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Updated: June 10, 2025
To this the admiral replied that it was the some thing whether he sent even a grummet or went himself, and it was therefore in vain to desire him to send any person.
"The sail-maker was the tailor, then. How many fathoms of canvas in it, Purser's Steward?" "How much for this jacket?" reiterated the auctioneer, emphatically. "Jacket, do you call it!" cried a captain of the hold. "Why not call it a white-washed man-of-war schooner? Look at the port-holes, to let in the air of cold nights." "A reg'lar herring-net," chimed in Grummet.
"You can very safely leave matters to Grummet and me! And Mr O'Neil told me as I left the maindeck that you ought to go to your cabin and lie down, so as to rest your arm, or it might mortify, he says, when he would not answer for the consequences, you understand, sir?"
The damaged net was taken away and one of the old service grummet nets slung in its place, the cylinders containing the gun cotton being attached to the jackstay immediately in front of the battered sides, and 30 feet from the hulk, and sunk to a distance of 20 feet below the water line, which would bring it about opposite the bend of the bilge.
This example was followed by the rest: Seeing this, Pat secured several about his neck, and then getting into his grummet he descended. That one tree gave them as many nuts as they could require. "We ought not to take more than we want," said Tom; "though before we shove off, we will get a supply for the ship."
"Purser's Steward!" cried Grummet, one of the quarter-gunners, slowly shifting his quid from one cheek to the other, like a ballast-stone, "I won't bid on that 'ere bunch of old swabs, unless you put up ten pounds of soap with it." "Don't mind that old fellow," said the auctioneer. "How much for the jacket, my noble tars?" "Jacket;" cried a dandy bone polisher of the gun-room.
The weather being so fine the steersman left the helm in charge of a grummet, although the admiral had expressly commanded, whatever should be the weather, that he who was entrusted with the helm should never leave it to any other person.
Grummet promised to attend carefully to these directions, and a host of others I cannot now recollect, poor Mr Stokes being as fussy and fidgetty as he was fat, and in the habit of unintentionally worrying his subordinates a good deal in this way, and the three of us again started on our way upwards, the old chief leading, as before, and Mr Fosset and I bringing up the rear very slowly, so as to prevent accident, when all at once there was a fearful crash that echoed through my brain, followed by a violent concussion of the air which nearly threw us all down the engine-room ladder, though Mr Fosset and I were both hanging on to it like grim death and supporting the whole weight of Mr Stokes between us.
"Bravo, my hearty!" cried Mr Fosset, lending Stoddart a hand to lash himself to the cylinder, while Grummet held a screw-wrench and other tools up to him. "You ought to be a sailor, you're so smart!" "I prefer my own billet," retorted the other with an air of conscious power. "I am an engineer!" Mr Fosset laughed. "All right!" said he good-humouredly. "Every one to his trade!"
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