TALE OF A SHAG-EYED SHARK
The mackerel bit as they crowded an’ fit to
grab at our ganglin’ bait,
We were flappin’ ’em in till the ’midship bin
held dus’ on a thousand weight;
When all of a sudden they shet right down an’
never a one would bite,
An’ the Old Man swore an’ he r’ared an’ tore
till the mains’l nigh turned white,
He’d pass as the heftiest swearin’ man that
ever I heard at sea,
An’ that is allowin’ a powerful lot, as sartinly
you will agree.
Whenever he cursed his arm shot up an’ his
fingers they wiggled about,
Till they seemed to us like a windmill’s fans
a-pumpin’ the cuss-words out.
He swore that day by the fodder hay of the
Great Jeehookibus whale,
By the Big Skedunk, an’ he bit a hunk from
the edge of an iron pail,
For he knowed the reason the fish had dodged,
an’ he swore us stiff an’ stark
As he durned the eyes an’ liver an’ lights of a
shag-eyed, skulkin’ shark.
Then we baited a line all good an’ fine an’ slung
’er over the side,
An’ the shark took holt with a dretful jolt, an’
he yanked an’ chanked an’ tried
To jerk it out, but we held him stout so he
couldn’t duck nor swim,
An’ we h’isted him over—that old sea-rover—
we’d business there with him.
A-yoopin’ for air he laid on deck, an’ the skip-
per he says, says he:
“You’re the wust, dog-gondest, mis’able hog
that swims the whole durn sea.
’Mongst gents as is gents it’s a standin’ rule to
leave each gent his own—
If ye note as ye pass he’s havin’ a cinch, stand
off an’ leave him alone.
But you’ve slobbered along where you don’t
belong, an’ you’ve gone an’ spiled the thing,
An’ now, by the pink-tailed Wah-hoo-fish,
you’ll take your dose, by jing!”
So, actin’ by orders, the cook fetched up our
biggest knife on board,
An’ he ripped that shark in his ’midship bulge;
then the Old Man he explored.
An’ after a while, with a nasty smile, he giv’ a
yank an’ twist,
“Hurroo!” yells he, an’ then we see the liver
clinched in his fist.
Still actin’ by orders, the cook fetched out his
needle an’ biggest twine—
With a herrin’-bone stitch sewed up that shark,
all right an’ tight an’ fine.
We throwed him back with a mighty smack,
an’ the look as he swum away
Was the most reproachfulest kind of a look
I’ve seen for many a day.
An’ the liver was throwed in the scuttle-butt,
to keep it all fresh an’ cool,
Then we up with our sheet an’ off we beat,
a-chasin’ that mackerel school.
We sailed all day in a criss-cross way, but the
school it skipped an’ skived,
It dodged an’ ducked, an’ backed an’ bucked,
an’ scooted an’ swum an’ dived.
An’ we couldn’t catch ’em, the best we’d do—
an’ oh, how the Old Man swore!
He went an’ he gargled his throat in ile, ’twas
peeled so raw an’ sore.
But at last, ’way off at the edge of the sea, we
suddenly chanced to spy
A tall back-fin come fannin’ in, ag’inst the sun-
set sky.
An’ the sea ahead of it shivered an’ gleamed
with a shiftin’ an’ silvery hue,
With here a splash an’ there a dash, an’ a rip-
ple shootin’ through.
An’ the Old Man jumped six feet from deck;
he hollered an’ says, says he:
“Here comes the biggest mackerel school since
the Lord set off the sea!
An’ right behind, if I hain’t blind, by the prong-
jawed dog-fish’s bark,
Is a finnin’ that mis’able hog of the sea, that
liverless, shag-eyed shark!”
But we out with our bait an’ down with our
hooks, an’ we fished an’ fished an’ fished,
While ’round in a circle, a-cuttin’ the sea, that
back-fin whished an’ slished;
An’ we noticed at last he was herdin’ the school
an’ drivin’ ’em on our bait,
An’ they bit an’ they bit an’ we pulled ’em in at
a reg’lar wholesale rate.
We pulled ’em in till the S’airey Ann was wal-
lerin’ with her load,
An’ we stopped at last’cause there wa’n’t no
room for the mackerel to be stowed.
Then up came a-finnin’ that liverless shark, an’
he showed his stitched-up side,
An’ the look in his eyes was such a look that
the Old Man fairly cried.
We rigged a tackle an’ lowered a noose an’
the shark stuck up his neck,
Then long an’ slow, with a heave yo-ho, we
h’isted him up on deck.
The skipper he blubbered an’ grabbed a fin an’
gave it a hearty shake;
Says he, “Old man, don’t lay it up an’ we’ll
have a drop to take.”
An’, actin’ by orders, the cook fetched up our
kag of good old rum;
The shark he had his drink poured first, an’ all
of us then took some.
Still actin’ by orders, the cook he took an’ he
picked them stitches out,
An’ we all turned to, an’ we lent a hand;
though of course we had some doubt
As to how he’d worn it an’ how’twas hitched,
an’ whuther’twas tight or slack,
But as best we could—as we understood—we
put that liver back.
Then we sewed him up, an’ we shook his fin
an’ we giv’ him another drink,
We h’isted him over the rail ag’in an’ he giv’
us a partin’ wink.
Then he swum away, an’ I dast to say, although
he was rather sore,
He felt that he’d started the trouble first, an’
we’d done our best an’ more.
’Cause a dozen times’fore the season closed
an’ the mackerel skipped to sea,
He herded a school an’ drove ’em in, as gen-
tlemanlike as could be.
We’d toss him a drink, an’ he’d tip a wink, as
sociable as ye please,
No kinder nor better-mannered shark has ever
swum the seas.
Now, the moral is, if you cut a friend before
that you know he’s friend,
An’ after he’s shown it, ye do your best his
feelin’s to nicely mend,
He’ll meet ye square, an’ he’ll call you quits,
providin’ he’s got a spark
Of proper feelin’—at least our crew can vouch
this for a shark.