Barney Blake, the Boy Privateer; or, The Cruise of the Queer Fish — John Shaqi
Barney Blake, the Boy Privateer; or, The Cruise of the Queer FishJohnstone, Herrick
History
Barney Blake, the Boy Privateer; or, The Cruise of the Queer Fish
Johnstone, Herrick
Dime novels; Privateering -- Fiction; Sea stories; United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Fiction
"Captain, I shall drown, I know I shall," he pleaded, turning with an
imploring gesture, to Captain Joker, who was enjoying the thing
amazingly. "Captain, I 'ave a natural hantipathy to hanything but 'ot
water. A bath hin my present state of perspiration will be the certain
death of me, I know hit will. Now, please, captain, for the sake of hour
hold and hardent friendship--for the sake--"
But the captain was implacable, and the cockney, though struggling
violently, was swung over the taffrail. He was truly in a melting mood.
The day was hot enough, as you may judge by the latitude we were in, and
the course of sprouts through which we had been rushing our English
victim, had made the sweat come from every pore of his skin. The
revulsion, therefore, as his body hit the coolness of the rushing ocean
stream, must have been very great. As it was, he gave an awful scream,
and floundered like a stranded shark. Away he went, far out from the
stern in the swift wake of the gliding ship. When we drew him in and
landed him safe and sound, once more on deck, he was so overjoyed at his
rescue, that he pretended to have liked his bath.
"Do you know, I henjoyed hit himmensely," he exclaimed.
And when he was dressed, with a good, stiff glass of grog in his hold,
he really was one of the merriest men on the ship.
Well, that ended the ceremonies, but the holiday was not over by any
means. We had an extraordinary dinner, and, after the sun had set and
the bright tropic moon had risen, Snollygoster brought out his violin,
and we had a glorious dance. Grog was freely distributed, and I am
afraid there were a good many heads that felt abnormally large next
morning.
CHAPTER VII.
FUN ON SHORE.
In the latter part of the month of July, we succeeded in making a safe
entrance into the neutral port of Rio de Janeiro, after having captured
several more valuable prizes, and bringing two or three along with us.
There was a British man-o'-war, the Atalanta, in this port, when we
entered. She could have blown us out of water by one broadside of her
great guns, but, nevertheless, she respected the neutrality of the port,
and did not dare to molest us.
It may seem strange, from the manner in which Adolphus de Courcy had
been treated on board the Queer Fish, that he should regret leaving us.
But it is, nevertheless, a fact. When his freedom was given him, he
assembled the entire crew around him, thanked them for the jolly time
they had afforded him, and shook the captain warmly by the hand. He was
really an excellent-hearted fellow, and we gave him three hearty cheers
as he went over the ship's side to the boat which was to convey him and
his luggage to the British ship before-mentioned. And his sincerity was
not of a transient kind; for we afterward learned that he spoke well of
us to the officers of the Atalanta.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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