'It's all you knows
about it,' thinks I; hows'ever, I said there wasn't a doubt on it. 'Is
Captain Steel a rash man?' says she. 'How so, marm?' says I, some'at
taken aback. 'I hope he does not sail at night, or in storms, like too
many of his profession, I'm afeard,' says she; 'I hope he always weighs
the anchor in such cases, very careful.' 'Oh, in course,' says I, not
knowin', for the life of me, what she meant. I didn't like to come the
rig over the poor lady, seein' her so anxious like; but it was no use,
we was on such different tacks, ye see. 'Oh yes, marm,' I says, 'Captain
Steel al'ays reefs taups'ls at sight of a squall brewing to wind'rd; and
then we're as safe as a church, ye know, with a man at the wheel as
knows his duty.' 'This relieves my mind,' the lady says, 'wery much';
but I couldn't think why she kept sniffing all the time at her
smelling-bottle, as she wor agoin' to faint. 'Don't take it to heart so,
yer ladyship,' I says at last; 'I'll look after the young gentleman till
he finds his sea-legs.' 'Thank you,' says she; 'but I beg your parding,
would ye be kind enough for to open the winder, and look out if you see
Edward? I think he's in the garding--I feel sich a smell of pitch and
tar!' I hears her say to the girl! and says she to me again, 'Do you
see Edward there?--give a call to him, please. Accordently, I couldn't
miss sight of three or four young slips alongside, for they made plenty
of noise--one of 'em on top of a water-barrel smoking a sea-gar; another
singing out inside of it for mercy; and the rest roaring round about it,
like so many Bedlamites. 'No wonder the young scamp wants off to sea,'
thinks I, 'he's got nothin' arthly to do but mischief.' 'Which be's the
young gentleman, marm?' says I, lookin' back into the room--'is it him
with the sea-gar and the red skull-cap?' 'Yes,' says the lady--'call him
up, please.' 'Hallo!' I sings out, and all runs off but him on the
barrel, and 'Hallo!' says he. 'You're wanted on deck here, sir,' I says;
and in five minutes in comes my young gemman, as grave as you please.
'Edward,' says his mother, 'this is one of Captain Steel's men.' 'Is he
going to take me?' says the young fellow, with his hands in his pockets.
'Well, sir,' I says, ''tis a very bad look-out, is the sea, for them as
don't like it. You'll be sorry ten times over you've left sich a berth
as this here, afore you're down Channel.' The young chap looks me all
over from clue to earing, and says he, 'My mother told you to say that!'
'No, sir,' says I, 'I says it on my own hook.' 'Why did you go yourself,
then?' says he. 'I couldn't help it,' answers I. 'Oh,' says the
impertinent little beggar, 'but you're only one of the common sailors,
ain't you?' 'Split me!' thinks I, 'if I doesn't show you the odds
betwixt a common sailor, as ye call it, and a lubber of a boy, before
long!' But I wasn't goin' to let him take the jaw out o' me, so I only
laughed, an' says I, 'Why, I'm captain of the foretop at sea, anyhow.'
'Where's your huniform, then?' says the boy, lowering his tone a bit.
'Oh,' I says, 'we doesn't al'ays wear huniform, ye know, sir. This
here's what we call ondress.' 'I'm sorry, sir,' says the lady, 'I didn't
ax you to sit down.' 'No offence at all, marm,' I says, but I took a
couple o' glasses of brandy as was brought in. I saw 'twas no use goin'
against the young chap; so, when he asked what he'd have to do aboard, I
told him nothing to speak of, except count the sails now and then, look
over the bows to see how the ship went, and go aloft with a spy-glass.
'Oh,' says his mother at this, 'I hope Captain Steel won't never allow
Edward to go up those dangerous ladders! It is my pertic'lar request he
should be punished if he does.' 'Sartinly, marm, I'll mention it to the
captain,' I says, 'an' no doubt he'll give them orders as you speak on.
The captain desired me to say the young gentleman could come aboard as
soon as he likes,' says I before goin' out of the door. 'Very well,
sir,' says the lady, 'I shall see the tailor this same arternoon, and
get his clothes, if so be it must.' The last word I said was, I puts my
head half in again to tell 'em, 'There was no use gettin' any huniforms
at present, seein' the ship's sailmaker could do all as was wanted
arterwards, when we got to sea.'
"Well, two or three days after, the captain sent word to say the ship
would drop down with the morning tide, and Master Collins had better be
aboard by six o'clock. I went ashore with the boat, but the young
gemman's clothes warn't ready yet; so it was reg'lar made up he was to
come on board from Gravesend the day after. But his mother and an old
lady, a friend of theirs, would have it they'd go and see his bedroom,
and take a look at the ship. There was a bit of a breeze with the tide,
and the old Indyman bobbed up and down on it in the cold morning; you
could hear the wash of the water a-poppling on to her counter, with her
running-gear blown out in a bend; and Missus Collins thought they'd
never get up the dirty black sides of the vessel, as she called 'em. The
other said her husband had been a captain, an' she laid claim to a
snatch of knowledge. 'Sailor,' says she to me, as we got under the
quarter, 'that there tall mast is the main-bowsprit, ain't it? and that
other is the gallant bowling you call it, don't you?' says she. 'No
doubt, marm,' says I, winking to the boys not to laugh. 'It's all
right,' I says. Howsoever, as to the bedroom, the captain showed 'em
over the cabin, and put 'em off by saying the ship was so out of order
he couldn't say which rooms was to be which yet, though they needn't
fear Master Ned would get all comfortable; so ashore the poor woman
went, pretty well pleased, considerin' her heart was against the whole
consarn.
"Well, the next afternoon, lying off Gravesend, out comes a wherry with
young master. One of the men said there was a midshipman in it.
'Midshipman be blowed!' says I; 'did ye ever see a reefer in a wherry,
or sitting anywheres out o' the starn-sheets? It's neither more nor less
nor this precious greenhorn as we've got.' 'Why don't the bo'sun pipe to
man side-ropes for him?' says t'other; but, 'my eye, Bob,' says he to
me, 'what a sight of traps the chap's got in the boat!--'twill be enough
to heel the _Chester Castle_ to the side he berths upon, on an even
keel. Do he mean to have the captain's cabin, I wonder!' Up the side he
scrambles, with the help of a side-ladder, all togged out to the nines
in a span-new blue jacket and anchor buttons, a cap with a gould band,
and white ducks made to fit--as jemmy-jessamy a looking fellow as you'd
see of a cruise along London parks--with the waterman singing out
alongside to send down a tackle for the dunnage, which it took a pair of
purchase-blocks to hoist them out on board. 'What's all this?' says the
mate, coming for'ard from the quarter-deck. ''Tis the young gemman's
traps, sir,' I says. Says the mate, 'D'ye think we've got spare room to
stow all this lumber? Strike it down into the fore-hold, Jacobs--and get
out a old blue shirt or two, and a Scotch cap, for the young whelp
first, if he wants to save that smooth toggery of his for his mammy.
You're as green as cabbage, I'm feared, my lad!' says he. By this time
the boy was struck all of a heap, an' didn't know what to say when he
saw the boat pulling for shore, except he wanted to have a sight of his
bedroom. 'Jacobs,' says the mate, laughing like an old bear, 'take him
below, and show him his bedroom, as he calls it!' So down we went to the
half-deck, where the carpenter, bo'sun, and three or four of the
'prentices, had their hammocks slung. There I leaves him to overhaul his
big donkey of a chest, which his mother had stowed it with clothes
enough for a lord ambassador, but not a blessed thing fit to use--I
wouldn't 'a given my bit of a black locker for the whole on it, ten
times over. There was another choke-full of gingerbread, pots o'
presarves, pickles, and bottles; and, thinks I, 'The old lady didn't
know what _shares_ is at sea I reckon. 'Twill all be gone for footing,
my boy, before you've seen blue water, or I'm a Dutchman.'
"In a short time we was up anchor, going down with a fast breeze for the
Nore; and we stood out to sea that night, having to join a convoy off
Spithead. My gentleman was turned in all standing, on top o' some sails
below; and next day he was as sick as a greenhorn could be, cleaning out
his land-ballast where he lay, nor I didn't see him till he'd got
better. 'Twas blowing a strong breeze, with light canvas all in aloft,
and a single reef in the tops'ls; but fine enough for the Channel,
except the rain--when what does I see but the 'Green Hand' on the
weather quarter-deck, holding on by the belaying pins, with a
yumbereller over his head. The men for'ard was all in a roar, but none
of the officers was on deck save the third mate. The mate goes up to
him, and looks in his face. 'Why,' says he, 'you confounded longshore,
picked-up son of a greengrocer, what _are_ you after?' an' he takes the
article a slap with his larboard-flipper, as sent it flying to leeward
like a puff of smoke. 'Keep off the quarter-deck, you lubber,' says he,
giving him a wheel down into the lee-scuppers--'it's well the captain
didn't catch ye! Come aft here, some of ye,' sings out the third mate
again, 'to brace up the main-yard; and you, ye lazy beggar, clap on this
moment and pull!' At this the greenhorn looks round doubtful, like, then
at last he takes out a pair o' double gloves, shoves his fingers into
'em, and tails on to the rope behind. 'Well!' says the mate, 'if I ever
see the likes o' that! Jacobs, get a tar-bucket and dip his fists in it;
larn him what his hands were made for! I never could a-bear to see a
fellow ashore with his flippers shoed like his feet; but at sea,
confound me, it would make a man green-sick over again.' If you'd only
seen how Master Collins looked when I shoved his missy fingers into the
tar, and chucked them gloves o'board! The next moment he ups fist and
made a slap at me, when in goes the brush in his mouth; the mate gives
him a kick astarn; and the young chap went sprawling down into the
half-deck ladder, where the carpenter had his shavin'-glass rigged to
crop his chin--and there he gets another clip across the jaws from
Chips. 'Now,' says the mate, 'the chap'll be liker a sailor to-morrow.
He's got some spunk in him, though, by the way he let drive at you, my
lad,' says he; 'that fellow'll either catch the cat or spoil the monkey.
Look after him, Jacobs, my lad,' says the third mate; 'he's in my watch,
and the captain wants him to rough it out; so show him the ropes, and
let him taste an end now an' then. Ha, ha, ha!' says he, again,
laughing, ''tis the first time I ever see a embrella loosed out at sea,
and but the second I've seen brought aboard even. He's the greenest
hand, sure enough, it's been my luck to come across! But green they
say's nigh to blue, so look out if I don't try to make a sailor of the
young spark!'
"Well, for the next three or four days the poor fellow was knocked about
on all hands; he'd got to go aloft to the 'gallant cross-trees, and out
on the yard foot-ropes the next morning, before breakfast; and, coming
down, in course, ye know, the men made him fast till he sent down the
key of his bottle-chest to pay his footing. If he closed his eyes a
moment in the watch, slash comes a bucketful o' Channel water over him.
The third mate would keep him two hours on end, larnin' to rig out a
sterns'l boom, or grease a royal mast. He led a dog's life of it,
likewise, in the half-deck; bein' last come, in course, he had al'ays to
go and fill the bread-barge, scrub the planks, an' do all the dirty
jobs. Them _owners' 'prentices_, sich as he had for messmates, is always
worse to their own kind by far nor the '_comming sailors_,' as the
longshore folks calls a foremast-man. I couldn't help takin' pity on the
poor lad, bein' the only one as had known the way of his upbringing, and
I feels a sort of a charge of him like; so one night I gets a quiet
spell with him in the watch, an' as soon 's I fell to speak kind-ways,
there I seed the water stand i' the boy's eyes. 'It's a good thing,'
says he, tryin' to gulp it down--'it's a goo--good thing mother don't
see all this!' 'Ho, ho!' says I, 'my lad, 'tis all but another way of
bein' sea-sick! You doesn't get the land cleared out, and sniff the blue
breeze nat'ral like, all at once! Hows'ever, my lad,' says I, 'take my
advice--bring your hammock an' chest into the foc'sle; swap half your
fine clothes for blue shirts and canvas trousers; turn to, ready and
willing, an' do all that's asked you--you'll soon find the differings
betwixt the men and a few petty officers an' 'prentices half out their
time. The men'll soon make a sailor of you; you'll see what a seaman is;
you'll larn ten times the knowledge; an', add to that, you'll not be
browbeat and looked jealous on!'
"Well, next night, what does he do but follers what I said, and afore
long most of his troubles was naterally over; nor there wasn't a
willin'er nor a readier hand aboard, and every man was glad to put Ned
through anything he'd got to do. The mates began to take note on him;
and though the 'prentices never left off calling him the Green Hand,
before we rounded the Cape he could take his wheel with the best of
them, and clear away a sternsail out of the top in handsome style. We
were out ten months, and Ned Collins stuck to the foc'sle throughout.
When we got up the Thames, he went ashore to see his mother in a check
shirt and canvas trousers made out of an old royal, with a tarpaulin hat
I built for him myself. He would have me to come the next day over to
the house for to have a supper; so, havin' took a kindness to the young
chap, why, I couldn't say nay. There I finds him in the midst of a lot
o' soft-faced slips and young ladies, a spinning the wonderfullest yarns
about the sea and the East Ingees, makin' em swallow all sorts of
horse-marines' nonsense, about marmaids, sea-serpents, and sich like.
'Hallo, my hearty!' says he, as soon as he saw me, 'heave a-head here,
and bring to an anchor in this here blessed chair. Young ladies,' says
he, 'this is Bob Jacobs, as I told you kissed a marmaid hisself. He's a
wonderful hand, is Bob, for the fair ones!' You may fancy how
flabbergasted I was at this, though the young scamp was as cool as you
please, and wouldn't ha' needed much to make him kiss 'em all round; but
I was al'ays milk-and-water alongside of women, if they topped at all
above my rating. 'Well,' thinks I, 'my lad, I wouldn't ha' said five
minutes agone, there was anything of the green about ye yet, but I see
'twill take another voy'ge to wash it all out.' For to my thinkin',
mates, 'tis more of a land-lubber to come the rig over a few poor
creaters that never saw blue water, than not to know the ropes you
warn't told. 'Oh, Mister Jacobs!' says Missus Collins to me that night,
before I went off, 'd'ye think Edward is tired of that 'ere horridsome
sea yet?' 'Well, marm,' I says, 'I'm afeared not. But I'll tell ye,
marm,' says I, 'if you wants to make him cut the consarn, the only thing
ye can do is to get him bound apprentice to it. From what I've seen of
him, he's a lad that won't bear aught again his liberty; an' I do
believe, if he thought he couldn't get free, he'd run the next day!'
Well, after that, ye see, I didn't know what more turned up of it; for I
went round to Hull, myself, and ships in a timber-craft for the Baltic,
just to see som'at new.
"Now, one day, the third voy'ge from that time, no sooner does we get up
to Blackwall than we hears of a strong press from the men-o'-war; and as
I'd got a desperate mislike to the sarvice, there was a lot of us
marchantmen kept stowed away close in holes an' corners till we could
suit ourselves. At last we got well tired, and a shipmate o' mine and I
wanted to go and see our sweethearts over in the town. So we hired the
slops from a Jew, and makes ourselves out to be a couple o' watermen,
with badges to suit, a-carrying of a large parcile and a ticket on it.
In the afternoon we came back again within sight of the Tower, where we
saw the coast was clear, and makes a fair wind along Rosemary Lane and
Cable Street. Just then we saw a tall young fellow, in a brown coat, an'
a broad-brim hat, a-standing in the door of a shop, with a paper under
his arm, on the look-out for someone. 'Twig the Quaker, Bob!' my
shipmate says to me. As soon as he saw us, out the Quaker steps, and
says he to Bill, in a sleepy sort of a v'ice, 'Friend, thou'rt a
waterman, I b'lieve?' 'Yes,' says Bill, with an oath, 'that's what we
hails for. D'ye want a boat, master?' 'Swear not, friend,' says the
broad-brim; 'but what I want is this, you see. We have a large vessel,
belonging to our house, for to send to Havannah, and willin' to give
double wages, but we can't find any marineers at this present time for
to navigate. Now,' says he, 'I s'pose this onfortunate state o' things
is on account of the sinful war as is a-goin' on--they're afraid of the
riskses. Hows'ever, my friends,' says he, 'perhaps, as you knows the
river, thee could put us upon a way of engagin' twenty or more bold
marineers, as is not afeared of venturing for good pay?' and with this
he looks into his papers; and says Bill, 'Well, sir, I don't know any
myself--do you, Bob?' and he gives me a shove, and says under the rose,
'No fear, mate,' says Bill, 'he's all over green--don't slip the chance
for all hands of us at Jobson's.' 'Why, master,' I says, 'what 'ud ye
give them marineers you speaks on, now?' 'Four pound a month, friend,'
says he, looking up; 'but we gives tea in place of spirits, and we must
have steady men. We can't wait, neither,' says he, 'more nor three days,
or the vessel won't sail at all.' 'My eye!' says Bill, ''twon't do to
miss, Bob!--stick to him, that's all.' 'Well, sir,' I says, 'I thinks I
does have a notion of some'at of the sort. If you sends your papers to
Jobson's Tavern to-night, second lane 'twixt Barnaby Street and the Blue
Anchor Road, over the water, why, I might get ye as many hands for to
sign as you wants.' 'Thanks, friend,' says the young broad-brim, 'I
will attend to thine advice.' So he bids us good-day, and stepped into
his door again. 'Bill,' says I, as we went off, 'now I think on it, I
can't help a notion I've seen that chap's face afore.' 'Very like,' says
Bill; 'for the matter o' that, 'tis the same with me--them broad-brims
is so much of a piece. But that 'ere fellow don't know nothin' of ships,
sure enough, or he wouldn't offer what he did, and the crimps' houses
all of a swarm with hands!'
"'Take my word, mate,' says I, 'it's a paying trip, or he wouldn't do
it--leave a Quaker alone for that. Why, the chap's a parfit youngster,
but I am blessed if he don't look as starched as if he'd sat over a dask
for twenty year!'
"Well, strike me lucky, mates all, if the whole affair warn't a complete
trap! Down comes a clerk with the papers, sure enough; but in ten
minutes more the whole blessed lot of us was puckalowed, and hard an'
fast, by a strong press-gang. They put us into a cutter off Redriff
Stairs, and the next noon all hands was aboard of the _Pandora_ frigate
at Sheerness. The first time of being mustered on deck, says Bill to me,
'Cuss my eyes, Bob, if there isn't the 'farnal Quaker!' I looked, and
sees a midshipman in uniform like the rest, and so it was. 'The sly,
soft-sawderin' beggar!' says I. 'All fair in war, and a press, mate!'
says one o' the frigate's men. All the while I kept looking and looking
at the midshipman; and at last I says to Bill when we got below, giving
a slap to my thigh, 'Blessed if it ain't! It's the _Green Hand_
himself!' 'Green Hand!' says Bill, sulky enough, 'who's the Green Hand?
Blow me, Bob, if I don't think we're the green hands ourselves, if
that's what you're upon!' So I told him the story about Ned Collins.
'Well,' says he, 'if a fellow was green as Chinee rice, cuss me if the
reefers' mess wouldn't take it all out on him in a dozen watches. The
softest thing I know, as you say, Bob, just now, it's to come the smart
hand when you're a lubber; but to sham green after that style, ye know,
why, it is a mark or two above either you or I, messmate. So, for my
part, I forgives the young scamp, 'cause I ought to ha' known better.'
"By the time the frigate got to sea the story was blowed over the whole
main-deck; many a good laugh it gived the different messes; and Bill,
the midshipman, and me, got the name of the 'Three Green Hands.'
"One middle-watch Mister Ned comes for'ard by the booms to me, and says
he, 'Well, Bob Jacobs, you don't bear a grudge, I hope?' 'Why,' says I,
'Mister Collins, 'twould be mutiny now, I fancy, you being my officer.'
So I gave a laugh; but I couldn't help feelin' hurt a little, 'twas so
like a son turnin' against his father, as 'twere. 'Why, Bob,' says he,
'did ye think me so green as not to know a seaman when I saw him? I was
afeared you'd know me that time.' 'Not I, sir,' I answers; 'why, if we
hadn't sailed so long in company, I wouldn't know ye now!' So Master Ned
gived me to understand it was all for old times he wanted to ship me in
the same craft; but he knew my misliking to the sarvice, though he said
he'd rather ha' lost the whole haul of 'em nor myself. So many a yarn we
had together of a dark night, and for a couple of years we saw no small
sarvice in the _Pandora_. But if ye'd seen Ned, the smartest reefer
aboard, and the best liked by the men, in the fore-tops'l bunt in a
gale, or over the main-deck hatch, with an enemy's frigate to leeward,
or on a spree ashore at Lisbon or Naples, you wouldn't ha' said there
was anything green in his eye, I warrant ye! He was made
acting-leftenant of a prize he cut out near Chairboorg, before he passed
examination; so he took me for his prize-bo'sun, and carried her into
Plymouth. Soon after that the war was ended, and all hands of the
_Pandora_ paid off. Master Ned got passed with flying colours, and
confirmed leftenant besides, but he had to wait for a ship. He made me
say where I'd be found, and we parted company for about a year.
"Well, I was come home from a short trip, and one day Leftenant Collins
hunts me up at Wapping Docks, where I'd had myself spliced, six years
before, to Betsy Brown, an' was laid up for a spell, having seen a good
deal of the sea. Ye must know the young leftenant was fell deep in love
with a rich Indy naboob's daughter, which had come over to take her back
to the East Ingees. The old fellow was hard close-hauled again the
match, notwithstanding of the young folks makin' it all up; so he'd
taken out berths aboard of a large company's ship, and bought over the
captain on no account to let any king's navy man within the gangways,
nor not a shoulder with a swab upon it, red or blue, beyond the ship's
company. But, above all, the old tyrant wouldn't have a blue-jacket,
from stem to starn, if so be he'd got nothing ado but talk sweet; I
s'pose he fancied his girl was mad after the whole blessed cloth. The
leftenant turns over this here log to me, and, says he, 'I'll follow her
to the world's end, if need be, Bob, and cheat the old villain!' 'Quite
right, too, sir,' says I. 'Bob,' says he,' I'll tell you what I wants
you for to do. Go you and enter for the _Seringapatam_ at Blackwall, if
you're for sea just now; I'm goin' for to s'cure my passage myself, an'
no doubt doorin' the voy'ge something'll turn up to set all square; at
any rate, I'll stand by for a rope to pull!' 'Why, here's a rum go!'
thinks I to myself. 'Is Ned Collins got so green again, spite of all
that's come and gone, for to think the waves is a-goin' to work wonders,
or ould Neptune under the line's to play the parson and splice all!'
'Well, sir,' I says, 'but don't you think the skipper will smoke your
weather-roll, sir, at sea, as you did Bill Pikes an' me, you know, sir?'
says I. 'Oh, Bob, my lad,' says the leftenant, 'leave you that to me.
The fellow most onlikest to a sailor on the Indyman's poop will be me,
and that's the way you'll know me.'
"Well, ship I does with the _Seringapatam_ for Bombay--plenty of
passengers she had; but only clerks, naboobs, old half-pay fellows, and
ladies, not to speak o' children and nurses, black and white. She sailed
without my seein' Leftenant Collins, so I thought I was to hear no more
on it. When the passengers began to muster on the poop, by the time we
got out o' Channel, I takes a look over the ladies, in coilin' up the
ropes aft, or at the wheel; I knowed the said girl at once by her good
looks, and the old fellow by his grumpy, yallow frontispiece. All on a
sudden I takes a note of a figger coming up from the cuddy, which I made
out at once for my Master Ned, spite of his wig and a pair o'
high-heeled boots, as gave him the walk of a chap a-treading amongst
eggs. When I hears him lisp out to the skipper at the round-house if
there was any fear of wind, 'twas all I could do to keep the juice in my
cheek. Away he goes up to windward, holding on by everything, to look
over the bulwarks behind his sweetheart, givin' me a glance over his
shoulder. At night I see the two hold a sort of collogue abaft the
wheel, when I was on my trick at the helm. After awhile there was a row
got up amongst the passengers, with the old naboob and the skipper, to
find out who it was that kept a-singing every still night in the first
watch, alongside of the ladies' cabin, under the poop. It couldn't be
cleared up, hows'ever, who it was. All sorts o' places they said it
comed from--mizzen-chains, quarter-galleries, lower-deck ports, and
davit-boats. But what put the old hunks most in a rage was, the songs
was every one on 'em such as 'Rule Britannia,' 'Bay of Biscay,'
'Britannia's Bulwarks,' and 'All in the Downs.' The captain was all at
sea about it, and none of the men would say anything, for by all
accounts 'twas the best pipe at a sea-song as was to be heard. For my
part, I knowed pretty well what was afloat. One night a man comed
for'ard from the wheel, after steering his dog-watch out, and 'Well, I'm
blessed, mates,' says he on the foc'sle, 'but that chap aft yonder with
the lady--he's about the greenest hand I've chanced to come across. What
d'ye think I hears him say to old Yallow-chops an hour agone?' 'What was
it, mate?' I says. 'Says he, "Do you know, Sar Chawls, is the hoshun
reelly green at the line--_green_ ye know, Sar Chawls, _reelly_ green?"
"No, sir," says the old naboob, "'tis blue." "Whoy, ye don't sa--ay so!"
says the young chap, pullin' a long face.' 'Why, Jim,' another hand
drops in, 'that's the very chap as sings them first-rate sea-songs of a
night. I seed him myself come out o' the mizzen-chains!' 'Hallo!' says
another at this, 'then there's some'at queer i' the wind! I _thought_ he
gave rather a weather-look aloft, comin' on deck i' the morning. I'll
bet a week's grog that chap's desarted from the king's flag, mates!'
Well, ye know, hereupon I couldn't do no less nor shove in my oar, so I
takes word from all hands not to blow the gaff,[1] an' then gives 'em
the whole yarn to the very day, about the Green Hand--for somehow or
another I was al'ays a yarning sort of a customer. As soon as they heard
it was a love consarn, not a man but swore to keep a stopper on his jaw;
only, at findin' out he was a leftenant in the Royal Navy, all hands was
for touching hats when they went past.
[1] Let out the secret.
"Hows'ever, things went on till we'd crossed the line a good while; the
leftenant was making his way with the girl at every chance. But, as for
the old fellow, I didn't see he was a fathom the nearer with _him_;
though, as the naboob had never clapped eyes on him to know him like,
'twan't much matter before heaving in sight o' port. The captain of the
Indyman was a rum, old-fashioned codger, all for plain sailing and old
ways--I shouldn't say overmuch of a smart seaman. He read the sarvice
every Sunday, rigged the church an' all that, if it was anything short
of a reef-taups'l breeze. 'Twas queer enough, ye may think, to hear the
old boy drawling out, 'As 'twas in the beginning--'then, in the one key,
'Haul aft the mainsheet----' 'is now, and ever shall be----' 'Small pull
with the weather brace----' 'Amen----' 'Well the main-yard----' 'The
Lord be with you----' 'Taups'l yard well!' As for the first orficer, he
was a dandy, know-nothing young blade, as wanted to show off before the
ladies; and the second was afraid to call the nose on his face his own,
except in his watch; the third was a good seaman, but ye may well fancy
the craft stood often a poor chance of being rightly handled.
"'Twas one arternoon watch, off the west coast of Africay, as hot a day
as I ever mind on, we lost the breeze with a swell, and just as it got
down smooth, land was made out, low upon the starboard bow, about
south-east-and-by-sou', as near as may be. The captain was turned in
sick below, and the first orficer on deck. I was at the wheel myself,
and I hears him say to the second as how the land breeze would come off
at night. A little after, up comes Leftenant Collins, in his black wig
and his 'long-shore hat, an' he begins to squint over the starn to
nor'west'ard. 'Jacobs, my lad,' whispers he to me, 'how do ye like the
looks o' things?' 'Not overmuch, sir,' says I; 'small enough sea-room,
leastways for a sky like that 'ere.' Up goes he to the first officer,
after a bit. 'Sir,' says he, 'do ye notice how we've risen the land
within the last hour and a half?' 'No, sir,' says the first mate. 'What
d'ye mean?' 'Why, there's a current here, takin' us inside the point,'
says he. 'Sir,' says the Company's man, 'if I didn't know what's what,
d'ye think I'd learn it off a gentleman as is so confounded green?
There's nothing of the sort,' he says. 'Look on the starboard quarter,
then,' says the leftenant, 'at the man-o'-war bird afloat yonder with
its wings spread. Take three minutes' look!' says he. Well, the mate did
take a minute or two's squint through the mizzen-shroud, and pretty
blue he got, for the bird came abreast of the ship by that time.
"'It's a underdrift,' says the leftenant, wonderful
knowing-like--'though it's nothing on the surfage, look ye, why, with
the draught the ship has it's a-taking her along like a tideway, below!
Now, d'ye think you'd weather that there point two hours after this, if
a gale come on from the nor'-west, sir?' 'Well,' says the first mate, 'I
dare say we shouldn't--but what of that?' 'Why, if you'd cruised for six
months off the coast of Africa, as I've done,' says the leftenant,
'you'd think there was something ticklish about that white spot in the
sky, to nor'-west! But on top o' that, the weather-glass is fell a good
bit since four bells.' 'Weather-glass!' the mate says, 'why, that don't
matter much in respect of a gale, I fancy.' Ye must understand,
weather-glasses wan't come so much in fashion at that time, except in
the Royal Navy. 'Sir,' says the mate again, 'mind _your_ business, if
you've got any, and I'll mind mine!' 'If I was you,' the leftenant says,
'I'd call the captain.' 'Thank ye,' says the mate--'call the captain for
nothing!' Well, in an hour more the land was quite plain on the
starboard bow, and the mate comes aft again to Leftenant Collins. The
clouds was beginning to grow out of the clear sky astarn too. 'Why,
sir,' says the mate, 'I'd no notion you was a _seaman_ at all! What
would you do yourself now, supposin' the case you put a little ago?'
'Well, sir,' says Mr Collins, 'if you'll do the thing, I'll put ye up to
it at once----'"
At this point of Old Jack's story, however, a cabin-boy came from aft,
to say that the captain wanted him. The old seaman knocked the ashes out
of his pipe, which he had smoked at intervals in short puffs, put it in
his jacket pocket, and got up off the windlass end. "Why, old ship!"
said the man-o'-war's-man, "are ye goin' to leave us in the lurch with a
_short yarn_ again?" "Can't help it, bo'," said old Jack; "orders must
be obeyed, ye know," and away he went. "Well, mates," said one, "if the
yarn's been overhauled before, what was the upshot of it? I didn't hear
it myself." "Blessed if I know," said several--"Old Jack didn't get the
length last time he's got now." "More luck!" said the man-o'-war's-man;
"'tis to be hoped he'll finish it next time!"