A DISH OF DUNDERFUNK.
In men-of-war, the space on the uppermost deck, round about the
main-mast, is the Police-office, Court-house, and yard of execution,
where all charges are lodged, causes tried, and punishment
administered. In frigate phrase, to be _brought up to the mast_, is
equivalent to being presented before the grand-jury, to see whether a
true bill will be found against you.
From the merciless, inquisitorial _baiting_, which sailors, charged
with offences, too often experience _at the mast_, that vicinity is
usually known among them as the _bull-ring_.
The main-mast, moreover, is the only place where the sailor can hold
formal communication with the captain and officers. If any one has been
robbed; if any one has been evilly entreated; if any one’s character
has been defamed; if any one has a request to present; if any one has
aught important for the executive of the ship to know—straight to the
main-mast he repairs; and stands there—generally with his hat
off—waiting the pleasure of the officer of the deck, to advance and
communicate with him. Often, the most ludicrous scenes occur, and the
most comical complaints are made.
One clear, cold morning, while we were yet running away from the Cape,
a raw boned, crack-pated Down Easter, belonging to the Waist, made his
appearance at the mast, dolefully exhibiting a blackened tin pan,
bearing a few crusty traces of some sort of a sea-pie, which had been
cooked in it.
“Well, sir, what now?” said the Lieutenant of the Deck, advancing.
“They stole it, sir; all my nice _dunderfunk_, sir; they did, sir,”
whined the Down Easter, ruefully holding up his pan. “Stole your
_dunderfunk!_ what’s that?”
“_Dunderfunk_, sir, _dunderfunk_; a cruel nice dish as ever man put
into him.”
“Speak out, sir; what’s the matter?”
“My _dunderfunk_, sir—as elegant a dish of _dunderfunk_ as you ever
see, sir—they stole it, sir!”
“Go forward, you rascal!” cried the Lieutenant, in a towering rage, “or
else stop your whining. Tell me, what’s the matter?”
“Why, sir, them ’ere two fellows, Dobs and Hodnose, stole my
_dunderfunk_.”
“Once more, sir, I ask what that _dundledunk_ is? Speak!” “As cruel a
nice——”
“Be off, sir! sheer!” and muttering something about _non compos
mentis_, the Lieutenant stalked away; while the Down Easter beat a
melancholy retreat, holding up his pan like a tambourine, and making
dolorous music on it as he went.
“Where are you going with that tear in your eye, like a travelling
rat?” cried a top-man.
“Oh! he’s going home to Down East,” said another; “so far eastward, you
know, _shippy_, that they have to pry up the sun with a handspike.”
To make this anecdote plainer, be it said that, at sea, the monotonous
round of salt beef and pork at the messes of the sailors—where but very
few of the varieties of the season are to be found—induces them to
adopt many contrivances in order to diversify their meals. Hence the
various sea-rolls, made dishes, and Mediterranean pies, well known by
men-of-war’s-men—_Scouse, Lob-scouse, Soft-Tack, Soft-Tommy,
Skillagalee, Burgoo, Dough-boys, Lob-Dominion, Dog’s-Body_, and lastly,
and least known, _Dunderfunk_; all of which come under the general
denomination of _Manavalins_.
_Dunderfunk_ is made of hard biscuit, hashed and pounded, mixed with
beef fat, molasses, and water, and baked brown in a pan. And to those
who are beyond all reach of shore delicacies, this _dunderfunk_, in the
feeling language of the Down Easter, is certainly “_a cruel nice
dish_.”
Now the only way that a sailor, after preparing his _dunderfunk_, could
get it cooked on board the Neversink, was by slily going to _Old
Coffee_, the ship’s cook, and bribing him to put it into his oven. And
as some such dishes or other are well known to be all the time in the
oven, a set of unprincipled gourmands are constantly on the look-out
for the chance of stealing them. Generally, two or three league
together, and while one engages _Old Coffee_ in some interesting
conversation touching his wife and family at home, another snatches the
first thing he can lay hands on in the oven, and rapidly passes it to
the third man, who at his earliest leisure disappears with it.
In this manner had the Down Easter lost his precious pie, and afterward
found the empty pan knocking about the forecastle.