“Santy, you vas a coot man, pedder as me, unt I tond vant any more row longer you. I ben coot man, too, bud I ain’t any longer, only I forkedd it somedimes. I cot my soup unter vay for dinner, unt if you likes I finish dot yarn I vas tellin’ Tom here lasd night.”
Now Sandy was all over man, and jumping up from his chest he gripped the Doctor’s paw, saying—
“Weel, Doctor, A’am as sorry as a maan can be ’at I lost ma temper wi’ ye. W’en Ah see ye i’ th’ watter Ah feelt like a cooard, and Ah’d a loupit owerboord afther ye, even ef Ah couldna ha soomt a stroak. Ah wisht we’d a bottle o’ fhuskey t’ drink t’ yin anither in; but never mind, we’ll hae two holl evenin’s thegither in Melburrun when we got thonder. But you an’ me’s chums fra this oot.”
This happy conclusion pleased us all, and, in order to profit by this loosening of the Doctor’s tongue, I said, passing over my plug of tobacco—
“Now then, Doctor, we’re all anxious to hear the rest of that cuffer you was tellin’ me last night. I’ve told the chaps all you told me, and they are just hungry for the rest, so fill up and go ahead.”
“Vell, poys, you nefer see a hantier crout dan dat lot Amerigan Yoe cot schanghaied abord of us in Callyo. How he ked ’em all so qviet I ton’t know. But dey vas all ofer blut, unt dere close vas tore to shakin’s, so I kess dey vas some pooty hart fightin’ pefore he put ’em to sleep so he could pring dem alonkside. De olt man unt his bucko crout of off’cers ton’t let ’em haf time to ked spry pefore dey pegin roustin’ ’em erroun’—dey know de ropes too vell fer dot. So as soon as de boardin’ marsder vas gone, oudt dey comes, unt aldough it vas keddin’ tark, I be tamt ef dey vasn’t sdarted holystonin’ de deck fore ’n aft. Dey vas haluf tedt mit knoggin’ about, dey hadn’t been fed, unt dey vas more as haluf poison mit bad yin, unt den to vork ’em oop like dat, I dells you vat, poys, id vas tough.
“Dey let oop on ’em ’bout twelluf o’clock unt told ’em to co below, but de poor dyfuls yoost ked into de fo’c’sle unt fall down—anyveres—unt dere dey schleep till coffee-dime. Perhaps you ton’d pelief me, but I dells you de trut, dem fellers come out ven de mate sinks oudt, ‘Turn-to’ like anoder crout altogeder. Efen de mate look mit all his eyes cos he don’t aspect to see ’em like dat. Dey ton’t do mooch till prekfuss-dime, unt den dey keds a coot feet; mags dem quite sassy.
“Unt so off ve goes to de Chinchees, unt from dat day out ve nefer done fightin’. You talk apout Yankee blood-poats unt plue-nose hell-afloats, dey wan’t in it ’longside de Panama. Dem fellers vas all kinds; but dey vas all on de fight, unt, if de could only haf hang togedder, dey’d haf murder de whole lot of us aft. But dey couldn’t; leas’, dey didn’t until long after ve lef de island, an slidin’ up troo de soud-east trades tords de line. Den one afternoon I ketch one of ’em diggin’ a lot er slush[A] outer one er my full casks. ’Course I vas mat, unt I dells him to get t’ hell out er dat, unt leave my slush alone. He don’t say nuthin’, but he schlings de pot at me. Den it vas me un him for it, un ve fight like two rhinosros.
[A] “Slush” in the merchant service is the name given to the coarse dripping, lumps of waste fat, etc., which the ship’s cook has over after preparing the men’s food. He is entitled to this as his perquisite, and is naturally careful to cask it down during the voyage for sale ashore, after the voyage, to wholesale chandlers and soap-boilers, or their middlemen.
“Ve fight so hardt ve don’t know dat all hants haf choin in, efen de man run from de veel un chip in. I bin dat mat ’bout my slush I fight like six men, unt ven de fight vas ofer I fall down on teck right vere I am, unt go to sleep. Ven I vake up aken de olt man haf got de hole crout in ierns. He say he be tam ef he coin’t t’ haf any mo’ fightin’ dis voy’ge; liddle’s all fery vell, but ’nough’s a plenty. So ve vork de ship home oursellufs—qvite ’nough t’ do, I tell you, t’ keep her coin ’n look after dat crout so vell.