Blue Jackets; or, The Adventures of J. Thompson, A.B., Among "the Heathen Chinee": A Nautical NovelGreey, Edward
General
Blue Jackets; or, The Adventures of J. Thompson, A.B., Among "the Heathen Chinee": A Nautical Novel
Greey, Edward
Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Fiction; Seafaring life -- Fiction
How Mr. Blain drew this induction we cannot understand, but from that
hour they became fast friends and left off swearing. If either of them
were very much tried, as was sometimes the case, it would be noticed
that his mouth would move in a _peculiar_ manner, which might have been
taken for wordless or pantomimic "cussing," but when interrogated upon
this point, the old fellows would solemnly deny that their lips had
moved to form anything but silent prayers. Some months after they were
re-rated petty officers, and it was amusing to see how fearfully shocked
they would try to appear whenever they heard any one use strong
language; and to such a degree of godliness did old Spry arrive, that
upon one occasion he reported a shipmate for calling him an "old
damper," and it was with great difficulty that the first lieutenant
brought him to understand that it was a term of derision, not an oath.
"It sounded werry much like a D. to me, sir."
"My worthy man, I regret to be compelled to observe that if the gross
ignorance under which you labour renders you incompetent to seize the
signification of the expression _damper_; and causes you to contemplate
it as a profane expression, you must continue to retain your erroneous
impression, as the most elaborate explanation and analysis of the term
would be lost in the cimmerian gloom which overspreads your benighted
intelligence."
Spry bowed reverently, and turned away quite overcome by the
lieutenant's speech, as he observed to his chum Blain, "Not werry well
able to make out if the lieutenant were not a cussing of him in Chinee,"
as Russell was one of the few officers who could speak that language.
Although the Stingers were a reformed crew in many respects, yet they
were not a dull one, as their captain and officers encouraged them in
getting up amusements of every kind. They felt they were men, and did
their best to show their appreciation of their commander's kindness. Of
course there were many rough characters among them, but they were kept
within bounds by the better class of men. Clare was more reconciled to
his fate than ever he had been, but the lash had done its work with him,
and no one would have recognized the handsome Tom Clare of former times,
in the quiet, gloomy-looking sailor who moved among his fellows like an
automaton. One day Captain Woodward sent for the man and offered him a
rate, but Tom respectfully declined the honour.
"Why not? take it, my good man."
"It's too late, sir; too late."
"Come, come, my friend, don't look back upon the past. I hear you have
been in trouble. You must forget your punishment, as you have done your
weakness. You have overcome one, now conquer the other."
"Overcome what, sir?"
"Well, Lieutenant Crushe informed me that you had been brought to the
gratings through drink."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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