Then I had to scrub ’im with soap and soda; he hadn’t seen water, and covered with vermin.
Clementine.
Hey! Ugh!
Saart.
Wish I could get a cent a dozen for all the lice on board; they get them thrown in with their share of the cargo. Hahaha! Now then, his last voyage a sheet of water threw him against the bulwarks just as they pulled the mizzen staysail to larboard, and his leg was broke. Then they were in a fix—The skipper could poultice and cut a corn, but he couldn’t mend a broken leg. Then they wanted to shove a plank under it, but Jacob wanted Harlemmer oil rubbed on his leg. Every day he had them rub it with Harlemmer oil, and again Harlemmer oil, and some more Harlemmer oil. Ach, the poor thing! When they came in his leg was a sight. You shouldn’t have asked me to tell it.
Jo.
Last time you laughed about it yourself.
Saart.
Now, yes; you can’t bring the dead back to life. And when you think of it, it’s a dirty shame I can’t marry again.
Clementine.