- end_line
- 1793
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:14.838Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1732
- text
- Even when I had become quite well and strong again, I wondered how the
sailors could really like such stuff; but many of them had a jug of it,
besides the Greenlander, which they brought along to sea with them, _to
taper off with,_ as they called it. But this tapering off did not last
very long, for the Jamaica was all gone on the second day, and the jugs
were tossed overboard. I wonder where they are now?
But to tell the truth, I found, in spite of its sharp taste, the
spirits I drank was just the thing I needed; but I suppose, if I could
have had a cup of nice hot coffee, it would have done quite as well,
and perhaps much better. But that was not to be had at that time of
night, or, indeed, at any other time; for the thing they called
_coffee,_ which was given to us every morning at breakfast, was the
most curious tasting drink I ever drank, and tasted as little like
coffee, as it did like lemonade; though, to be sure, it was generally
as cold as lemonade, and I used to think the cook had an icehouse, and
dropt ice into his coffee. But what was more curious still, was the
different quality and taste of it on different mornings. Sometimes it
tasted fishy, as if it was a decoction of Dutch herrings; and then it
would taste very salty, as if some _old horse,_ or sea-beef, had been
boiled in it; and then again it would taste a sort of cheesy, as if the
captain had sent his cheese-parings forward to make our coffee of; and
yet another time it would have such a very bad flavor, that I was
almost ready to think some old stocking-heels had been boiled in it.
What under heaven it was made of, that it had so many different bad
flavors, always remained a mystery; for when at work at his vocation,
our old cook used to keep himself close shut-up in his caboose, a
little cook-house, and never told any of his secrets.
Though a very serious character, as I shall hereafter show, he was for
all that, and perhaps for that identical reason, a very suspicious
looking sort of a cook, that I don’t believe would ever succeed in
getting the cooking at Delmonico’s in New York. It was well for him
that he was a black cook, for I have no doubt his color kept us from
seeing his dirty face! I never saw him wash but once, and that was at
one of his own soup pots one dark night when he thought no one saw him.
What induced him to be washing his face then, I never could find out;
but I suppose he must have suddenly waked up, after dreaming about some
real estate on his cheeks. As for his coffee, notwithstanding the
disagreeableness of its flavor, I always used to have a strange
curiosity every morning, to see what new taste it was going to have;
and though, sure enough, I never missed making a new discovery, and
adding another taste to my palate, I never found that there was any
change in the badness of the beverage, which always seemed the same in
that respect as before.
It may well be believed, then, that now when I was seasick, a cup of
such coffee as our old cook made would have done me no good, if indeed
it would not have come near making an end of me. And bad as it was, and
since it was not to be had at that time of night, as I said before, I
think I was excusable in taking something else in place of it, as I
did; and under the circumstances, it would be unhandsome of them, if my
fellow-members of the Temperance Society should reproach me for
breaking my bond, which I would not have done except in case of
necessity. But the evil effect of breaking one’s bond upon any occasion
whatever, was witnessed in the present case; for it insidiously opened
the way to subsequent breaches of it, which though very slight, yet
carried no apology with them.
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