Australian Tales - Setis

elieve there is no luck in sailing on a Sunday, — nay, I maintain it is
sinful to do it — except in cases of necessity; — and if sinful, it is
dangerous, and he is a f — a — is not a sensible man, who wilfully runs
into danger. That's a little bit of my logic, sir, and I don't think you can
find many rotten strands in it; at all events, you wouldn't convince me
that it isn't sound and honest, if you wished to try. I have firmly resolved
that I never will again put to sea on a Sunday, to please the best owners
in the world — but avast, that is stupid talk, for the best owners would
not ask me to do it, in fact, they would very soon unship a master who
would have the conscience to do it; except, as I said before, in case of
necessity; and such owners are by no means scarce.
“I am afraid I have wearied you with that long prosy story,” said the
captain, “but don't go below yet, sir. I'll tell you a very lively yarn about
Captain Lindley and the monkey, if you would like to hear it.”
“I should like to hear it, captain,” I replied; “but please to tell me first
about the poor carpenter, to whom you alluded at dinner-time.”
“Ah! that is an awfully tragical story, and always makes me shudder.
You had better let me tell you about the monkey while I am in the
humour. I never can spin a lively yarn just after talking about poor Tom
Gouge.”
“Up goes the monkey, then, but I am sorry you don't know Captain
Lindley, because you will not half appreciate my yarn unless you can
fancy Lindley is spinning it, for none but he can tell his stories with
effect. It was as pleasant to me as a good dinner, any day, to sit and listen
to him for an hour or two, for his coil of yarns was like paddy's rope,
there was no end to it. But it topped all, to hear him tell about Jacko and
the roast beef. There was more fun in his honest face then, than in a cage
full of monkeys; and he would actually thump the table, or hammer away
at the bulk-head with his fists, in his excess of mirth, while he described
Jacko scudding up aloft with a hot carrot in his mouth; and when he
wiped his eyes, after his ecstacy was over, you would almost fancy he
was fretting because he could not laugh any longer. Yes, ‘a merry old
soul was he,’ as scores of his passengers will smilingly testify; and any
man who could sit and look at him while he was enjoying his roast
monkey — I mean his yarn of the monkey and the roast beef — any man
who could even look at him then without laughing till he cried, would
have no more tickle in him than my figure-head yonder. But let us sit
down on the hen-coops, sir, if you please, for it is hard work to walk and
spin a tough yarn while the ship is knocking about in this chopping sea; it
tumbles all my ideas together, like prize-tickets in a lucky bag.”
“When my friend Lindley was third mate of the ‘Billy Button,’ he was
on the watch one afternoon, and was waiting for the steward to bring his
dinner on deck, for the captain and passengers had gone below to dine.
Being always ready for a bit of fun when it did not interfere with duty,