- end_line
- 12314
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:14.846Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 12239
- text
- it.
Going forward, we found the sailors congregated on the forecastle-deck,
engaged in some earnest discussion; while several carts on the wharf,
loaded with their chests, were just in the act of driving off, destined
for the boarding-houses uptown. By the looks of our shipmates, I saw
very plainly that they must have some mischief under weigh; and so it
turned out.
Now, though Captain Riga had not been guilty of any particular outrage
against the sailors; yet, by a thousand small meannesses—such as
indirectly causing their allowance of bread and beef to be diminished,
without betraying any appearance of having any inclination that way,
and without speaking to the sailors on the subject—by this, and kindred
actions, I say, he had contracted the cordial dislike of the whole
ship’s company; and long since they had bestowed upon him a name
unmentionably expressive of their contempt.
The voyage was now concluded; and it appeared that the subject being
debated by the assembly on the forecastle was, how best they might give
a united and valedictory expression of the sentiments they entertained
toward their late lord and master. Some emphatic symbol of those
sentiments was desired; some unmistakable token, which should forcibly
impress Captain Riga with the justest possible notion of their
feelings.
It was like a meeting of the members of some mercantile company, upon
the eve of a prosperous dissolution of the concern; when the
subordinates, actuated by the purest gratitude toward their president,
or chief, proceed to vote him a silver pitcher, in token of their
respect. It was something like this, I repeat—but with a material
difference, as will be seen.
At last, the precise manner in which the thing should be done being
agreed upon, Blunt, the “Irish cockney,” was deputed to summon the
captain. He knocked at the cabin-door, and politely requested the
steward to inform Captain Riga, that some gentlemen were on the
pier-head, earnestly seeking him; whereupon he joined his comrades.
In a few moments the captain sallied from the cabin, and found the
_gentlemen_ alluded to, strung along the top of the bulwarks, on the
side next to the wharf. Upon his appearance, the row suddenly wheeled
about, presenting their backs; and making a motion, which was a polite
salute to every thing before them, but an abominable insult to all who
happened to be in their rear, they gave three cheers, and at one bound,
cleared the ship.
True to his imperturbable politeness while in port, Captain Riga only
lifted his hat, smiled very blandly, and slowly returned into his
cabin.
Wishing to see the last movements of this remarkable crew, who were so
clever ashore and so craven afloat, Harry and I followed them along the
wharf, till they stopped at a sailor retreat, poetically denominated
“The Flashes.” And here they all came to anchor before the bar; and the
landlord, a lantern-jawed landlord, bestirred himself behind it, among
his villainous old bottles and decanters. He well knew, from their
looks, that his customers were “flush,” and would spend their money
freely, as, indeed, is the case with most seamen, recently paid off.
It was a touching scene.
“Well, maties,” said one of them, at last—“I spose we shan’t see each
other again:—come, let’s splice the main-brace all round, and drink to
_the last voyage!”_
Upon this, the landlord danced down his glasses, on the bar, uncorked
his decanters, and deferentially pushed them over toward the sailors,
as much as to say—_“Honorable gentlemen, it is not for me to allowance
your liquor;—help yourselves, your honors.”_
And so they did; each glass a bumper; and standing in a row, tossed
them all off; shook hands all round, three times three; and then
disappeared in couples, through the several doorways; for _“The
Flashes”_ was on a corner.
- title
- Chunk 5