United States or Argentina ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I'm blest if they could sleep sound, if it wa'n't for that. No, no, Thrummings! no innowations; I won't hear on't. I goes for the last stitch!" "S'pose you was going to be sewed up yourself, old Ringrope, would you like the last stitch then!
"Drop your 'palm, then and let Thrummings take it; follow me the foot of the main-sail wants mending must do it afore a breeze springs up. D'ye hear, old chap! I say, drop your palm, and follow me." At the reiterated command of his superior, Ringrope rose, and, turning to his comrade, said, "I take it all back, Thrummings, and I'm sorry for it, too.
Small thanks I gets for my pains; and every one on 'em looks so 'proachful-like, with a sail-maker's needle through his nose. I've been thinkin', old Ringrope, it's all wrong that 'ere last stitch we takes. Depend on't, they don't like it none on 'em." I was standing leaning over a gun, gazing at the two old men.
"His hull here will soon be going out of sight below hatches, though, old Thrummings," replied Ringrope, placing two heavy cannon-balls in the foot of the canvas shroud. "I don't know that, old man; I never yet sewed up a ship-mate but he spooked me arterward. I tell ye, Ring-rope, these 'ere corpses is cunning. You think they sinks deep, but they comes up again as soon as you sails over 'em.
"You ain't long for the sarvice. I wish I could give you some o' the blood in my veins, old man!" "Ye ain't got ne'er a teaspoonful to spare," said Thrummings. "It will go hard, and I wouldn't want to do it; but I'm afeard I'll have the sewing on ye up afore long!" "Sew me up? Me dead and you alive, old man?" shrieked Ringrope.
So don't do it to this poor fellow, I entreat. Try once, now, how it goes not to do it." "What do you say to the youngster, old man?" said Thrummings, holding up his lantern into his comrade's wrinkled face, as if deciphering some ancient parchment. "I'm agin all innowations," said Ringrope; "it's a good old fashion, that last stitch; it keeps 'em snug, d'ye see, youngster.
"Blast ye! old chaps, ain't ye any more manners than to be fighting over a dead man?" cried one of the sail-maker's mates, coming down from the spar-deck. "Bear a hand! bear a hand! and get through with that job!" "Only one more stitch to take," muttered Ringrope, creeping near the face.
"It's you that have Death for a hammock-mate; it's you that will make a hole in the shot-locker soon." "Take that back!" cried Ringrope, huskily, leaning far over the corpse, and, needle in hand, menacing his companion with his aguish fist. "Take that back, or I'll throttle your lean bag of wind fer ye!"
"Ay, ay, old Ringrope," said the other, drawing his hand far back with a long thread, "I thinks it's him; and he's further aloft now, I hope, than ever he was at the fore-truck. But I only hopes; I'm afeard this ar'n't the last on him!"
They lose the number of their mess, and their mess-mates sticks the spoons in the rack; but no good no good, old Ringrope; they ar'n't dead yet. I tell ye, now, ten best bower-anchors wouldn't sink this 'ere top-man. He'll be soon coming in the wake of the thirty-nine spooks what spooks me every night in my hammock jist afore the mid-watch is called.
Word Of The Day