In his descent he grasped at a rope, which happened to be the jib halliards, and as he came up, puffing and blowing the salt water from his mouth and nose, he began to haul “hand-over-hand” at the halliards. His corpulency overbalanced the jib, and gradually the sail began to ascend, to the astonishment of the cook, who stood near by, and to the wrath of the captain on the quarter-deck.
“Let go the jib halliards, there, you confounded slush,” roared the captain.
“I ain’t h’isting the jib,” replied the terrified cook, believing that the sail was bewitched, for sailors are quite superstitious, you know.
“Let go the halliards,” shouted the mate. “We shall be across the draw, and all go to Davy Jones’ locker. Hear, d—— you, Slush-bucket?”
Still the old doctor pulled for dear life, and still rose the ghost-like sail, while the affrighted cook and all hands ran aft, looking as pale as death. Still the sail went up, up, and the captain and mate began to be astonished, when by this time—less time than it requires to tell it—the old doctor had reached the rail of the vessel, and shouted lustily for help.
All ran forward to help the corpulent old doctor on deck, and by means of a man at each arm, and a boat-hook fast into the doctor’s unmentionables, he was hauled safely on board, a wetter and a wiser man.
If you want to get kicked out of his office, just say in his hearing, “Let go them ’ere halliards,” and it is done.
“O, mermaids, is it cold and wet
Adown beneath the sea?
It seems to me that rather chill
Must Davy’s locker be.”
Medical Titbits.
More Mustard than Meat.—A poor, emaciated Irishman having called in a physician as a forlorn hope, the latter spread a large mustard plaster and applied it to the poor fellow’s lean chest.