their courage were Jemmy Ducks and poor Smallbones, who had been put in his hammock to recover him from his refrigeration. The former said, “that if they were to sail with the devil, it could not be helped, pay and prize-money would still go on;” and the latter, who had quite recovered his self-possession, “vowed that dog or devil, he would never cease his attempts to destroy him—if he was the devil, or one of his imps, it was his duty as a Christian to oppose him, and he had no chance of better treatment if he were to remain quiet.” The snow-storm continued, and the men remained below, all but Jemmy Ducks, who leaned against the lee side of the cutter’s mast, and as the snow fell, sang, to a slow air, the following ditty, it probably being called to his recollection by the state of the weather.
’Twas at the landing-place that’s just below Mount Wyse,
Poll lean’d against the sentry’s box, a tear in both her eyes;
Her apron twisted round her arms, all for to keep them warm,
Being a windy Christmas-day, and also a snow-storm.
And Bet and Sue
Both stood there too,
A shivering by her side,
They both were dumb,
And both look’d glum,
As they watch’d the ebbing tide.
Poll put her arms a-kimbo,
At the admiral’s house look’d she,
To thoughts before in limbo,
She now a vent gave free.
You have sent the ship in a gale to work,
On a lee shore to be jamm’d,
I’ll give you a piece of my mind, old Turk,
Port Admiral, you be damned.
Chorus.—We’ll give you a piece of our mind, old Turk, Port Admiral, you be damned. Who ever heard in the sarvice of a frigate made to sail On Christmas-day, it blowing hard, with sleet, and snow, and hail? I wish I had the fishing of your back that is so bent, I’d use the galley poker hot unto your heart’s content. Here Bet and Sue Are with me too, A shivering by my side, They both are dumb, And both look glum, And watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo, At the admiral’s house look’d she, To thoughts that were in limbo, She now a vent gave free. You’ve got a roaring fire I’ll bet, In it your toes are jamm’d: Let’s give him a piece of our mind, my Bet, Port Admiral, you be damned. Chorus.—Let’s give him a piece of our mind, my Bet, Port Admiral, you be damned. I had the flour and plums all pick’d, and suet all chopp’d fine, To mix into a pudding rich for all the mess to dine; I pawn’d my ear-rings for the beef, it weigh’d at least a stone, Now my fancy man is sent to sea, and I am left alone. Here’s Bet and Sue Who stand here too, A shivering by my side; They both are dumb, They both look glum, And watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo, At the admiral’s house look’d she, To thoughts that were in limbo, She now a vent gave free. You’ve got a turkey, I’ll be bound, With which you will be cramm’d; I’ll give you a bit of my mind, old hound, Port Admiral, you be damned. Chorus.—I’ll give you a bit of my mind, old hound, Port Admiral, you be damned. I’m sure that in this weather they cannot cook their meat, To eat it raw on Christmas-day will be a pleasant treat; But let us all go home, girls; it’s no use waiting here, We’ll hope that Christmas-day to come they will have better cheer. So, Bet and Sue, Don’t stand here too, A shivering by my side; Don’t keep so dumb, Don’t look so glum, Nor watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo, At the admiral’s house look’d she, To thoughts that were in limbo, She now a vent gave free. So while they cut their raw salt junks, With dainties you’ll be cramm’d; Here’s once for all my mind, old hunks, Port Admiral, you be damned. Chorus.—So once for all our mind, old hunks, Port Admiral, you be damned.
“Mein Gott! but dat is rank mutiny, Mynheer Shemmy Tucks,” observed Corporal Van Spitter, who had come upon the deck unperceived by Jemmy, and had listened to the song.
“Mutiny, is it?” replied Jemmy; “and report this also—
“I’ll give you a bit of my mind, fat thief;
You, corporal, may be damned.”
“Dat is better and better—I mean to say, worser and worser,” replied the corporal.
“Take care I don’t pitch you overboard,” replied Jemmy, in wrath.
“Pat is most worse still,” said the corporal, stalking aft, and leaving Jemmy Ducks to follow up the train of his own thoughts.
Jemmy, who had been roused by the corporal, and felt the snow insinuating itself into the nape of his neck, thought he might as well go down below.
The corporal made his report, and Mr. Vanslyperken made his comments, but he did no more, for he was aware that a mere trifle would cause a general mutiny. The recovery of Snarleyyow consoled him, and little thinking what had been the events of the preceding night, he thought he might as well prove his devotion to the widow, by paying his respects in a snow-storm—but not in the attire of the day before—Mr. Vanslyperken was too economical for that; so he remained in his loose thread-bare great-coat and foul-weather hat. Having first locked up his dog in the cabin, and entrusted the key to the corporal, he went on shore, and presented himself at the widow’s door, which was opened by Babette, who with her person barred entrance: she did not wait for Vanslyperken to speak first.
“Mynheer Vanslyperken, you can’t come in. Frau Vandersloosh is very ill in bed—the doctor says it’s a bad case—she cannot be seen.”
“Ill!” exclaimed Vanslyperken; “your dear, charming mistress ill! Good heavens! what is the matter, my dear Babette?” replied Vanslyperken, with all the pretended interest of a devoted lover.
“All through you, Mr. Vanslyperken,” replied Babette.
“Me!” exclaimed Vanslyperken.
“Well, all through your nasty cur, which is the same thing.”
“My dog! I little thought that he was left here,” replied the lieutenant; “but, Babette, let me in, if you please, for the snow falls fast, and—”
“And you must not come in, Mr. Vanslyperken,” replied Babette, pushing him back.
“Good heavens! what is the matter?”
Babette then narrated what had passed, and as she was very prolix, Mr. Vanslyperken was a mass of snow on the windward side of him before she had finished, which she did, by pulling down her worsted stockings, and showing the wounds which she had received as her portion in the last night’s affray. Having thus given ocular evidence of the truth of what she had asserted, Babette then delivered the message of her mistress; to wit, “that until the dead body of Snarleyyow was laid at the porch where they now stood, he, Mr. Vanslyperken, would never gain re-admission.” So saying, and not feeling it very pleasant to continue a conversation in a snow-storm, Babette very unceremoniously slammed the door in Mr. Vanslyperken’s face, and left him to digest the communication with what appetite he might. Mr. Vanslyperken, notwithstanding the cold weather, hastened from the door in a towering passion. The perspiration actually ran down his face, and mingled with the melting snow. “To
