"'But come, Rodney, let's have the ghost. I don't mean to turn in till eight-bells.'
"The old man leaned back upon the hencoop on which I was sitting, crossed his arms over the breast of his pea-jacket, and began:—
"'Well, yer honour, Jack Rodney never was the man to lay at his anchors when the signal was made to get under weigh. I've been at sea, yer honour, man and boy, five-and-thirty years come next quarter-day; and there's ne'er a blue-jacket afloat as can say Jack Rodney ever sailed under false colours, or stretched a yarn beyond its bearings. When once old Jack gets his jawing-tacks aboard, his yarn runs off clear and quick, like the line off a log-reel in a breeze. I hates them stuttering beggars, axing yer honour's pardon, as boxes all the points of the compass, and never steers no strait coorse after all. Their words come creeping out as if they were afeerd the master-at-arms was a-going to put them in limbo; but a steady helm and a straight coorse for old Rodney, says I.'
"After the old man had talked himself into a proper opinion of his merits, he began at once to steer a straight course, as he called it.
"'Ye've never been in Chainey, yer honour? Ah you long-togged gentry has a vast to see! Why, you sits at home half your lives, and never knows nothing. Why, now I'll make bould to say yer honour doesn't know how to make a sea-pie or a dish of lobskous?'
"'Not I, Rodney.'
"'My eyes!' muttered the old man to himself, 'to think of a man coming to his years, and not knowing how to make lobskous! Why, sir, axing yer pardon, yer edication must have been sadly neglected.'
"'Oh, I shall improve under your tuition, Rodney; but now for the ghost.'
"'Well, sir, you sees when I was aboard the old Bruisewater, East Injeeman, we wor lying at our moorings in Wampoa Reach—that's in Chainey, yer honour. There was a large fleet of us, all lying waiting for a cargo, with nothing in the varsal world to do but to keep the ships clean, and to play at race-horses with the boats. A grand sight it was, yer honour, to see so many fine large craft lying at anchor, all clean painted, and looking as gay as so many women rigged out for a dance ashore, with their red and striped ensigns all fluttering in the sunshine; and the lads all as neat and clean as shore-going gemmen. Why, Lord love you, this here craft would look like a cockleshell alongside o' them! 'Twas a sight to do an old sailor's heart good, to see sich a show of merchantmen as no other country but Ould England could produce. And then, for such an outlandish, out-o'-the-way place as Chainey, the country wasn't so ill-looking neither. On each side of the river were the level green paddy fields, with here and there a little hill, with a joss-house peeping out from the bamboos; the green hills of Dane's Island further up, and its valleys rich with orange-trees and patches of sugar-cane. Further up still was the village of Wampoa, all sticks and straw like, with a great thing like a lighthouse—what them neggurs calls a pugodour—standing as stiff as a marine at attention, on the opposite bank of the river. And then to see the outlandish-looking mat sails—for devil a boat could you see belonging to them—cutting across in all directions, as if they wor taking a walk in the paddy fields! and the junks cocking up ahead and astern like nothing else in the world, with eyes painted on their bows, because the natural fools think they won't be able to see without them! Then, sir, there's the men with tails like cows, and the women with feet like dolls, and the children in the boats tied to calabashes, to prevent their drowning. Why, bless ye, sir, if ye couldn't swally what I told you before, all this 'll choke ye outright. Well, but to come to my story agen. I hates all this here traverse sailing; I must take a fresh departure. The chief mate of the Prince Royal, Mr Pattison, was a riglar out-an-outer, a man as was well knowed in the fleet, and was a favoryte with high and low; for he was a sailor every inch of him, and knowed right well how to keep persons and things in their places. He was a taut hand, too; but none the worse for that, for your true sailor, sir, loves an officer as is a real officer, and gives every man his due, good or bad, without favour or affection—one knows what one has to trust to with such a man. He was quite a pet with the crew, though he made them fly whenever he spoke to them; they were proud of old Charley, as they called him, and of their ship—and high kelter[3] she was in. Well, sir, old Charley was taken ill—then he got worse—then we heard he wasn't expected to live. There wasn't a man or officer in the fleet but wor sorry for him; for them as hadn't been shipmates with him knowed him by karacter. Of coorse, sir, when the chief mate was in the doctor's hands, and hove down to repair, the second did duty for him. One day, when Charley was very ill, the second mate came on deck, and seed the carpenter a-standing in the sun without his hat on; so says he—
"'Mr Chips,' says he (the carpenters aboard them ships were all warrant-officers, and so always had a handle put to their names)—'Mr Chips, why are you standing in the sun without your hat? You'll be getting a stroke of the sun.'