“He must be a rum old joker,” observed Duff. “Hillo, here comes old Monsieur Collet with his cargo of ginger-beer. Let’s go and get some; for I’m very thirsty.”
And away they all three scrambled to the gangway, to which a boat had come with a little wizened old man in her, and laden with bottles of ginger-beer, and other refreshing drinks.
“Hand us up ginger-beer there,” sung out Jemmy Duff. “But, I say, Monsieur Collet, remember, no pop—no pay.”
“Oh, no, signor. All my ginger-beer pop very much.”
And, to prove the truth of his assertion, off went half a dozen of his bottles fizzing away together; some, however, remained, and the old Frenchman insisted on himself cutting the lashings of the corks to give full effect of the pop. He would then put a far from clean thumb over the mouth to prevent the liquid from escaping; but still the froth would fiz and fume round it.
“Thank ye, Monsieur Collet, none of your digitalis for me,” remarked the assistant surgeon, who observed the operation, which, however, few others seemed to care for.
The attention of the idlers was soon drawn off from old Collet, and his refreshing draughts, towards a boat which pulled alongside, filled with musicians, who if they produced sounds not especially harmonious, took care that they should be loud enough to be heard far and wide.
“Huzza for the Banjee,” sung out some of the men forward. “Come, Smaitch, tip us a tune there—Go ahead, Banjee!” and on this requisition the performers in the Banjee boat began to exert their talents to the great delight of their hearers, who rewarded them with showers of pence. Not, however, of this character are the principal Banjee boats; which really contain very good musicians, who enliven the harbour with their sweet harmony, and are often some of the best performers from the Opera House. Valetta harbour is in truth as lively and animated, as interesting and picturesque a sheet of water as is to be found in any part of the world. On the north side of where the ship lay were the dazzling white walls of the city towering towards the blue sky, with the Marina below them, and numerous vessels moored along the quays; on the other side the frowning batteries of Fort Saint Angelo, and the Venetian looking canal, called Dockyard Creek; many of the houses having doors cut through the rock opening down to the water, the whole wearing an aspect more Oriental than European. Then the boats, darting about in every direction, mostly painted bright green and yellow, with upright sterns rising high above the gunnel, and great big eyes painted on the bows—very often having the name of some ship or other on them in addition.
And the boatmen, with their long red or blue caps, the tassel reaching to their waists, their gay waistcoats, their shirt-sleeves rolled up above their elbows exhibiting their brawny arms, their red sashes, their blue overall trousers, and their nankeen ones below, are not unworthy of remembrance. But the most picturesque objects are the lateen sails with their long tapering yards either wing and wing when skimming along before the wind, or heeling over when close-hauled upon it.
Such in part was the scene viewed from the deck of the Ione.