THE YARN OF THE YELLOW MAST--CUTTING HAMMOCKS.
"Yer see," said old Bluefish, lighting his pipe, "it all happened on
board the Big Thunder. She was a splendid East Indiaman, and I was
captain onto her."
"Captain? YOU captain?" exclaimed Snollygoster. "Come now, Massa
Bluefish, dat won't do, you know. Dat am de--"
"Hold yer tongue, yer red-mouthed savage, and let me spin my yarn
without a break in the thread! Yer see," continued Bluefish, "it all
happened on board the Big Thunder. I went to bed feelin' fu'st-rate. It
was kinder calm, with a prospect of being more so 'an ever. When I wakes
up in the mornin' I was somewhat taken aback at seein' that a new post
had sprung up in the cabin durin' the night. It ran straight up through
the center of the cabin and was as yaller as a chaw of cavendish, when
it's pretty well chawed.
"Well, while I lay there, wondering at the cussed affair, the first
lieutenant, he comes roarin' down the companionway, thumpin' at my door
like mad:
"'Come in!' I sings out.
"He dropped in, accordin' to orders, lookin' like the very Old Scratch,
and inspectin' the new post of the cabin with curious eyes.
"'What's up?' says I.
"'Captain, does yer see this 'ere yaller post?" says he solemnly.
"'I does,' I replies.
"'Captain,' says he, 'this 'ere yaller post takes its root somewhere at
the keel and grows up higher than the peak of the mainmast. An' what's
more,' says he, 'it all growed up in one night.'
"'Ye'r' talkin' like a ravin', incomprehensible, idiotic fool,' says I.
"'It may seem so,' says the lieutenant, 'but come an' see for yourself.'
"This wasn't no more'n fair. So I gits into my duds, and goes on deck.
Thar, sure as yer live, this 'ere yaller post run straight up between
the mizzenmast and the tiller, reachin' about forty feet higher than the
tallest mast on board. All the crew were standin' round, gaping, and
nudging each other, and lookin' kinder skeered, when I begins to take
observations from a philosophic point of view."
"From a _what_?" interrupted Tony Trybrace. "Takin' observations, from a
phil--phil--philly--_what_?"
"Avast, you lubber, and let me spin my yarn! If yer ain't got no
edication, is it _my_ fault? If you was brought up outside o' college,
am I to blame? Avast, I tell yer.
"Well, as I was a-sayin'. I begins to look at the thing kinder sharp. So
I takes a cutlass down from the mast, and begins to cut little chips off
the yaller mast. What do yer think came out o' that 'ere yaller mast?"
"Pitch," suggested one.
"Turpentine," said another.
"Old Jamaica," suggested Old Nick.
"Not a bit of it," resumed the narrator. "Nothin' longer, nor shorter,
nor hotter, nor reddern'n BLOOD. That 'ere's what came out o' that 'ere
yaller mast. Blood, and nothin' else!
"Well, all of 'em were sort o' dumb-foundered when they see'd the blood
flowin', and some on 'em was more skeery 'n ever. But I turns to 'em,
an' says I:
"'Does yer notice how slow the ship is goin'?'
"And they says:
"'Yes, we does. She isn't makin' much o' any headway, though the breeze
are a fair capful.'
"'Well,' says I, 'and doesn't yer know the reason why?'
"'Not a bit on it,' says they.
"'_It's because ye'r' towin' a sword-fish under yer keelson_,' says I.
'He's pierced the craft in the night, an' this 'ere yaller mast ain't
nothin' short of his cussed nose.'
"Well, they were all taken aback at this, yer see, an' now began to
crowd up an' examine the thing. It was perfectly round, about two feet
through, an' the eend of it was as taperin' an' sharp as a needle. Sure
as yer live, it was all true. Well, it was a question what to do with
the thing. Most on 'em was in favor of goin' down inter the hold, and
cuttin' off the snout, in order to let the thing float; for, as it was,
if we should come anywhar whar the water was less'n fifteen fathoms, we
should be stranded by the cussed critter afoul of us.
"'Not at all,' says I. 'We don't git a good tough mast for nothin' every
day in the week, and I'm in favor of cuttin' clear of the fish on the
outside.'
"They were all kinder astonished at this 'ere, but I didn't give 'em
breathin'-time, but says again:
"'Now which one on yer'll volunteer to dive under the keel with a
handsaw and cut loose from the varmint on the outside?'
"Would yer believe it, not one on 'em wanted to go. So I says:
"'If ye'r' all so pesky skeered, why, _I'll_ go myself. Carpenter, bring
me yer handsaw, an' jist sharpen her up while I'm disrobin' my graceful
form.'
"So the carpenter brings his handsaw, with a piece of bacon-fat to
grease her with, and, when I gits ondressed, overboard I goes with the
saw between my teeth. I dove right under the keel in a jiffy, and thar,
sure enough, lays the sword-fish, with his nose hard up ag'in' the
timbers, and his body danglin' down through the brine about seventy-five
feet.
"'What are you goin' ter do?' says he.
"Says _who_?" broke in Tony.
"Yas, Massa Bluefish, who was it says dat?" demanded Snollygoster, with
an incredulous look on his ebony face.
"Why, the sword-fish, yer ignorant lubbers! Doesn't yer know that they
talk like lawyers when they git inter a scrape? I knowed a feller what
heerd one of 'em sing the Star Spangled Banner fit to kill.
"Well, as I was a-sayin', says he ter me, 'What air you goin' ter do?'
"'Ter saw yer loose from the ship,' I corresponded.
"'All right,' says he," only I'm afeard it'll hurt some.'
"'I shouldn't wonder if it do,' says I; and with that I grabs his nozzle
an' begins to saw like sixty.
"The way that poor devil hollered and snorted and flopped was a caution
to seafarin' men. The men above water swore it sounded like ninety-three
earthquakes piled on to a bu'stin' big volcano, an' I reckon it did. But
I kept on sawin' and sawin', till at last the varmint dropped off, while
the sea for 'bout ten miles round the ship became perfectly crimson with
his blood. He made a big bite at me, but I ducked about like a porpoise,
and succeeded in reachin' the deck without a scratch.
"The varmint was bent on vengeance, and made his appearance with his
mouth wide open--big enough to have swallered a seventy-four, without so
much as a toothache. But we fired a broadside of shrapnel and red-hot
shot down his throat, an' he went off, waggin' his tail as if he didn't
like it.
"Well, yer see, the blood all ran out of the yaller mast, and left it
hard and dry. So I jist had a set of spars and sails rigged on to the
thing, an' we arrove into Southampton with four masts."
Bluefish knocked the ashes out of his pipe, from which we judged that
his yarn was brought to a close.
"Am dat all true, Massa Bluefish?" asked the innocent giant of a
snollygoster.
"Every word on it," was the solemn rejoinder. "It was a thing as
occurred in my actual experience."
Singular to relate, some of us had our doubts on this subject.
It was now bedtime for those who were not on duty, and we prepared to
turn in.
I was up to seamen's tricks, and examined the stays of my hammock
carefully before getting into it. I found them firm, and was about to
turn in for a long snooze, when a crash in another corner of the
forecastle told me that _some_ one had had the trick played on him, at
least.
The dim light of the lantern revealed the state of the case. Dicky
Drake's hammock-strings had been all but severed, and he, upon turning
in, had come down on the floor with a hard head-bump.
"Who did that? Where is he? Show him to me!" exclaimed the verdant
youth, in a rage, plucking out his jack-knife and running through the
laughing crew like a wild man.
"It was a mighty mean thing!" Tony Trybrace opined, roaring with
laughter.
"Dat's so. I wonder who did it?" Snollygoster asked.
Every one else had some suggestion to make, but the doer of the deed was
not found; and Dicky Drake swallowed his fury, reslung his hammock and
turned in.
We were all tired and sleepy. I, at least, was soon in the arms of
Morpheus, dreaming of the land I had left, and of the bright eyes that
would look so long in vain for my return.