“Let us hear it, uncle; let us hear it!”
“The moment a sailor lands,” he says, “he goes to see the watchmaker, or the old boy at The Ship. His first object is to spend his money; but his first sensation is, the strange firmness of the earth, which he goes treading in a sort of heavy-light way, half waggoner and half dancing-master, his shoulders rolling, and his feet touching and going; the same way, in short, in which he keeps himself prepared for all the rolling chances of the vessel, when on deck. There is always, to us, this appearance of lightness of foot, and heavy strength of upper works, in a sailor. And he feels it himself.”
“That is exactly to the life! It would be impossible to describe a sailor’s walk better!”
“He lets his jacket fly open, and his shoulders slouch, and his hair grow long, to be gathered into a heavy pig-tail; but when full dressed, he prides himself on a certain gentility of toe, on a white stocking, and a natty shoe, issuing lightly out of the flowing blue trowsers. His arms are neutral, hanging and swinging in a curve aloof; his hands, half open, look as if they had just been handling ropes, and had no object in life but to handle them again. He is proud of appearing in a new hat and slops, with a belcher handkerchief flowing loosely round his neck, and the corner of another out of his pocket. Thus equipped, with pinchbeck buckles in his shoes, which he bought for gold, he puts some tobacco in his mouth, not as if he were going to use it directly, but as if he stuffed it in a pouch on one side, as a pelican does fish, to employ it hereafter; and so, with Bet Monson at his side, and perhaps a cane or whanghee twisted under his other arm, sallies forth to take possession of all Lubberland.”
“Ha! ha! ha! That is capital! He was prettily taken in with his pinchbeck buckles; but it would not matter, for they would pass with him for gold.”
“He buys everything that he comes athwart, nuts, gingerbread, apples, shoe-strings, beer, brandy, gin, buckles, knives, a watch,—two, if he has money enough,—gowns, and handkerchiefs for Bet, and his mother, and sisters; dozens of superfine best men’s cotton stockings; dozens of superfine best women’s cotton ditto; best good check, for shirts, though he has too much already; infinite needles and thread, to sew his trowsers with some day; a footman’s laced hat; bear’s-grease to make his hair grow, by way of joke; several sticks; all sorts of Jews’ articles; a flute, which he can’t play, and never intends; a leg of mutton, which he carries somewhere to roast, and for a piece of which the landlord of The Ship makes him pay twice what he gave for the whole;—in short, all that money can be spent upon, which is everything but medicine gratis; and this he would insist on paying for.”
“Poor Jack! he is never to be trusted on shore with money in his pocket.”
“He would buy all the painted parrots on an Italian’s head, on purpose to break them, rather than not spend his money. He has fiddles, and a dance, at The Ship, with oceans of flip and grog; and gives the blind fiddler tobacco for sweetmeats, and half-a-crown for treading on his toe. He asks the landlady, with a sigh, after her daughter Nance, and finding that she is married and in trouble, leaves five crowns for her; which the old lady appropriates as part payment for a shilling in advance. He goes to the Port playhouse with Bet Monson, and a great red handkerchief full of apples, gingerbread nuts, and fresh beef; calls out for the fiddlers and ‘Rule Britannia;’ pelts Tom Sikes in the pit, and compares Othello to the black ship’s cook, in his white nightcap. When he comes to London, he and some messmates take a hackney-coach full of Bet Monsons and tobacco-pipes, and go through the streets, smoking and lolling out of window. He has ever been cautious of venturing on horseback; and among his other sights in foreign parts, relates, with unfeigned astonishment, how he has seen the Turks ride;—‘Only,’ says he, guarding against the hearer’s incredulity, ‘they have saddle-boxes to hold ’em in, fore and aft; and shovels like for stirrups.’ He will tell you how the Chinese drink, and the Negurs dance, and the monkeys pelt you with cocoa-nuts; and how King Domy would have built him a mud hut, and made him peer of the realm, if he would have stopped with him, and taught him to make trowsers.”
“Never was a better account of a sailor than this. Everything about him seems to be thought of.”
“He has a sister at a ‘school for young ladies,’ who blushes with a mixture of pleasure and shame at his appearance; and whose confusion he completes by slipping four-pence into her hand, and saying out loud, that he has ‘no more copper’ about him. His mother and elder sisters, at home, doat on all he says and does, telling him, however, that he is a great sea-fellow, and was always wild ever since he was a hop-o’-my-thumb no higher than the window-locker. He tells his mother, she would be a duchess in Paranaboo; at which the good old portly lady laughs and looks proud. He frightens his sisters with a mask, made after the New Zealand fashion, and is forgiven for his learning. Their mantle-piece is filled by him with shells and sharks’ teeth; and when he goes to sea again, there is no end of tears, and ‘God bless you!’ and homemade gingerbread.”