Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, CompleteVarious
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, Complete
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
[pg 22] THE SAILORS SECRET. In the yearlet me seebut no matter about
the datemy father and mother died of a typhus fever, leaving me to the
care of an only relative, and uncle, by my fathers side. His name was
Box, as my name is Box. I was a babby in long clothes at that time, not
even so much as christened; so uncle, taking the hint, I suppose, from
the lid of his sea-chest, had me called Bellophron Box. Bellophron being
the name of the ship of which he was sailing-master.
I shant say anything about my education; though I was brought up in
A Pirate Boarding Battle A FIRST RATE BOARDING-SCHOOL.
Its not much to boast of; but as soon as I could bear the weight of a
cockade and a dirk, uncle got me a berth as midshipman on board his own
ship. So there I was, Mr. Bellophron Box. I didnt like the sea or the
service, being continually disgusted at the partiality shown towards me,
for in less than a month I was put over the heads of all my superior
officers. You may starebut its true; for I was mast-headed for a week
at a stretch. When we put into port, Captain called me into his
cabin, and politely informed me that if I chose to go on shore, and
should find it inconvenient to return, no impertinent inquiries should
be made after me. I availed myself of the hint, and exactly one year and
two months after setting foot on board the Bellophron, I was Master
Bellophron Box again.
Well, now for my story. There was one Tom Johnson on board, a foksell
man, as they called him, who was very kind to me; he tried to teach me
to turn a quid, and generously helped me to drink my grog. As I was
unmercifully quizzed in the cockpit, I grew more partial to the society
of Tom than to that of my brother middies. Tom always addressed
me,Sir, and they named me Puddinghead; till at last we might be called
friends. During many a night-watch, when I have sneaked away for a
snooze among the hen-coops, has Tom saved me from detection, and the
consequent pleasant occupation of carrying about a bucket of water on
the end of a capstan bar.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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