"A _bon-vivant_, brought to his death-bed by an immoderate use of wine,
was one day informed by his physician that he could not, in all human
probability, survive many hours, and that he would die before eight
o'clock the following morning, summoned all his remaining strength to call
the doctor back, and, when the physician had returned, made an ineffectual
attempt to rise in bed, saying, with the true recklessness of an innate
gambler,--
"'Doctor, I'll bet you some bottles that I live till _nine_!'"
"LET GO THE HALLIARDS."
A sailor was taken with the pleurisy on board a vessel that was hauling
through the "seven bridges" that span the Charles River from the Navy Yard
to Cambridgeport, and a well-known physician, rather of the Falstaffian
make-up, whom I may as well call Dr. Jones,--because that is _not_ his
name,--was summoned. He prescribed for the patient, and when the schooner
touched the pier of the bridge, he stepped ashore, as was supposed by the
captain and crew, whose whole attention was required to keep the vessel
from driving against the drawer; but "there's many a slip 'twixt cup and
lip," and the old doctor had taken the "slip," and went plump overboard,
unseen by any.
In his descent he grasped at a rope, which happened to be the jib
halliards, and as he came up, puffing and blowing the salt water from his
mouth and nose, he began to haul "hand-over-hand" at the halliards. His
corpulency overbalanced the jib, and gradually the sail began to ascend,
to the astonishment of the cook, who stood near by, and to the wrath of
the captain on the quarter-deck.
"Let go the jib halliards, there, you confounded _slush_," roared the
captain.
"I ain't h'isting the jib," replied the terrified cook, believing that the
sail was bewitched, for sailors are quite superstitious, you know.
"Let go the halliards," shouted the mate. "We shall be across the draw,
and all go to Davy Jones' locker. Hear, d---- you, Slush-bucket?"
Still the old doctor pulled for dear life, and still rose the ghost-like
sail, while the affrighted cook and all hands ran aft, looking as pale as
death. Still the sail went up, up, and the captain and mate began to be
astonished, when by this time--less time than it requires to tell it--the
old doctor had reached the rail of the vessel, and shouted lustily for
help.
All ran forward to help the corpulent old doctor on deck, and by means of
a man at each arm, and a boat-hook fast into the doctor's unmentionables,
he was hauled safely on board, a wetter and a wiser man.
If you want to get kicked out of his office, just say in his hearing,
"_Let go them 'ere halliards_," and it is done.
"O, mermaids, is it cold and wet
Adown beneath the sea?
It seems to me that rather chill
Must Davy's locker be."