Did ye ever see that word in Johnson? inquired Gurney.
Whos Johnson? said Scroggles, contemptuously.
Wot, dont ye know who Johnson is? cried Gurney, in surprise.
In course I dont; how should I? retorted Scroggles. Theres ever so many Johnsons in the world; which on em all do you mean?
Why, I mean Johnson wot wrote the dikshnarythe great lexikragofer.
Oh, its him you mean, is it? In course Ive knowed him ever since I wos at school.
A general laugh interrupted the speaker.
At school! cried Nickel Sling, who approached the group at that moment with a carving knife in his handhe seldom went anywhere without an instrument of office in his handAt school! Wal now, that beats creation. If ye wos, Im sartin ye only larned to forgit all ye orter to have remembered. Id take a bet now, ye wosnt at school as long as Ive been settin on this here windlass.
Yer about right, Sling, it ud be unpossible for me to be as long as you anywhere, cause everybody knows Im only five fut two, whereas youre six fut four!
Hear, hear! shouted Dick Barnesa man with a huge black beard, who the reader may perhaps remember was the first to raise the oil. Itll be long before you make another joke like that, Gurney. Come, now, give us a song, Gurney, do; theres the capns darter standin by the foremast, a-waitin to hear ye. Give us Long, long ago.
Ah! thats it, give us a song, cried the men. Come, theres a good fellow.
Well, its so long ago since I sung that song, shipmates, replied Gurney, that Ive bin and forgot it; but Tim Rokens knows it; wheres Rokens?
Hes in the watch below.
In sea parlance, the men whose turn it is to take rest after their long watch on deck are somewhat facetiously said to belong to the watch below.
Ah! thats a pity; so we cant have that ere partickler song. But Ill give ye another, if ye dont object.
No, no. All right; go ahead, Gurney! Is there a chorus to it?
Ay, in course there is. Wots a song without a chorus? Wots plum-duff without the plums? Wots a ship without a elm? Its my opinion, shipmates, that a song without a chorus is no better than it should be. Its wus nor nothin. It puts them wot listens in the blues an the man wot sings into the stewsan sarve him right. I wouldnt, no, I wouldnt give the fag-end o nothin mixed in bucket o salt water for a song without a chorusthats flat; so here goes.
Having delivered himself of these opinions in an extremely vigorous manner, and announced the fact that he was about to begin, Gurney cleared his throat and drew a number of violent puffs from his pipe in quick succession, in order to kindle that instrument into a glow which would last through the first verse and the commencement of the chorus. This he knew was sufficient, for the men, when once fairly started on the chorus, would infallibly go on to the end with or without his assistance, and would therefore afford him time for a few restorative whiffs.
It haint got no name, lads.
Never mind, Gurneyall rightfire away.
Oh, I once knowd a man as hadnt got a nose,
An this is how he come to hadnt
One cold winter night he went and got it froze
By the pain he was well-nigh maddend.
(Chorus.) Well-nigh maddend,
By the pain he was well-nigh maddend.
Next day it swoll up as big as my head,
An it turnd like a piece of putty;
It kivered up his mouth, oh, yes, so it did,
So he could not smoke his cutty.
(Chorus.) Smoke his cutty,
So he could not smoke his cutty.
Next day it grew black, and the next day blue,
An tough as a junk of leather;
(Oh! he yelled, so he did, fit to pierce ye through)
An then it fell off altogether!
(Chorus.) Fell off altogether,
An then it fell off altogether!
But the morial is wot youve now got to hear,
An its goodas sure as a gun;
An youll never forget it, my messmates dear,
For this song it haint got none!
(Chorus.) Haint got none,
For this song it haint got none!
The applause that followed this song was most enthusiastic, and evidently gratifying to Gurney, who assumed a modest deprecatory air as he proceeded to light his pipe, which had been allowed to go out at the third verse, the performer having become so engrossed in his subject as to have forgotten the interlude of puffs at that point.
Well sung, Gurney. Who made it? inquired Phil Briant, an Irishman, who, besides being a jack-of-all-trades and an able-bodied seaman, was at that time acting-assistant to the cook and steward, the lattera half Spaniard and half negro, of Californian extractionbeing unwell.
Im bound not to tell, replied Gurney, with a conscious air.
Ah, then, yer right, my boy, for its below the average entirely.
Come, Phil, none o yer chaff, cried Dick Barnes, that song desarves somethin arter it. Suppose now, Phil, that you wos to go below and fetch the bread-kid.
Couldnt do it, replied Phil, looking solemn, on no account wotiver.
Oh, nonsense, why not?
Cause its unpossible. Why, if I did, sure that surly compound o all sorts o human blood would pitch into me with the carvin-knife.
Who? Tarquin? cried Dick Barnes, naming the steward.
Ay, sure enough that sameTarquins his name, an its kuriously befittin the haythen, for of all the cross-grained mixtures o buffalo, bear, bandicoot, and crackadile I iver seed, hes out o sight
Did I hear any one mention my name? inquired the steward himself who came aft at that moment. He was a wild Spanish-like fellow, with a handsome-enough figure, and a swart countenance that might have been good-looking but for the thickish lips and nose and the bad temper that marked it. Since getting into the tropics, the sailors had modified their costumes considerably, and as each man had in some particular allowed himself a slight play of fancy, their appearance, when grouped together, was varied and picturesque. Most of them wore no shoes, and the caps of some were, to say the least, peculiar. Tarquin wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, with a conical crown, and a red silk sash tied round his waist.
Yes, Tarquin, replied Barnes, we wos engaged in makin free-an-easy remarks on you; and Phil Briant there gave us to understand that you wouldnt let us have the breadkid up. Now, its my opinion you aint goin to be so hard on us as that; you will let us have it up to comfort our hearts on this fine night, wont you?
The steward, whose green visage showed that he was too ill to enter into a dispute at that time, turned on his heel and walked aft, remarking that they might eat the bottom out o the ship, for all he cared.
There now, you misbemannered Patlander, go and get it, or well throw you overboard, cried Scroggles, twisting his long limbs awkwardly as he shifted his position on the windlass.