Yes, I’ve sailed under some ’cute skippers in my time, said the night-watchman; them that go down in big ships see the wonders o’ the deep, you know, he added with a sudden chuckle, but the one I’m going to tell you about ought never to have been trusted out without ’is ma. A good many o’ my skippers had fads, but this one was the worst I ever sailed under. It’s some few years ago now; I’d shipped on his barque, the John Elliott, as slow-going an old tub as ever I was aboard of, when I wasn’t in quite a fit an’ proper state to know what I was doing, an’ I hadn’t been in her two days afore I found out his ’obby through overhearing a few remarks made by the second mate, who came up from dinner in a hurry to make ’em. ’I don’t mind saws an’ knives hung round the cabin, ’ he ses to the fust mate, ’but when a chap has a ’uman ’and alongside ’is plate, studying it while folks is at their food, it’s more than a Christian man can stand.
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