“And if ever any of you old chums drops round to see Jack behind his bar counter—ahem! my eye! maties, won’t I be glad to see you just! Won’t I get out the longest clay pipe in the shanty, and the best nigger head! And won’t I draw ye a drop o’ summut as will make all the ’air on your ’eads stand straight up like a frightful porkeypine’s! And maybe there won’t be much to pay for it either?”
It will be noted from the above conversation that the aims in life of the British man-o’-war sailor are seldom of a very exalted character.
But even in the little ward-room prize money was not altogether left out of count in conversation on Saturday nights.
“I believe,” said the doctor once, “I shall have over a thousand pounds when I get home. I think I’ll cut the service, buy a shore practice, and settle down.”
“Bah!” cried Mavers, “you’re too old a sailor for that, Mr Sawbones. Don’t talk twaddle. Take out your old fiddle and give us a tune.”
The worthy medico never required two biddings to make him obey a behest like this.
Out would come the violin, and his messmates would speedily be in dreamland as they listened; for the doctor played well on that king of instruments.
Songs were sure to follow, during which very often the door would open, and there would be seen standing smiling the captain himself.
You may be sure that room was speedily made for him, and so these happy evenings would pass away till eight bells (twelve o’clock) rang out Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding—that is the way they went, and this warned every one it was time to turn in.
The Bunting could not be said to be a very well-found ship, as far as the officers’ mess was concerned. There is as much difference usually between the mess in a gunboat and a flagship as between that of a humble cottage and a lord mayor’s mansion.