“I hain’t a-goin’ to hear sich rubbish,” remarked one seaman, who had taken offense at another’s detailed account of his terrible experience in some sea fight of the Civil War. “Sich things ain’t a-happenin’ to common seamen.” “Yuh don’t need to, yuh know,” sarcastically replied the other. “This here’s a free country, I guess, ’cept for criminals,--and they hain’t all locked up, as they should be.” “So I thought when I first seed yuh,” came the sneering reply, and then followed a hoarse chuckle which was only silenced by the stamping away of an irate salt with cheeks puffed out in rage. Nearly all are irritatingly independent, resenting the least suggestion of superiority with stubborn sarcasm or indifference. Thus one, who owned his own ship once and had carefully refrained from whistling in deference to the superstitious line: “If you whistle aloud you’ll call up a blow; if noisy you’ll bring on a calm,” met another strolling about the grounds exuberantly indulging a long-restrained propensity to “pipe the merry lay.” “I’ll bet you wouldn’t whistle aboard my ship,” said he insinuatingly. “Yeh! But I ain’t aboard yer ship, thankee--I’m on my own deck.” And “Haul in the bow lines; Jenny, you’re my darling!” triumphantly swelled out on the evening breeze. Down on the unplaned planks of the Snug Harbor wharf a score of old salts, regardless of slivers, sit the livelong day and watch the white-winged craft passing up and down. Being “square-riggers”--that is, having served all their lives aboard ship, barks and brigs--they look with silent contempt upon the fore and aft vessels of the harbor as they sail by. Presently comes, “Hello, Jim! Goin’ to launch her?” from one who is contemplating with a quizzical eye a little weazened old man who comes clambering down the side of the dock with a miniature ship under his arm and a broad smile of satisfaction on his face. “Ay, that’s it,” answers the newcomer. He has spent many weeks in building the little ship and now will be decided whether or not his skill has been wasted on a bad model. At once the critical faculty of the tars on the dock is engaged, and he of the boat becomes the subject of a brisk discussion. Sapient admonitions, along with long squirts of tobacco juice, are vouchsafed, the latter most accurately aimed at some neighboring target. Sarcasm is not wanting, the ability of the builder as well as the merit of his craft coming in for comment. The launching of such a craft has even engendered bitter hatreds and not a few fights.