‘I’ve lost two good stone since I jined this starvation hooker!’ presently growled one. ‘I ain’t never full, and I kin feel them cussed worms out o’ the bread a-crawlin’ about in my stummick like so many snakeses.’
‘Same ’ere, matey,’ chimed in another. ‘A mouthful o’ salt horse an’ a bite o’ rotten bread for breakfus, ditto for dinner, an’ a soldier’s supper;[Footnote 2] ] with lime-juice an’ winegar chucked in, according to the Hack,[Footnote 3] ] ain’t to say fattenin’.’
‘That’s wot’s the matter, when the skipper finds the ship,’ remarked a third. ‘Yer gets yer whack, an’ ye gits nae mair, as the Scotchies has it.’
‘We doesn’t even get that itself,’ put in another, who [32] ]was sitting on the edge of his bunk. ‘That yaller hound of a steward gives short weight all round.
Lord!’ he continued, ‘only to think that, this time last year, I was a-smackin’ my chops over mutton uns; an’ full and plenty of everythin’ in the Hostralian Bush. What a hass I was to leave it! One’d think there was some sort o’ damned magic in the sea to be able to draw a feller a thousand miles down from good times, good tucker, good pay, an’ all night in, with a spree whenever you felt fit.’
‘Too good, Billy, altogether,’ piped up a grey-headed old chap. ‘An’ that’s what’s the matter. You gets up the Bush, you gets as fat as a bacon hog, you lives like a gentleman, an’, in the long run, it don’t agree with your constitooshun. You gets the boil,[Footnote 4] ] an’ your liver turns a sort o’ dandy-grey, russet-colour, and you misses the gravy-eye[Footnote 5] ] trick at the wheel, an’ you misses the jumpin’ out o’ a wet bunk, all standin’ in wet clothes, and the hissle o’ the gale in your ears, an’ the woof o’ the cold water over your boot-tops, an’ down the small o’ your back as ye comes a-shiverin’ an’ a-shakin’ on deck. You’ve bin used to this sort o’ thing all your life, Billy, an’ your liver an’ all the other innard parts gives notice when they’re a-tired o’ the soft lyin’ an’ the good livin’ up-country, an’ drives ye back to the old life an’ the old ways agin. That’s where the magic comes in, my son.’
After this there was silence for a while. Each man’s face poked over his bunk with a short clay pipe in its [33] ]mouth. Strong, rank fumes of tobacco filled the place.
‘I say, boys,’ suddenly exclaimed one, ‘what’s this hooker got in her?’
‘General,’ replied the old man, whose name was Nestor. ‘I heerd the customs officer at Gravesend say as it was one o’ the walluablest general cargers as ’ad ever left the docks.’
‘Well then, mates,’ said the other, ‘all I’ve got to remark is as we’re the biggest an’ softest set o’ fools as ever left the docks, to go a-starvin’ in this fashion, when t’other side o’ that there bulkhead’s every sort o’ tucker you can mention.’