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Updated: May 1, 2025
"God bless you, Spunyarn," replies Tom, evidently touched by the frankness and generosity of the old sailor. Indeed there was something so whole-hearted about old Spunyarn, that he was held in universal esteem by every one in jail, with the single exception of Milman Mingle, the vote-cribber. "Just think of yourself, Tom don't mind me," pursues the sailor as Tom squeezes firmly his hand.
I filled him up with tarry spunyarn, nailed sheet copper round him, bent some parts in the fire; and we are paying-in without more trouble now. You would think some one would praise me; no, no more praise than blame before; perhaps now they think better of me, though. '10 P.M. We have gone on very comfortably for nearly six miles.
"It is me!" again the voice resounds. Two glaring eyes, staring anxiously through the small iron grating of a door leading to a close cell on the left of the corridor, betrays the speaker. "It's Tom Swiggs. I know him he's got the hydrophobia; its common with him! Take him in tow, old Spunyarn, give him a good berth, and let him mellow at thirty cents a day," continues the voice.
But unless we do now and then enter them, our conceptions of how much misery man can inflict upon man will be small indeed. The man of sailor-like deportment, and whom the prisoners salute with the sobriquet of "Old Spunyarn," entered, you will please remember, the cell, as the young theologian left in search of Mrs.
"Why, you are raving, Obed; you saw that he had been much convulsed, and that the limb, from the contraction of the sinews, was forcibly kept down in the position it broke loose from the spunyarn gave way, and of course it started up nothing wonderful in all this although it did at the time somewhat startle me, I confess." "It may be so, it may be so.
"He's a bit better, sir-isn't he?" inquires Spunyarn, his broad, honest face, well browned and whiskered, warming with a glow of satisfaction. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he replies he is right glad of it, not liking to see a shipmate in a drift.
He was an old hand who had been at sea so long that he seemed to smell of salt water and tar; while his face was like a piece of pickled beef covered with a quantity of hair that resembled spunyarn more than anything else, being as stiff and wiry as an untwisted rope.
The day we were starting there was rum served out to the crew. Mr. Jagger supplied it. When the vessel started, nearly all the crew were drunk. I had the wheel. About five minutes after she started I cut the spunyarn. The vessel began to go on the rocks. One of the crew shouted, 'Hard-a-starboard! I shouted that the port wheel chain was broken. Then the vessel went ashore.... Mr.
I filled him up with tarry spunyarn, nailed sheet copper round him, bent some parts in the fire; and we are paying-in without more trouble now. You would think some one would praise me; no no more praise than blame before; perhaps now they think better of me, though. "10 P.M. We have gone on very comfortably for nearly six miles.
"He's a bit better, sir isn't he?" inquires Spunyarn, his broad, honest face, well browned and whiskered, warming with a glow of satisfaction. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he replies he is right glad of it, not liking to see a shipmate in a drift.
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