- end_line
- 10581
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:14.843Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10506
- text
- Some of the steerage passengers, however, were provided with
sea-biscuit, and other perennial food, that was eatable all the year
round, fire or no fire.
There were several, moreover, who seemed better to do in the world than
the rest; who were well furnished with hams, cheese, Bologna sausages,
Dutch herrings, alewives, and other delicacies adapted to the
contingencies of a voyager in the steerage.
There was a little old Englishman on board, who had been a grocer
ashore, whose greasy trunks seemed all pantries; and he was constantly
using himself for a cupboard, by transferring their contents into his
own interior. He was a little light of head, I always thought. He
particularly doated on his long strings of sausages; and would
sometimes take them out, and play with them, wreathing them round him,
like an Indian juggler with charmed snakes. What with this diversion,
and eating his cheese, and helping himself from an inexhaustible junk
bottle, and smoking his pipe, and meditating, this crack-pated grocer
made time jog along with him at a tolerably easy pace.
But by far the most considerable man in the steerage, in point of
pecuniary circumstances at least, was a slender little pale-faced
English tailor, who it seemed had engaged a passage for himself and
wife in some imaginary section of the ship, called the _second cabin,_
which was feigned to combine the comforts of the first cabin with the
cheapness of the steerage. But it turned out that this second cabin was
comprised in the after part of the steerage itself, with nothing
intervening but a name. So to his no small disgust, he found himself
herding with the rabble; and his complaints to the captain were
unheeded.
This luckless tailor was tormented the whole voyage by his wife, who
was young and handsome; just such a beauty as farmers’-boys fall in
love with; she had bright eyes, and red cheeks, and looked plump and
happy.
She was a sad coquette; and did not turn away, as she was bound to do,
from the dandy glances of the cabin bucks, who ogled her through their
double-barreled opera glasses. This enraged the tailor past telling; he
would remonstrate with his wife, and scold her; and lay his matrimonial
commands upon her, to go below instantly, out of sight. But the lady
was not to be tyrannized over; and so she told him. Meantime, the bucks
would be still framing her in their lenses, mightily enjoying the fun.
The last resources of the poor tailor would be, to start up, and make a
dash at the rogues, with clenched fists; but upon getting as far as the
mainmast, the mate would accost him from over the rope that divided
them, and beg leave to communicate the fact, that he could come no
further. This unfortunate tailor was also a fiddler; and when fairly
baited into desperation, would rush for his instrument, and try to get
rid of his wrath by playing the most savage, remorseless airs he could
think of.
While thus employed, perhaps his wife would accost him—
“Billy, my dear;” and lay her soft hand on his shoulder.
But Billy, he only fiddled harder.
“Billy, my love!”
The bow went faster and faster.
“Come, now, Billy, my dear little fellow, let’s make it all up;” and
she bent over his knees, looking bewitchingly up at him, with her
irresistible eyes.
Down went fiddle and bow; and the couple would sit together for an hour
or two, as pleasant and affectionate as possible.
But the next day, the chances were, that the old feud would be renewed,
which was certain to be the case at the first glimpse of an opera-glass
from the cabin.
- title
- Chunk 4