The Brassbounder: A Tale of the Sea. David W. Bone

Grant's for a week 'r two arter th' money was gone, an' 'e guv' me five bob an' a new suit of oilskins out 'er my month's advawnce on this 'ere 'ooker!"

      "Indeed to goodness, now! That iss not pad at all, indeed," said John Lewis, our brawny Welshman. "I came home in th' Wanderer, o' St. Johnss, an' wass paid off with thirty-fife poun'ss, I tell 'oo. I stayed in Owen Evanss' house in Great Clyde Street, an' when I went there I give him ten poun'ss t' keep for me. 'Indeed, an' I will, m' lad,' he sayss, 'an' 'oo can have it whenever 'oo likes,' he sayss.... Damn him for a rogue, I tell 'oo!"

      Martin laughed. "Well, ye was soft. Them blokes' bizness is keepin', ain't it?"

      "Iss, indeed! Well, I tell 'oo, I got in trouble with a policeman in th' Broomielaw. It took four o' them to run me in, indeed!" pleasantly reminiscent; "an' the next mornin' I wass put up for assaultin' th' police. 'I don't know nothin' about it,' I sayss, when the old fella' asked me. 'Thirty shillins' or fourteen days,' he sayss! ... Well, I didn't haf any money left, but I told a policeman, and he said he would send for Owen Evanss.... After a while Evanss come to the office, an' they took me in. I was quite quiet, indeed, bein' sober, I tell 'oo.... 'Owen, machgen-i,' I sayss, 'will 'oo pay the thirty shillin's out of the ten poun'ss I give 'oo?' 'What ten poun'ss?' he sayss. 'What ten poun'ss?' I sayss. 'Diwedd-i, the ten poun'ss I give 'oo t' keep for me,' I sayss. 'Ten poun'ss,' he sayss, 'ten poun'ss to keep for 'oo, an' it iss two weeks' board an' lodgin' 'oo are owin' me, indeed!' 'Damn 'oo!' I sayss. 'Did I not give 'oo ten poun'ss when I wass paid off out of the Wanderer, an' 'oo said 'oo would keep it for ne and give it back again when I wanted it?' I sayss.... 'What are 'oo talkin' about?' he sayss. ''Oo must be drunk, indeed!' ... 'Have 'oo got a receipt for it, m' lad?' sayss the Sergeant. 'No, indeed,' I sayss. 'I didn't ask him for a receipt.' ... 'Oh,' he sayss, 'we've heard this pefore,' he sayss, shuttin' th' book an' signin' to the policeman to put me away. I made for Owen Evanss, but there wass too many policemen indeed.... So I had to serve the month, I tell 'oo!" John stroked his beard mournfully, muttering, "Ten poun'ss, indeed! Ten poun'ss, py damm!"

      "An' didn't ye git square wi' th' bloke wot done ye?" asked the bo'sun.

      "Oh, iss! Iss, indeed!" John brightened up at thought of it. "When I came out I went straight to Great Clyde Street an' give him th' best hidin' he effer got, I tell 'oo! I took ten poun'ss of skin an' hair out of him pefore th' police came. Fine! I think it wass fine, an' I had to do two months for that.... When I come out the street wass full of policemen, indeed, so I signed in this barque an' sold my advance note to a Jew for ten pob!"

      Ten shillings! For what, if the discounter saw to it that his man went to sea, was worth three pounds when the ship had cleared the Channel! On the other hand, Dan Nairn, a Straits of Canso sailor-farmer (mostly farmer), had something to say.

      "Waall, boy-ees, they ain't awl like that, I guess! I came acraus caow-punchin' on a Donalds'n cattle boat, an' landed in Glasgow with damn all but a stick ov chewin' tebaccer an' two dallars, Canad'n, in my packet. I put up with a Scowwegian in Centre Street; a stiff good feller too! Guess I was 'baout six weeks or more in 'is 'aouse, an' he give me a tidy lot 'er fixin's—oilskins an' sea-boots an' awl—out 'er my month's advance."

      "Oh, some is good and some ain't," said Martin. "Ah knowed a feller wot 'ad an 'ard-up boardin'-'ouse in Tiger Bay. Awl th' stiffs in Cardiff use' ter lay back on 'im w'en nobody else 'ud give 'em 'ouse room—hoodlums and Dagos an' Greeks wot couldn't get a ship proper. 'E 'ad rooms in 'is 'ouse fitted up wi' bunks like a bloomin' fo'cs'le, ah' 'is crowd got their grub sarved out, same's they wos at sea. Every tide time 'e wos down at th' pier-'ead wi' six or seven of 'is gang—'ook-pots an' pannikins, an' bed an' piller—waitin' their chanst ov a 'pier-'ead jump.' That wos th' only way 'e could get 'is men away, 'cos they worn't proper sailormen as c'd go aboard a packet 'n ast for a sight like you an' me. Most of 'em 'ad bad discharges or dead-'un's papers or somethin'! 'Pier-'ead jumps,' they wos, an' they wouldn't never 'a' got a ship, only f'r that feller an' 'is 'ard-up boardin'-'ouse."

      Martin picked up his precious 'log' and turned to go below. "Anyways, good or bad," he said, "them 'sharks' 'as got my ol' iron fer the last month, an' if this worn't a starvation bloomin' Scotch packet, an' a crew of bloomin' know-alls, fixing me with a fancy curl of lip, we'd a chanteyed th' 'dead 'orse' aft t'night an' ast th' Ol' Man t' splice the mainbrace."

      He passed into the forecastle, and through the open door we could hear him sing a snatch of the 'dead horse' chantey:—

      "But now th' month is up, ol' turk! (An' we says so, an' we 'opes so.) Get up, ye swine, an' look fer work! (Oh! Poor—ol'—man!)

      "Get up, ye swine, an' look fer graft! (An' we says so, an' we 'opes so.) While we lays on an' yanks ye aft! (Oh! Poor—ol'—man!)"