And they went up on the deck.
But Lamme, falling into melancholy:
“Master boatman,” said he, suddenly, “you have here in your forge a little fire so bright that for certain one might cook with it the most delicious of hotpots. My throat is thirsty for soup.”
“I will refresh you,” said the man.
And speedily he served him a rich soup, in which he had boiled a thick slice of salt ham.
When Lamme had swallowed a few spoonfuls, he said to the boatman:
“My throat is peeling, my tongue is burning: this is no hotpot.”
“‘Cool drink and salt war’, it was written,” replied Ulenspiegel.
Then the boatman filled up the tankards, and said:
“I drink to the lark, the bird of freedom.”