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Updated: May 9, 2025
Looking out, I saw that we were drifting into a "jobble" or tide-race, which seemed to drift obliquely into the shore. This made me feel less frightened, so I turned to my food, ate heartily, and took a good swig at the scuttle-butt by way of a morning draught. Then I undid my parcel, packed as much food into it as I possibly could, and lashed it up again in its tarpaulin.
Our most serious difficulty was the want of water, Mendouca having literally cleared the ship of every drop she possessed, save some eight or ten gallons in the scuttle-butt, which they had either overlooked, or perhaps had considered not worth taking.
In fact, they are as much in the dark as to the external objects, as if they were blindfolded; and the only comfort to be derived from this serious inconvenience, is, that every man is so isolated from his neighbour that he is not put in mind of his own danger by witnessing the death of those around him, for they may fall three or four feet from him without his perceiving it: so they continued to fire as directed, until they are either sent down to the cock-pit themselves, or have a momentary respite from their exertions, when, choked with smoke and gunpowder, they go aft to the scuttle-butt, to remove their parching thirst.
"Sartain; and, if the judgment of one who has lived on the shores of many others can be taken, a very good lake it is." "Just as I expected. A pond in dimensions, and a scuttle-butt in taste. It is all in vain to travel inland, in the hope of seeing anything either full-grown or useful. I knew it would turn out just in this way." "What is the matter with Ontario, Master Cap?
The scuttle-butt is a goodly, round, painted cask, standing on end, and with its upper head removed, showing a narrow, circular shelf within, where rest a number of tin cups for the accommodation of drinkers.
You may remember my master he had the left-hand state-room to himself, and I slept next to the scuttle-butt. You recollect master, sir?" "Out of doubt, and a very good fellow he was. I hope you live with him still?" "Lord bless you, sir, he is dead!" "Oh! I recollect hearing of it, at the time. Well, David. I hope if ever we cross again, we shall be ship-mates once more.
"A left-handed marlinspike," repeated the commander, at once understanding the joke. "Yes, sir." "I'm sorry," was the answer, gravely given, "but I lost it overboard a while ago. You'd better go to Mr. Carr and ask him for the scuttle-butt. That will do as well." "Yes, sir," replied Bob, who, not suspecting anything, hunted up the first mate and made his request.
Central, within the scuttle-butt itself, stands an iron pump, which, connecting with the immense water-tanks in the hold, furnishes an unfailing supply of the much-admired Pale Ale, first brewed in the brooks of the garden of Eden, and stamped with the brand of our old father Adam, who never knew what wine was. We are indebted to the old vintner Noah for that.
One ball had hit the scuttle-butt and had splashed the water fifteen feet in every direction. Another had splintered the cross jack-yard. Suddenly, in the brief silence that followed the two thunderous reports, a single pistol-shot rang out sharply and I saw Captain Whidden spin round and fall.
"Here! don't touch that, you fool!" shouted the captain to one of the hands, who was drinking from the scuttle-butt. "That water's rotten!" "Beg pardon, sir," replied the man. "Tastes quite sweet." "Let me see," returned Nares, and he took the dipper and held it to his lips. "Yes, it's all right," he said. "Must have rotted and come sweet again. Queer, isn't it, Mr. Dodd?
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