At this the boatswain spat on the deck, the carpenter thrust his bearded chin forward, and they started to bet heavily on the matter; and the Norwegian cook, who had come in to see what the shouting was about, wiped his mouth with his dirty sack apron and said:
“Mein tear frients, vich eye was the mans vlind in?”
“Yer son of a German sea-cook, I said the man was stone blind in both eyes, so, d—n yer, he hadn’t any eyes at all!” roared the infuriated boatswain.
“Vell, now,” said the sea-cook, as he stroked his short Vandyke beard and looked astonished, “he vash not vlind then; he haf no eyes to be vlind in at all; for how cans a man be vlind in zee eyes if he haf no eyes?”
The boatswain turned purple, spluttered out “Yer God-d——d cheeky,” then suddenly lost his temper, made a run and pushed the cook, who nearly fell to the deck.
“I vill show you vat a vlind eye is,” shouted the enraged Norwegian sea-cook.
“Bear witness,” shouted the boatswain, looking at the sailors and members of the black squad, who were all standing around to see fair play. “The cook has insulted me by saying that a blind man has no eyes.” Then the Norwegian made a rush at the old boatswain. It gave the whole crew a lot of trouble to separate them. Then the boatswain cooled down and said it was his own fault for not simply saying the man was blind, and saying nothing whatever about his eyes if he hadn’t got any. Then they all had a drop of rum together, and were good friends till the next argument cropped up and they took sides once more.
At other times they would sit yarning, and as I listened, sitting on my sea-chest, I heard many terrible and indescribable things: true enough too, I have not the slightest doubt, but only fit to be told here after considerable prunings from the facts. There was an old Solomon Island native just by us, down in the fore-peak. He was a kind of overseer, and had to look after the natives in the hold, and separate the various tribal characters if they fought, which they often did. Now this overseer was a garrulous chap, and though he was hideous enough it was interesting to hear what he said. He was over fifty years of age, and we gathered from what he let out that he had eaten “long pig” in his youth. One calm, hot night, when the engines were clanking steadily away, while the skipper walked the poop and the steward slept, we were all sitting in the forecastle; some of the sailors were in their bunks, and a few others smoking and playing cards beneath the dim oil lamp. The garrulous native overseer was talking away for all he was worth, when suddenly the boatswain leaned over his bunk and said: “Shut up, yer son of a cannibal.”
“Me no heathen, I good Christian man. Once long ago I eat ‘long pig’; but since then I have saved white sailor from being eaten, and been friend to white girl.”
“Eh?” said the boatswain, as he pricked his ears up; the carpenter said, “Gor blimey, you’ve eaten——”; quickly a sailor nudged him, so that we might hear all about it, and one of the crew who had been playing cards shuffled the pack and said quietly: “Tell us all about it.” The grim-looking, half-naked savage nodded his head and started off.