He gives to a friend in distress.”
This song was sung with no small degree of feeling and taste. Other songs followed, with a few characteristic observations and sentimental touches between them, till the termination of one which had for its burthen.
“Thus smiling at peril, at sea or on shore,
We box the whole compass round cheerly;
Toss the can, boys, again;—drink the king! and what’s more,
We’ll drink to the girls we love dearly!”
“Sweet creatures!” exclaimed Bill Jennings “I loves ’em all a little, d’ye see; for what’s a sailor without a sweetheart? Why, he’s like a ship without a rib,—like a mast without stays,—like a lanniard without a dead-eye,—like a binnacle without a compass,—or a block without a sheave. Pretty dears! they’re the very ach-me of a sailor’s hopes,—the main-top of his heart. What, though the Turks think they’ve got no souls, you and I, your honour, both of us know, (and which of us doesn’t?) that they have got souls and spirits too, bless ’em! for I take it that’s much the same thing. I’ve seen ’em of all colours and shapes from the Hopping-tops at the Cape to the Axquemo near the North Pole; but there’s none to beat our own countrywomen. All the Wenuses of Italy,—all the beauties of Buss-aloney,—all the brilliant black eyes of Spanish America, can’t box the compass with the dear little lasses of our native land.
“Ah, I can remember the first time I fell in love, by tumbling down the main-hatchway! ’Twas when I was with Cook, out at the Sandwich Islands, where King Tommy-rammer and his wife came from. D’ye see, we had been refitting the rigging, and one of the ladies of Owyhee would be my doll-sinner; so she lent me a hand to tar the parcelling and pass the ball; and we were as kind and as loving as two tartle-doves. Well, I was walking near the hatch-way, when, somehow or other, I capsized, and Lowtowchinchow, in trying to save me, gave me a shove: I cotched hold of her, and away we went, Lowtowchinchow and I, down into the main-hold, like a couple of cherry-bums from the clouds. The hatchway was full of logs, and there we lay, like the babes in the wood, as natural as life. Howsomever, there were no bones broke, so they hauled us up again, and how could I help falling in love with her after that? Oh, we used to talk together, she in her lingo and I in mine, like two cats in a gutter. But what was the use on’t? the fore-topsail was sheeted home, and away we went; I promised to write to her by the first post, but she didn’t understand me, and so I forgot all about it next day.
“In some parts of the world they have a way of marrying what they call Poll-Higgamy; but, Lord love you! it’s all a cheat, d’ye mind; for instead of having one Poll, they marry twenty; and only to go for to think of a man having twenty wives! Howsomever, it’s all a matter of fact; nay, some have more, and our parson used to read about Solomon having hundreds! How a solo-man like Solomon could manage to keep ’em all to their tethers in working ship, I can’t think for the life o’me; but he was a wise man, and understood all manner of tongues, and so, mayhap, he had a way of his own. Pretty dears! one’s enough in England. But I’ve seen ’em, in the hour of peril, in the day of battle and the storm, conquer all the weakness of their natur, and display such cool fortitude, such heroic devotion to their husbands, as would astonish you.
“There was poor Joe Kelson, in the old Sandwich, under Rodney, had his wife on board when they engaged the French fleet off Martinique. She was a timid, delicate little body, one who had been tenderly brought up; yet she left all the luxuries of the shore, a father’s house and a mother’s love, to brave the dangers of the ocean and share a piece of salt junk and a biscuit with the being she loved. Ah, I can remember her looks the morning of the action, while we stood at breakfast! Her face was pale and her quivering lip and tearful eye told all the anguish of her soul. Joe tried to comfort her, but ’twas useless: he talked of honour and of glory; but what was honour and glory to a fainting spirit? Her heart was overwhelmed, and when she came afterward to his quarters on the lower deck, she could hardly support her trembling frame. It was just about noon, and she brought him a bit of dinner: they sat down upon the gun-trucks; but neither of ’em could eat, and it was a hard task upon poor Joe to preserve his firmness. All hands pitied them; and when they parted for the last time, there was scarce a dry eye at the gun.