I must now speak of Jerry Hacker, the purser. He was a man, take him all in all, ye ne’er will see his like again. He messed by himself in the cockpit, and would sit in his cabin in the dark with a long stick in his hand, calling out to everyone that came down the cockpit ladder, ‘What strange man is that?’ He was in constant fear of being robbed or cheated, and lived in the most miserable manner. I have known him to corn meat in his hand-basin and in something else. He was suspicious to a degree and always saying he should be ruined, though there was little fear of that, as Jerry took good care to trust no one; and what he was only charged two shillings a gallon for, he kindly offered to let me have for five shillings, paying ready money; but I was not to be taken in so easy. He could not bear the sight of a midshipman in the cockpit, and did everything in his power to annoy them, and before I joined the ship, he used to sing a verse of an old song reflecting on the midshipmen. One morning while I was in the cockpit, he was quarrelling with some of them, and then struck up his favourite air, not thinking that any person knew the song but himself. However, in this he was mistaken, and when he had finished the following verse, I struck up another that settled him.
Tune, The Black Joke.
Ye salt beef squires and quarter deck beaus,
Who formerly lived upon blacking of shoes:
With your anchors a-weigh and your topsails a-trip.
If they call us by name and we don’t answer, Sir!
They start us about till not able to stir;
A lusty one and lay it well on.
If you spare them an inch you ought to be damn’d;
With your anchors a-weigh and your topsails a-trip.