Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy by L. A. Meyer Page B
Authors: L. A. Meyer
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Palma, all those years ago, us mates rolling down the street on our first liberty call, hey?" Davy is close enough to me that I can give him a poke in the ribs. "Hey?"
"Right, 'cept then you was a scrawny little runt of a boy I could kick around and now you's the Captain of the ship that has me poor arse on it," grumbles Davy. "Don't seem right, somehow."
"Aw, give it a rest, Davy," says Tink, patting my hand that rests on his arm. "Least you ain't got some brutal Bo'sun's Mate layin' his knobby over yer back anytime yer a bit too slow to do his biddin'. You gotta admit this is better than that. And our Jacky was a bossy one even back then. You gotta remember that. So you should be used to it."
"That's true," allows Davy, "butâ"
"And you'd never have met your lovely Annie if not for me," I say, hooking my other arm in his and squeezing it against me. "Admit it, you."
"All right," he says, and laughs. "I'll own up to that. And I'll also own that there's a likely lookin' tavern right there and my throat is powerful dry."
The sign over the place says The Swamp Fox, and there is a crude painting of a grinning fox under the words.
"Looks like just the place," says I, grinning my foxy grin. "Let's go, lads. The Brotherhood forever!"
***
We come out somewhat later, considerably refreshed, and head back toward the docks. The ale was cool and plentiful and the wine was good and so was the food. We link arms and start singing some of our old songs, and on the way, we meet John Thomas and Finn McGee, who report that the logs and planks are onboard. I know they have money in their pockets and are looking to spend it, so I point out The Swamp Fox and give it a good report and warn them to be back to the
Nancy B.
by six in the morning 'cause we will be sailing then and will leave them here if they don't make it back. I don't mean it, but I must make the threat. The two roughnecks grin and knuckle their brows and are gone. As they go, I see that Daniel and Joannie have come back to join us from wherever they had got off to. They both wear new straw hats as well as sheepish grins. I can only imagine what mischief they have been up to, but I don't ask. They run ahead, holding hands and laughing as they go.
I reflect that it has been a very good day.
The now very jolly Brotherhood passes an alley, and we are not at all surprised to see that from the end of it protrudes a pair of tarpaulin-trousered legs topped with a striped shirt. The owner of both the legs and the shirt is plainly a poor seaman who has had a bit too much to drink. We recognize him as one we had seen earlier in The Swamp Fox, and he was well into his cups then, even before he staggered out the door.
Davy heaves a theatrical sigh, shakes his head, and says, "Alas, another poor innocent sailorman brought low by wild women, conniving landlubbers, and strong drink. It has ever been so." Davy, the hypocrite, had certainly downed his share of ale during our time in The Fox, that's for sure. The dog clears his throat and begins to sing "The Drunken Sailor," a chantey sung by sailors when they haul on the buntlines to raise a ship's heavy sails:
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
Earl-lie in the morn-ing!
Then all three of us join in bellowing out the chorus:
Way, hey, and up she rises,
Way, hey, and up she rises,
Way, hey, and up she rises,
Earl-lie in the morn-ing!
Then Tink chimes in with one of the many, many verses that deal with what to do with the unfortunate swab:
Put him in the scuppers with a hose pipe on him,
Take him and shake him and try to wake him,
Give him a dose of salt and water,
Earl-lie in the morn-ing!
Another round of the chorus and I come in with my favorite verse. I like it for its simplicity and the image it brings to me ... er ... my ... mind:
Shave his belly with a rusty razor,
Shave his belly with a rusty razor,
Shave his belly with a
"Right, 'cept then you was a scrawny little runt of a boy I could kick around and now you's the Captain of the ship that has me poor arse on it," grumbles Davy. "Don't seem right, somehow."
"Aw, give it a rest, Davy," says Tink, patting my hand that rests on his arm. "Least you ain't got some brutal Bo'sun's Mate layin' his knobby over yer back anytime yer a bit too slow to do his biddin'. You gotta admit this is better than that. And our Jacky was a bossy one even back then. You gotta remember that. So you should be used to it."
"That's true," allows Davy, "butâ"
"And you'd never have met your lovely Annie if not for me," I say, hooking my other arm in his and squeezing it against me. "Admit it, you."
"All right," he says, and laughs. "I'll own up to that. And I'll also own that there's a likely lookin' tavern right there and my throat is powerful dry."
The sign over the place says The Swamp Fox, and there is a crude painting of a grinning fox under the words.
"Looks like just the place," says I, grinning my foxy grin. "Let's go, lads. The Brotherhood forever!"
***
We come out somewhat later, considerably refreshed, and head back toward the docks. The ale was cool and plentiful and the wine was good and so was the food. We link arms and start singing some of our old songs, and on the way, we meet John Thomas and Finn McGee, who report that the logs and planks are onboard. I know they have money in their pockets and are looking to spend it, so I point out The Swamp Fox and give it a good report and warn them to be back to the
Nancy B.
by six in the morning 'cause we will be sailing then and will leave them here if they don't make it back. I don't mean it, but I must make the threat. The two roughnecks grin and knuckle their brows and are gone. As they go, I see that Daniel and Joannie have come back to join us from wherever they had got off to. They both wear new straw hats as well as sheepish grins. I can only imagine what mischief they have been up to, but I don't ask. They run ahead, holding hands and laughing as they go.
I reflect that it has been a very good day.
The now very jolly Brotherhood passes an alley, and we are not at all surprised to see that from the end of it protrudes a pair of tarpaulin-trousered legs topped with a striped shirt. The owner of both the legs and the shirt is plainly a poor seaman who has had a bit too much to drink. We recognize him as one we had seen earlier in The Swamp Fox, and he was well into his cups then, even before he staggered out the door.
Davy heaves a theatrical sigh, shakes his head, and says, "Alas, another poor innocent sailorman brought low by wild women, conniving landlubbers, and strong drink. It has ever been so." Davy, the hypocrite, had certainly downed his share of ale during our time in The Fox, that's for sure. The dog clears his throat and begins to sing "The Drunken Sailor," a chantey sung by sailors when they haul on the buntlines to raise a ship's heavy sails:
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
Earl-lie in the morn-ing!
Then all three of us join in bellowing out the chorus:
Way, hey, and up she rises,
Way, hey, and up she rises,
Way, hey, and up she rises,
Earl-lie in the morn-ing!
Then Tink chimes in with one of the many, many verses that deal with what to do with the unfortunate swab:
Put him in the scuppers with a hose pipe on him,
Take him and shake him and try to wake him,
Give him a dose of salt and water,
Earl-lie in the morn-ing!
Another round of the chorus and I come in with my favorite verse. I like it for its simplicity and the image it brings to me ... er ... my ... mind:
Shave his belly with a rusty razor,
Shave his belly with a rusty razor,
Shave his belly with a
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