Part 11 (1/2)
His excuses were cut short by To into aof winds and the creaking of an this ancient, ancient ditty, To all round him to make the tune and words fit a little:
”There is a crack packet--crack packet o' faht's her name
You may talk o' your fliers--S-tail and Black Ball-- But the Dreadnought's the packet that can beat theht she lies in the River Mersey, Because of the tugboat to take her to sea; But when she's off soundings you shortly will know (Chorus) She's the Liverpool packet--O Lord, let her go!
”Now the Dreadnought she's howlin' 'crost the Banks o' Newfoundland, Where the water's all shallow and the bottom's all sand
Sez all the little fishes that swim to an' fro: (Chorus) 'She's the Liverpool packet--O Lord, let her go!'”
There were scores of verses, for he worked the Dreadnought every mile of the way between Liverpool and New York as conscientiously as though he were on her deck, and the accordion pumped and the fiddle squeaked beside hih McGinn, ould pilot the vessel in” Then they called on Harvey, who felt very flattered, to contribute to the entertainment; but all that he could remember were soht at the caht be appropriate to the time and place, but he had no ht down one foot with a bang, and cried, ”Don't go on, young feller That's a ment--one o' the worst kind, too, becaze it's catchin' to the ear”
”I orter ha' warned you,” said Dan ”Thet allus fetches dad”
”What's wrong?” said Harvey, surprised and a little angry
”All you're goin' to say,” said Disko ”All dead wrong from start to finish, an' Whittier he's to blaht any Marblehead man, but 'tweren't no fault o' Ireson's My father he told ain, an' this is the way 'twuz”
”For the wan hundreth ti Jack, under his breath
”Ben Ireson he was skipper o' the Betty, young feller, comin' home frum the Banks--that was before the war of 1812, but jestice is jestice at all times They f'und the Active o' Portland, an' Gibbons o' that town he was her skipper; they f'und her leakin' off Cape Cod Light There was a terr'ble gale on, an' they was gettin' the Betty home's fast as they could craowd her Well, Ireson he said there warn't any sense to reskin' a boat in that sea; the men they wouldn't hev it; and he laid it before them to stay by the Active till the sea run daown a piece
They wouldn't hev that either, hangin' araound the Cape in any sech weather, leak or no leak They jest up stays'l an' quit, nat'rally takin' Ireson with 'em Folks to Marblehead was mad at him not runnin'
the risk, and becaze nex' day, when the sea was ca'am (they never stopped to think o' that), some of the Active's folk was took off by a Truro man They come into Marblehead with their own tale to tell, sayin' how Ireson had shamed his town, an' so forth an' so on; an'
Ireson's 'in' 'em, an' they went back on Ireson, an' swore he was respons'ble for the hull act
'Tweren't the women neither that tarred and feathered him--Marblehead women don't act that way--'twas a passel o' men an' boys, an' they carted him araound town in an old dory till the bottom fell aout, an'
Ireson he told 'em they'd be sorry for it some day Well, the facts came aout later, same's they usually do, too late to be any ways useful to an honestan' picked up the slack eend of a lyin' tale, an' tarred and feathered Ben Ireson all over onct more after he was dead 'Twas the only time Whittier ever slipped up, an' 'tweren't fair I whaled Dan good when he brought that piece back froive you the facts, hereafter an' evermore to be remembered Ben Ireson weren't no sech kind o' man as Whittier makes aout; my father he knew him well, before an' after that business, an' you beware o' hasty jedg feller Next!”
Harvey had never heard Disko talk so long, and collapsed with burning cheeks; but, as Dan said proht at school, and life was too short to keep track of every lie along the coast
Then Manuel touched the jangling, jarring little _uese about ”Nina, innocente!” ending with a full-handed sweep that brought the song up with a jerk Then Disko obliged with his second song, to an old-fashi+oned creaky tune, and all joined in the chorus This is one stanza:
”Now Aprile is over and melted the snow, And outer Noo Bedford we shortly must tow; Yes, out o' Noo Bedford we shortly must clear, We're the whalers that never see wheat in the ear”
Here the fiddle went very softly for a while by itself, and then:
”Wheat-in-the-ear, oin' off to sea; Wheat-in-the-ear, I left you fit for sowin'; When I come back a loaf o' bread you'll be!”
That h he could not tell why But it was much worse when the cook dropped the potatoes and held out his hands for the fiddle Still leaning against the locker door, he struck into a tune that was like so very bad but sure to happen whatever you did After a little he sang in an unknown tongue, his big chin down on the fiddle-tail, his white eyeballs glaring in the la out of his bunk to hear better; and a of the timbers and the wash of the waters the tune crooned and , till it ended with a wail
”Jiives me the blue creevles,” said Dan
”What in thunder is it?”
”The song of Fin McCoul,” said the cook, ”when he wass going to Norway” His English was not thick, but all clear-cut, as though it caraph
”Faith, I've been to Norway, but I didn't make that unwholesih,” said Long Jack, sighing