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- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.274Z
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- text
- however, he has seen to it well, that no Temperance men—that is,
sailors who do not draw their government ration of grog, but take the
money for it—he has seen to it, that none of these _balkers_ are
numbered among his crew. Having now proved his men, he divulges his
plan to the assembled body; a solemn oath of secrecy is obtained, and
he waits the first fit opportunity to carry into execution his
nefarious designs.
At last it comes. One afternoon the barge carries the Commodore across
the Bay to a fine water-side settlement of noblemen’s seats, called
Praya Grande. The Commodore is visiting a Portuguese marquis, and the
pair linger long over their dinner in an arbour in the garden.
Meanwhile, the cockswain has liberty to roam about where he pleases. He
searches out a place where some choice _red-eye_ (brandy) is to be had,
purchases six large bottles, and conceals them among the trees. Under
the pretence of filling the boat-keg with water, which is always kept
in the barge to refresh the crew, he now carries it off into the grove,
knocks out the head, puts the bottles inside, reheads the keg, fills it
with water, carries it down to the boat, and audaciously restores it to
its conspicuous position in the middle, with its bung-hole up. When the
Commodore comes down to the beach, and they pull off for the ship, the
cockswain, in a loud voice, commands the nearest man to take that bung
out of the keg—that precious water will spoil. Arrived alongside the
frigate, the boat’s crew are overhauled, as usual, at the gangway; and
nothing being found on them, are passed. The master-at-arms now
descending into the barge, and finding nothing suspicious, reports it
_clean_, having put his finger into the open bung of the keg and tasted
that the water was pure. The barge is ordered out to the booms, and
deep night is waited for, ere the cockswain essays to snatch the
bottles from the keg.
But, unfortunately for the success of this masterly smuggler, one of
his crew is a weak-pated fellow, who, having drank somewhat freely
ashore, goes about the gun-deck throwing out profound, tipsy hints
concerning some unutterable proceeding on the ship’s anvil. A knowing
old sheet-anchor-man, an unprincipled fellow, putting this, that, and
the other together, ferrets out the mystery; and straightway resolves
to reap the goodly harvest which the cockswain has sowed. He seeks him
out, takes him to one side, and addresses him thus:
“Cockswain, you have been smuggling off some _red-eye_, which at this
moment is in your barge at the booms. Now, cockswain, I have stationed
two of my mess-mates at the port-holes, on that side of the ship; and
if they report to me that you, or any of your bargemen, offer to enter
that barge before morning, I will immediately report you as a smuggler
to the officer of the deck.”
The cockswain is astounded; for, to be reported to the deck-officer as
a smuggler, would inevitably procure him a sound flogging, and be the
disgraceful _breaking_ of him as a petty officer, receiving four
dollars a month beyond his pay as an able seaman. He attempts to bribe
the other to secrecy, by promising half the profits of the enterprise;
but the sheet-anchor-man’s integrity is like a rock; he is no
mercenary, to be bought up for a song. The cockswain, therefore, is
forced to swear that neither himself, nor any of his crew, shall enter
the barge before morning. This done, the sheet-anchor-man goes to his
confidants, and arranges his plans. In a word, he succeeds in
introducing the six brandy bottles into the ship; five of which he
sells at eight dollars a bottle; and then, with the sixth, between two
guns, he secretly regales himself and confederates; while the helpless
cockswain, stifling his rage, bitterly eyes them from afar.
Thus, though they say that there is honour among thieves, there is
little among man-of-war smugglers.
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