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"Well, but," said Jemmy Ducks, who for some time had left off touching the strings of his fiddle, "it would be the work of a good Christian to kill the brute." "It's not a mortal animal, Jemmy." "True, I forgot that." "Gifen by de tyfel," observed Jansen. "Ay, and christened by him too," continued Coble. "Who ever heard any Christian brute with such a damnable name?" "Well, what's to be done?"
At the sight of Snarleyyow, the corporal turned pale at the sight of the corporal, Mr Vanslyperken turned red. "What's the meaning of all this?" exclaimed Vanslyperken, in a rage. "What is all this about, corporal? Explain your conduct, sir. What made you rush out of the cabin in that strange manner?" "Mein Gott, Mynheer Vanslyperken, I came for orders; but I no come keep company wid de tyfel."
"Then, by Got, we will have de breeze," replied Jansen, who was a Dutch seaman of huge proportions, rendered still more preposterous by the multiplicity of his nether clothing. "Yes, as sure as Mother Carey's chickens raise the gale, so does the name of the Frau Vandersloosh. I'll be down and get my breakfast, there may be keel-hauling before noon." "Mein Got dat is de tyfel."
"A lie!" exclaimed the corporal, who now lost his courage, "a lie, Mynheer Vanslyperken! If it was not the tyfel himself it was one of his imps, I take my Bible oath." "One of his imps!" exclaimed Vanslyperken; "it's a lie an infamous lie: confess," continued he, shaking the corporal by the collar, "confess the truth."
Neither of them spoke a word for some time, but watched the body, as it lay motionless, doubled up, with the fore and hind feet meeting each other, and the one eye closed. "Well, I've a notion that he is done for, anyhow," said Smallbones, "at last." "Mein Gott, yes!" replied the corporal. "He never get on his legs again, be he tog or be he tyfel."
Once more did the corporal make his appearance on the forecastle, frightened and out of breath. "Mein Gott! de man is mad," exclaimed he, "and de tog is de tyfel himself." The corporal then narrated in broken English what had passed.
"Well, but," said Jemmy Ducks, who for some time had left off touching the strings of his fiddle, "it would be the work of a good Christian to kill the brute." "It's not a mortal animal, Jemmy." "True, I forgot that." "Gifen by de tyfel," observed Jansen. "Ay, and christened by him too," continued Coble. "Who ever heard any Christian brute with such a damnable name?" "Well, what's to be done?"
"I think so too: but there'll be a breeze, depend upon it never mind, the devil will have his own all in good time." "Got for dam," said Jansen, looking at Beachy Head, and shaking his own. "Why, what's the matter now, old Schnapps?" said Coble. "Schnapps yes the tyfel Schnapps, I think how the French schnapped us Dutchmen here when you Englishmen wouldn't fight."
There was nothing vulgar about his appearance, although his figure was against him. His countenance was one of extreme frankness, mixed with considerable intelligence, and his whole manner gave you the idea of precision and calculation. "You would tyfel I forgot my pen," said the syndic, catching it as it fell out of his mouth. "You would speak with me, mynheer?
"He's not on the ship's books, so I can't see how it can be mutiny." "No," rejoined Short. "Mein Got he is not a tog, he is te tyfel," observed Jansen. "Who knows how he came into the cutter?" "There's a queer story about that," said one of the men. Tum tum, tumty tum said the fiddle of Jemmy Ducks, as if it took part in the conference.
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