The Tribulations Of Incivility
"A gentleman by the name of Collins stopping with you?"
"Collins?" was the response.
"Yes, Collins, or Collings, I ain't sure which," said the hardy-looking,
bronzed seaman, to the gaily-dressed, flippant-mannered, be-whiskered
man of vast importance, presiding over the affairs of one of our
"first-class hotels."
"Very indefinite inquiry, then," said the hotel manager.
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"Well, I brought this small package from Bremen for a gentleman who came
out passenger with us some time ago; he left it in Bremen--wanted me to
fetch it out when the ship returned--here it is."
"What do you want to leave it here for? We know nothing about the man,
sir."
"You don't? Well, you ought to, for the gentleman put up here, and told
me he'd be around when we got into port again. He was a deuced clever
fellow, and you ought to have kept the reckoning of such a man," said
the seaman.
"Ha, ha! we keep so many clever fellows," said he of the hotel, "that
they are no novelties, sir."
"I wonder then," said the seaman, "you do not imitate some of them, for
there's no danger of the world's getting crowded with a crew of good
men."
"If you have any business with us we shall attend to it, sir, but we
want none of your impertinence!"
"O, you don't? Well, Mister, I've business aboard of your craft; if
you're the commodore, I'd like you to see that my friend Collins is
piped up, or that this package be stowed away where he could come afoul
of it. His name is Collins; here it is in black and white, on the
parcel, and here's where I was to drop it."
One of the "understrappers" overhearing the dispute, whispered his
dignified superior that Mr. Collins, an English gentleman, late from
Bremen, was in the house, whereupon the dignified empressario, turning
to the self-possessed man of the sea, said--
"Ah, well, leave the parcel, leave the parcel; we suppose it's
correct."
"There it is," said the seaman; "commodore, you see that the gentleman
gets it; and I say," says the sailor, pushing back his hat and giving
his breeches a regular sailor twitch, "I wish you'd please to say to the
gentleman, Mr. Collins, you know, that Mr. Brace, first officer of the
Triton, would like to see him aboard, any time he's at leisure."
But in the multiplicity of greater affairs, the hotel gentleman hardly
attempted to listen or attend to the sailor's message, and Mr. Brace,
first officer of the Triton, bore away, muttering to himself--
"These land-crabs mighty apt to put on airs. I'd like to have that
powder monkey in my watch about a week--I'd have him down by the lifts
and braces!"
Let us suppose it to be in the glorious month of October, when the
myriads of travellers by land and ocean are wending their way from the
chilly north towards the sunny south, when the invalid seeks the tropics
in pursuit of his health, and the speculative man of business returns
with his "invoices," to his shop, or factory, where profit leads the
way.
We are on board ship--the Triton ploughing the deep blue waters of the
ocean track from Sandy Hook to New Orleans; for October, the weather is
rather unruly, damp, and boisterous. We perceive a number of
passengers on board, and by near guess of our memory, we see a person or
two we have seen before. Our be-whiskered friend of the "first-class
hotel," is there; he does not look so self-possessed and pompous on
board the heaving and tossing ship as he did behind his marble slab in
"the office." "The sea, the sea!" as the song says, has quite taken the
starch out of our stiff friend, who is not enjoying a first-rate time.
And from an overheard conversation between two hardy, noble specimens of
men that are men--two officers of the stoutly-timbered ship, the comfort
of the be-whiskered gentleman is in danger of a commutation.
"Do you know him, Mr. Brace?"
"Yes, I know him; I knew him as soon as I got the cut of his jib coming
aboard. Now, says I, my larky, you and I've got to travel together, and
we'll settle a little odd reckoning, if you please, or if you don't
please, afore we see the Balize. You see, that fellow keeps a crack
hotel in York; I goes in there to deliver a package for a deuced good
fellow as ever trod deck, and this powder monkey, loblolly-looking swab,
puts on his airs, sticks up his nose, and hardly condescends to exchange
signals with me. Ha! ha! I've met these galore cocks before; I can take
the tail feathers out of 'em!" says Mr. Brace, who is the same hardy,
frank and free fellow, with whom the reader has already formed something
of a brief acquaintance. The person to whom Brace was addressing himself
was the second officer of the merchantman, and it was settled that
whatever nautical knowledge and skill could do to make things uneasy for
Mr. Lollypops, the empressario of the "first-class hotel," was to be
done, by mutual management of the two salt-water jokers.
"It appears to me, that a--bless me, sir, a--how this ship rolls!" said
Lollypops, coming upon deck, and addressing Mr. Brace; "I--a never saw a
ship roll so."
"Heavy sea on, sir," said Brace; "nothing to what we'll catch before a
week's out."
"Bad coast, I believe, at this time o' year?" said Lollypops, balancing
himself on first one leg and then the other.
"Worst coast in the world, sir; I'd rather go to Calcutta any time than
go to Orleans; more vessels lost on the coast than are lost anywhere
else on the four seas."
"You don't say so!" said Lollypops.
"Fact, sir," said Brace, who occasionally kept exchanging private and
mysterious signals with the second officer, who held the wheel.
"Let her up a point, Mr. Brown, let her up!" Mr. Brown did let her up,
and the way the Triton took head down and heels up and a roll to
windward, did not speak so well for the nautical menage of the
officers as it did for the quiet deviltry of the salt-water Joe Millers.
The avalanche of brine inundated the decks, making the sailors look
quite asquirt, and driving Mr. Lollypops, an ancient voyager or two, and
sundry other travelling gentry--very suddenly into the cabin. The next
day the same performance followed; the appearance of Lollypops on deck
was a signal for Brace or Brown, to go in, get up a double roll on the
ship, an imaginary gale was discussed, wrecks and reefs, dangerous
points and dreadful currents were descanted upon, until Mr. Lollypops'
health, at the end of the first week, was no better fast; in fact, he
was getting sick of the voyage, while others around grew fat upon it. A
fine morning induced the invalid to light his regalia and walk the
decks; immediately Mr. Brace, or Brown, gave orders to wash down the
decks. Mr. Lollypops went aloft, ergo, as far as the main top;
immediately the first officer had the men "going about," heaving here
and letting go there; in short, so endangering the hat and underpinning
of the be-whiskered landlord of the "first-class hotel" that he was fain
to crawl down, take the wet decks, tip-toe, and crawl into the cabin,
damp as a dishcloth, and utterly disgusted with what he had seen of the
sea! Accidentally, one afternoon, a tar pot fell from aloft; somehow or
other, the careless sailor who held it, or should have held it--"let go
all" just when Mr. Lollypops was in the immediate neighborhood; the
result was that he had a splendid dressing-gown and other
equipments--ruined eternally! Going into the cabin, Lollypops inquires
for the Captain--
"Sir!" says he, "I am mad, Sir, very mad, Sir; yes, I am, Sir; look at
me, only look at me! In rough weather we do not expect pleasant times at
sea, but, Sir, ever since I have been on board, Sir, your infernal
officers, Sir, have thrown this ship into all manner of unpleasant
situations, kept the decks wet, rattled chains over my berth,
wang-banged the rigging around, and finally, by thunder, I'm covered all
over with villanous soap fat and tar! Now, Sir, this is not all the
result of accident--it's premeditated rascality!"
"Sir"--says the bully mate, coming forward, at this crisis, "my name's
Mr. Brace; when I was aboard your craft, in New York, you rather put on
airs, and I said if you and I ever got to sea together--we'd have a
blow out. Now we're about even; if you're a mind we'll call the matter
square--"
"Yes, yes, for heaven's sake, let us have no more of this!" says
Lollypops.
"We'll have a bottle together, and wish for a clean run to Orleans!"
continued officer Brace.
Lollypops agreed; he not only stood the wine, but got over his anger,
vowed to look deeper into character, and never again rebuff honest
manliness, though hid under the coarse costume of a son of Neptune! A
hearty laugh closed the scene, and fair weather and a fine termination
attended the voyage of the Triton to New Orleans; for a finer, drier
craft never danced over the ocean wave, than that good ship, under
rational management.