A barrow-tone full of groan and creak, trundling along through the
well-known bravura commencing,--
"In Koeln, a town of monks and bones," etc.
Yes, the aroma was highly complicate, but not, like the poet, of
imagination all compact. It was not Frangipanni, though in part an
eternal perfume; nor was it Bergamot, or Attar, or Millefleurs, or
Jockey-Club, or New-Mown Hay. No, it was none of these. What was it,
then? you ask. I dissected it as well as I could, though not with entire
success; but I will tell you the members of this body of death, so far
as I found them. I do not for a moment doubt that it was made up of at
least the two-and-seventy several parts which bloomed in the bouquet
plucked by the bard in Hermann's land; yet my feeble sense could not
distinguish all. There was unquestionably a fry,--nay, several; the
fumes of coffee soared riotous; I could detect hot biscuits distinctly;
the sausage asked a foremost place; pancakes, griddle-cakes, dough-nuts,
gravies, and sauces, all struggled for precedence; the land and the sea
waged internecine war for place, through their representative fries of
steak and mackerel; and as the unctuous pork--no nursling of the flock,
but seasoned in ripe old age with salt not Attic--rooted its way into
the front rank, I thought of the wisdom of Moses. All these were, so to
speak, the mere outlying flakes, the feathery curls, of the balmy
cirro-cumulus, whose huge bulk arose out of the bowels of the ship
itself. Up and down, in and out, here and there, into every chink and
crevice, rolled the blue-white incense-cloud, dense as the cottony puff
at the mouths of the guns in Vernet's "Siege of Algiers." Or you might
say that these were but the flying-buttresses, the floriated pinnacles,
the frets, and the gargoyles of a great frowzy cathedral lying vast and
solid far below.
The Captain sat at the head of the table; next him was the fixed star
Duespeptos, with Satellite stationary on the right quarter.
* * * * *
_Eupeptos._--Coffee,--that's good. John, fill my cup. Have it strong,
mind,--no milk.
_Duespeptos._ (Placing hand remonstratingly on arm of Eupeptos.)--My
friend, man's life a'n't more'n a span, anyhow; yourn wun't be wuth
more'n half a span. Don't ye do it.
_Eupeptos._ (Gayly.)--_Dum vivimus, vivamus._ Try a cup, Mr. Rink.
_Duespeptos._--No, Sir. Thousan' dollars'd be no objick at all.
There'd be a dead Rink layin' round in less 'n half a shake. I'd want a
permit from the undertaker fust, an' hev my measure for a patent casket
to order. This child a'n't anxious to cut stick yit awhile.
_Eupeptos._--I'm very much of Voltaire's way of thinking about coffee. I
don't know but I would agree with Mackintosh, that the measure of a
man's brains is the amount of coffee he drinks. I like it in the French
style, all but the _lait_; that destroys the flavor, besides making it
despicably weak. Have a hot biscuit, Mr. Rink? I'm afraid they're like
Gilpin,--carry weight, you know. But try one, won't you?
_Duespeptos._--I'm shot ef I do. Don't hev any more o' yer nonsense,
young man, or I'll git ructions.
_Eupeptos._--All right. Advance, pancakes! Here's a prime one, steaming
hot, crisp and fizzling. Allow me to put it on your plate, Sir?
_Duespeptos._--Not by a long chalk. Hands off, I tell ye, or there'll
be a free fight afore shortly. You'd better make up yer mind to oncet
thet this 'ere thing a'n't goin' to ram nohow.
_Eupeptos._--Sorry I can't suit you. Better luck next time. Ah! here's
the very thing. Waiter, pass the fried steak, salt mackerel, and fried
potatoes to Mr. Rink.
_Duespeptos._--Wun't stan' it,--I snore I wun't! I tell ye, I'm
gittin' master-riled. Jest you take yer own fodder, an' keep quiet.
_Eupeptos._--Pardon me, Sir, but my eye has just fallen on yonder dish
of dough-nuts, faced by those incense-breathing griddle-cakes. Look
slightly soggy, but not disagreeable. This sea-air, you know, gives a
man a tremendous appetite for anything, and the digestion of an ostrich.
Risk it, won't you?
_Duespeptos._ (With determined air, clenching knife and fork pointing
skywards.)--Stranger, le' 's come to a distinct understandin' on this
subjick afore we git much older. You know puffickly wal what I am,--a
confirmed dyspeptic for twenty-five year. An' I a'n't ashamed on it,
nuther; but I'm proud to say I glory in it. You know puffickly wal what
my notions is about all this 'ere stuff, an' still you keep stickin' it
into my face. Now, ef you want me to lambaste ye, I'm the man to do it,
an' do it hahnsome. But ef yer life a'n't insured clean up to the hub,
an' ef ye've got any survivin' friends, I advise ye not to tote any more
o' that 'ere grub in this direction. I give ye fair warnin',--yer've
raised my dander, an' put my Ebenezer up. I'd jest as lieves wallop ye
as eat, an' ten times lieveser.
_Eupeptos._--Really, Sir, no offence intended. I saw that your taste was
delicate, and offered you these various tit-bits in the hope that some
one of them might prove acceptable. But pray, Sir, do not starve
yourself on my account. What in the world can you eat? Do not, I beseech
you, by undue fasting, deprive the world of so distinguished----
_Duespeptos._ (Mollifying.)--Fact is, I knew jest how 't was goin' to
be. They allers fry everythin' an' cook it up in grease, so no
respectable man can git any decent vittles t' eat. So I jest went out
an' laid in plenty o' my own provender,--suthin' reliable an' wholesome,
ye know. Brought aboard a firkin o' Graham-biscuit,--jest the meal mixed
up with water,--no salt, no emptins, no nuthin'. 'T's the healthiest
thing out o' jail. It's Natur's own food, an' the best eatin' I know.
Raael good flavor, git 'em good, besides bein' puffickly harmless an'
salubrious. I cal'late I've got enough to run the machine, an' keep it
all trig up to concert-pitch, till I git ashore, ef so be th' old tub
don't send us to Davy Jones's locker. Here, try one,--I've got a
plenty,--an' you'll say they're fust-rate. Leave them 'ere pancakes, an'
all that p'is'n truck. Arter you take one o' these, you'll never tech
nuthin' else.
_Eupeptos._--Thank you, Sir, but if it's all the same to you, please
excuse me this time. I have other fish to fry. In fact, Sir, I am
entirely destitute of equanimity, and have no particle of stability in
my disposition. Not a drop of Scotch blood in my veins.
_Duespeptos._--There's no oats about these; an' ef there was, 't
wouldn't hurt ye none. It's jest the kernel an' the shell mixed up
together.
_Eupeptos._--Dangerous combination. I have no military
ambition,--wouldn't give a rush for a spread eagle,--don't like the
braying by a mortar.
_Duespeptos._--Wal, I mout as wal vamose, 's long as I've hove in my
rations. Already gone risin' a good half-ounce above my or'nary
'lowance. 'T wun't do to dissipate, even ef a feller a'n't to hum an'
nobody's the wiser. Natur' allers makes ye foot the bill all the same on
sea an' shore.
_Eupeptos._ (Trolling in a low voice the celebrated barcarole,
"My bark is by the shore," etc.)--
Stay, oh, stay, gentle stranger! See yon sausage fatly floating! Be not
dogged to go, but come! Prithee, return once more to the festive board!
Lo! this--the fattest of the flock--shall be thy portion, most favored
Benjamin!
_Duespeptos._ (--Muttering in the distance.)--That feller's a raael
jo-fired numbskull. He don't know any more about the fust principles o'
human natur' than the babe unborn. Reg'lar goney. Dunno whether he's
jokin' or in sober airnest. Good mind to sail into him anyhow. Guess 't
'll do, though, to leave him to Natur'. He'll stuff himself to death
fast enough ... pitchin' into p'is'n ... sexton ... six-board box ...
coroner's verdick ... run over by a fry ... engineer did his dooty....