Told me I should learn to box the
compass--tried, but couldn't do it--so boxt the cabbing boy insted. Capting
several times calld to a man who was steering--"_Port, port_;" but though
he always anserd, "Eye, eye, sir," he didn't bring him a drop. The black
cook fell into the hold on the topp of his hed. Everybody sed he was gone
to Davy Jones's locker; but he warn't, for he soon came to again, drank 1/2
a pint of rumm, and declared it was--
[Illustration: THE REAL BLACK REVIVER.]
Saw a yung salor sitting on the top of one of the masts--thort of Dibdings
faymos see-song, and asked if he warn't
"The sweet little cherub that sits up aloft?"
Man laff'd, and said it wor only Bill Junk clearing the pennant halliards.
_1 o'clock._--Thort formerly that every sailer wore his pigtale at the back
of his head, like Mr. Tippy Cook--find I labored under a groce
mistake--they all carry their pigtale in their backy-boxes. When I beheld
the sailors working and heaving, and found that I was also beginning to
heave-too, I cuddn't help repeting the varse of the old song--which fitted
my case egsactly:--
"There's the capt'n he is our kimmander,
There's the bos'n and all the ship's crew,
There's the married men as well as the single,
Ken-ows what we poor sailors goes through.
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