“Fanny Martin, sir?” he replied; “why I think she left La Guayra in a neutral, and so got to Halifax, but I arn’t quite sure.”
“And now, then,” said I, “for some account of her recapture. Can you tell me how it happened, and what the picture before us is actually designed to represent?”
“Why no, your honour, I can’t do that exactly,” rejoined he, “seeing as I knows but little about it; but there’s a messmate of mine yonder who was on that station at the time, and can give you the particulars; but he’s a dry soul, your honour, and mayhap would like a taste of the spirit-room, if your honour has no objections; ’twill loose his tongue a bit, and give it freer play.”
“One word for my friend and two for myself,” thought I; but sensible that “freshening the nip” would prevent too much chafing, I readily consented, and the old blades piped to grog with a gusto that can only be acquired by long habit.
We were soon seated in a comfortable room overlooking the Thames. It was nearly high-water, and the middle of summer; a delightful breeze tempered the heat, the green fields looked beautifully below and opposite to us, whilst the vessels were rapidly passing and chequering the scene with their white sails. The steamers, too, were swiftly cutting through the yielding element, and the whole presented a spectacle of commercial wealth that can be witnessed on no other river in the world. I own I feel a very great pride in contemplating the glory and the gratitude of my country; and when I see her gallant tars who have braved the war of elements and battled the enemies of England, snugly enjoying their old age in their berths, chewing their pigtail with a knowing quid pro quo, and occasionally cheering the heart with the balsam that maketh it glad, I cannot help exclaiming, “nobly should a grateful country be served, and thus be rewarded her brave defenders!” Besides, within the small compass of this beautiful place, we can meet with practical information from every part of the globe. Talk of your geographies! here are the living pages that wait on Time,—men that have breakfasted on a whale with the Esquimaux, dined on an elephant with the Hottentots, and supped upon a snake sixty feet long with the Red Indians;—men who have bearded the lions, shook paws with the tiger, and rode races on alligators. They have seen the holy city, visited the ancient capitol of the world, and have passed over the identical spot where Jonah was swallowed by the whale. Greenwich Hospital is a very storehouse for knowledge,—a perfect College, in which the old tars take their degrees as natural as when running down a trade-wind,—have their senior wranglers, their M.A. for master-at-arms, their B.A. for boatswain’s-assistant, enjoy good fellowship over a glass of grog, and are staunch supporters of cannon law.
We found several of these well filled volumes—damme-quart-hos—already ranged in the room before our arrival, and, like our old friend Colburn, they were mighty busy in puffing off their works, as if trying to hide the authors under a cloud of smoke.
“Ay, ay,” exclaimed a crojack-eyed old blade, “them there pursers’ accounts of prize-money showed but a poor figure in the foremast-man’s log, whatever they did in the skipper’s journal. They used to sift it through a hatchway grating,—all that went down was for the officers, and all that stayed above came to the tarry jackets.”
“You’re right there, Jem,” said a veteran boatswain’s-mate, whose voice was not unlike a gale of wind sighing to a kitchen fire through the hollow of a chimney-pot, “perfectly right; and then they make out the prize-list much in the same way as the nigger accounted for his pig. D’ye see, his master gave him three dollars to go to market and buy a pig; but the black rascal came back drunk, without his money and without his cargo. ‘Holla!’ said his master, ‘how came you drunk, sir? and where’s the pig?’ ‘Ah, massa,’ says the nigger, ‘me nebber drunk, but giddy wid long chase.’ ‘Where’s the dollars I gave you?’ asked the master. ‘Me gie ’em to buy pig,’ said the black. ‘What, three dollars?’ cried the master. ‘Tan littly bit, massa, me telle you. First me gib dollar for pig’ ‘Well, that’s only one dollar,’ said the master. ‘Tan littly bit,’ puzzled the nigger; ‘den me hab pig for dollar,—dat two dollar, massa; den de pig run away, and gib dollar for catch a pig—dat tree dollar, massa. Den him dam pig run in a bush like a debbil, and nebber see him no more noder time.’ So it was with the prize-money; there was dollar for Jack, and Jack for dollar; and if Jack ran away, he lost all, and was made to look dolor-ous into the bargain, if ever they cocht him again. My best sarvice to your honour, and hope no offence.” He lifted his pewter to his lips, and took a most persevering draught to qualify the toast.
“Jack Maberly,” said my worthy conductor, addressing the last speaker, “the gentleman wants to hear a little about the recapture of the Harmoine, and Bill Jennings is just agoing to tell his honour the long and the short of it, if you’ll be good enough to keep silence fore-and-aft.”
“I wull, I wull, messmate,” replied the old boatswain’s-mate.