Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 64, No. 398, December 1848Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 64, No. 398, December 1848
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
Well, two or three days after, the captain sent word to say the ship
would drop down with the morning tide, and Master Collins had better
be aboard by six o'clock. I went ashore with the boat, but the young
gemman's clothes warn't ready yet; so it was made up he was to come on
board from Gravesend the day after. But his mother and an old lady, a
friend of theirs, would have it they'd go and see his bed-room, and
take a look at the ship. There was a bit of a breeze with the tide,
and the old Indiaman bobbed up and down on it in the cold morning; you
could hear the wash of water poppling on to her rudder, with her
running gear blown out in a bend; and Missus Collins thought they'd
never get up the dirty black sides of the vessel, as she called 'em.
The other said her husband had been a captain, an' she laid claim to a
snatch of knowledge. "Sailor," says she to me, as we got under the
quarter, "that there tall mast is the main-bowsprit, ain't it? and
that other is the gallant bowling you call it, don't you?" says she.
"No doubt, marm," says I, winking to the boys not to laugh. "It's all
right," I says. Howsoever, as to the bed-room, the captain showed 'em
over the cabin, and put 'em off by saying the ship was so out of order
he couldn't say which rooms was to be which yet, though they needn't
fear Master Ned would get all comfortable; so ashore the poor woman
went, pretty well pleased, considerin' her heart was against the whole
consarn.
Well, the next afternoon, lying off Gravesend, out comes a wherry with
young master. One of the men said there was a midshipman in it.
"Midshipman, be blowed!" says I; "did ye ever see a reefer in a
wherry, or sitting out o' the starn-sheets? It's neither more nor less
nor the greenhorn we've got." "Why don't the bo'sun pipe to man
side-ropes for him!" says th' other; "but, my eye, Bob," says he to
me, "what a sight of traps the chap's got in the boat!--'twill be
enough to heel the Chester Castle to the side he berths upon, on an
even keel. Do he mean to have the captain's cabin, I wonder!" Up the
side he scrambles, with the help of a side-ladder, all togged out to
the nines in a span-new blue jacket and anchor buttons, a cap with a
gould band, and white ducks made to fit--as jemmy-jessamy a looking
fellow as you'd see of a cruise along London parks, with the watermen
singing out alongside to send down a tackle for the dunnage, which it
took a pair of purchase-blocks to hoist them out on board. "What's all
this?" says the mate, coming for'ard from the quarter-deck. "'Tis the
young gemman's traps, sir," I says. "What the devil!" says the mate,
"d'ye think we've room to stow all this lumber? Strike it down into
the forehold, Jacobs--but get out a blue shirt or two, and a Scotch
cap, for the young whelp first, if he wants to save that smooth
toggery of his for his mammy. You're as green as cabbage, I'm feared,
my lad!" says he. By this time the boy was struck all of a heap, an'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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