We continued singing alternately for some time, until he fell to setting
up his throat when I was at work, and this confused and stopped me. He
then favoured me with what he called the Pirate's Dance, a very wild,
grotesque movement, with no elegance whatever to be hurt by his being in
liquor; and I think I see him now, whipping off his coat, and sprawling
and flapping about in high boots and a red waistcoat, flourishing his
arms, snapping his fingers, and now and again bursting into a stave to
keep step to. When he was done, I took the floor with the hornpipe,
whistling the air, and double-shuffling, toe-and-heeling, and quivering
from one leg to another very briskly. He lay back against the bulkhead
grasping a can half full of punch, roaring loudly at my antics; and when
I sank down, breathless, would have had me go on, hiccuping that though
he had known scores of English sailors, he had never seen that dance
better performed.
By this time I was extremely excited and extraordinarily merry, and
losing hold of my judgment, began to indulge in sundry pleasantries
concerning his nation and countrymen, asking with many explosions of
laughter, how it was that they continued at the trouble of building
ships for us to use against them, and if he did not think the "flower de
louse" a neater symbol for people who put snuff into their soup and
restricted their ablutions to their faces than the tricolour, being too
muddled to consider that he was ignorant of that flag; and in short I
was so offensive, in spite of my ridiculous merriment, that his savage
nature broke out. He assailed the English with every injurious term his
drunken condition suffered him to recollect; and starting up with his
little eyes wildly rolling, he clapped his hand to his side, as if
feeling for a sword, and calling me by a very ugly French word, bade me
come on, and he would show me the difference between a Frenchman and a
beast of an Englishman.
I laughed at him with all my might, which so enraged him that, swaying
to right and left, he advanced as if to fall upon me. I started to my
feet and tumbled over the bench I had jumped from, and lay sprawling;
and the bench oversetting close to him, he kicked against it and fell
too, fetching the deck a very hard blow. He groaned heavily and muttered
that he was killed. I tried to rise, but my legs gave way, and then the
fumes of the punch overpowered me, for I recollect no more.
When I awoke it was pitch dark. My hands, legs, and feet seemed formed
of ice, my head of burning brass. I thought I was in my cot, and felt
with my hands till I touched Tassard's cold bald head, which so
terrified me that I uttered a loud cry and sprang erect. Then
recollection returned, and I heartily cursed myself for my folly and
wickedness. Good God! thought I, that I should be so mad as to drown my
senses when never was any wretch in such need of all his reason as I!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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