“Certainly,” I said. “Steward, splice the main brace.” Then the skipper dived below and got drunk, which he had the knack of doing on the very shortest notice.
The Cat’s “Cantrips.”
Of Tom’s adventures on board the saucy little Tickler, very much could be written. Somehow, he never was safely out of one scrape till into another. A dear wee mongoose was once brought on board, and would doubtless have become a great pet, if Tom had not broken its back on the first night of its arrival. A monkey was received as a visitor, and with him Tom at once declared war, and kept it up to the bitter end. The monkey’s favourite mode of attack, was to run aloft with a belaying-pin, and biding his time, let it drop as if by accident on poor pussy’s head. But Tom let him have it sharp and fierce, whenever he caught him. Once I remember the monkey was sitting on his hind-quarters on deck, stuffing his cheeks with cockroaches, and looking as serious as a judge. Tom spied him, and ran cautiously along the bulwarks, then springing on his foe, he seized him round the neck with one arm, and with the other administered such a drubbing, as the poor thing never had before in his life. The monkey with bleeding face, at length escaped to the maintop, and there cried itself asleep.
Whether or not Tom was the Jonas, who caused all the mishaps that fell upon our little vessel during that four years’ cruise, I shall not pretend to say, although all hands forward firmly believed he was. Like the witch-wife in Allan Ramsay’s Gentle Shepherd—Tom
“Got the wyte o’ a’ fell oot;”
and certainly Snarley-yow and his master were never more detested than that black cat, and the skipper eventually came to be.
“Life-Boat’s Crew, Ahoy!”
Once, I remember, we experienced a spell of weather so dark and unsettled, that a general gloom prevailed in the ship fore and aft. We were rounding the Cape in mid-winter. First we had a gale of wind, our bulwarks stove in forward, and a boat washed overboard. Then several days with no wind, but a heavy sea on, and the horizon close aboard of us on every side. The nights were pitchy dark, with thunder and lightning so appalling that no one thought of turning in, till far on in the middle watch. Scenes like these can never be described. They are painted with the finger of awe on the beholder’s memory, and time cannot efface them. I can see even now our little vessel, hanging bows on to the side of that dark wave, the hill of water rising above us, the inky gulph beneath, her wet and slippery decks, and the faces of the men that cling to the cordage, ghastly in the lightning’s glare. A moment more and we are on the brow of the wave, then down we drive into the very trough of the sea, where, for a few seconds, the ship lies trembling, as if every timber in her sides was instinct with life. On such a night as this Tom fell overboard. This may seem like a descent from the sublime to the ridiculous. It is a fact, however, and was a very disagreeable descent indeed for poor Tom. The life-buoy was almost instantly fired and let go by the commander himself, who alone saw the accident.