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- into one of the kegs; and drank from its spout. But to obviate the
absorption inseparable from decanting, we at last hit upon something
better,—my comrade’s shoe, which, deprived of its quarters, narrowed at
the heel, and diligently rinsed out in the sea, was converted into a
handy but rather limber ladle. This we kept suspended in the bung-hole
of the breaker, that it might never twice absorb the water.
Now pewter imparts flavor to ale; a Meerschaum bowl, the same to the
tobacco of Smyrna; and goggle green glasses are deemed indispensable to
the bibbing of Hock. What then shall be said of a leathern goblet for
water? Try it, ye mariners who list.
One morning, taking his wonted draught, Jarl fished up in his ladle a
deceased insect; something like a Daddy-long-legs, only more corpulent.
Its fate? A sea-toss? Believe it not; with all those precious drops
clinging to its lengthy legs. It was held over the ladle till the last
globule dribbled; and even then, being moist, honest Jarl was but loth
to drop it overboard.
For our larder, we could not endure the salt beef; it was raw as a live
Abyssinian steak, and salt as Cracow. Besides, the Feegee simile would
not have held good with respect to it. It was far from being “tender as
a dead man.” The biscuit only could we eat; not to be wondered at; for
even on shipboard, seamen in the tropics are but sparing feeders.
And here let not, a suggestion be omitted, most valuable to any future
castaway or sailaway as the case may be. Eat not your biscuit dry; but
dip it in the sea: which makes it more bulky and palatable. During meal
times it was soak and sip with Jarl and me: one on each side of the
Chamois dipping our biscuit in the brine. This plan obviated
finger-glasses at the conclusion of our repast. Upon the whole,
dwelling upon the water is not so bad after all. The Chinese are no
fools. In the operation of making your toilet, how handy to float in
your ewer!
CHAPTER XV.
A Stitch In Time Saves Nine
Like most silent earnest sort of people, my good Viking was a pattern
of industry. When in the boats after whales, I have known him carry
along a roll of sinnate to stitch into a hat. And the boats lying
motionless for half an hour or so, waiting the rising of the chase, his
fingers would be plying at their task, like an old lady knitting. Like
an experienced old-wife too, his digits had become so expert and
conscientious, that his eyes left them alone; deeming optic supervision
unnecessary. And on this trip of ours, when not otherwise engaged, he
was quite as busy with his fingers as ever: unraveling old Cape Horn
hose, for yarn wherewith to darn our woolen frocks; with great patches
from the skirts of a condemned reefing jacket, panneling the seats of
our “ducks;” in short, veneering our broken garments with all manner of
choice old broadcloths.
With the true forethought of an old tar, he had brought along with him
nearly the whole contents of his chest. His precious “Ditty Bag,”
containing his sewing utensils, had been carefully packed away in the
bottom of one of his bundles; of which he had as many as an old maid on
her travels. In truth, an old salt is very much of an old maid, though,
strictly speaking, far from deserving that misdeemed appellative.
Better be an old maid, a woman with herself for a husband, than the
wife of a fool; and Solomon more than hints that all men are fools; and
every wise man knows himself to be one. When playing the sempstress,
Jarl’s favorite perch was the triangular little platform in the bow;
which being the driest and most elevated part of the boat, was best
adapted to his purpose. Here for hours and hours together the honest
old tailor would sit darning and sewing away, heedless of the wide
ocean around; while forever, his slouched Guayaquil hat kept bobbing up
and down against the horizon before us.
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