During the "privateering" below deck, I had filled my hat with the best flavoured Mocha I could select from the choice of a dozen bags, and was making my way back to my place of general deposit, with as much haste as possible, to be in readiness for another cruise, when I was suddenly pitched headlong a dozen feet or more, by a heavy concussion; followed immediately with a report, equal to the loudest artillery, and the water came pouring down the hatchway in torrents, with a stillness and settling of the brig, that created a sensation too horrible to dwell on, even at this distant day.
Many sang out, "we are blown up!" "We are blown up and are sinking." "The Lord help, for none other can save." The idea seemed very plausible ; still I did not think she was blown up, accounting for the shock and confusion from a different source, though equally disastrous had it occurred.
I had been on deck but a short time previous, and observed one of the frigates had drifted near to, and directly ahead of the brig. This I supposed had fallen on board of us, in one of the heavy swells that were driving them and the brig about with their impetuous and uncontrollable sway. A sea, larger than usual, had struck us full in the bows, with such fearful velocity and force, as to cause the shock and report; a great portion of the wave breaking over the bulwarks and falling on deck, deluged the hold from the hatchway; and the vessel settling into the trough of the sea caused by the receding wave, was what created the alarm on board, and interrupted me, with others, in our laudable and praiseworthy intentions, of not suffering the enemy to have too many of the good things, originally intended for the use of others.
My hat full of coffee was scattered between the hold in so thin layers, that I naturally concluded it would be less trouble to apply to the same source from whence the other came, than to gather it up. In ten minutes (I was always noted for alacrity of movement, when personally interested) I had my hat filled again, if not from the same bag, from one of equal flavour, with the addition to my freight, of a box of No. 1 herrings, as a remuneration for my second trip, and loss of my first prize; although I was put to no inconsiderable trouble in selecting a good box, as others had been before me, leaving none but the refuse, except this one, which was a carelessness or oversight unpardonable, justifying severe censure.
On my return from this trip, I fell in with the Loafer, busily engaged with a ham of half his size, who upbraided me for the want of taste in my selections, ending with a friendly advice for my future consideration and advantage, should I profit by it.
"I goes always for the solids," said he, "something a man can manage independent of the cook, for they are a vile set, ever lessening one's allowance, till at last they will suppose a man can live on air. Take advice from one who can give it — stick to the solids, and let others fish for what is upon the surface — stick to the solids."
He was notching deep into the side of the ham, while he was delivering his advice, and as often as he slabbed off a hand's breadth slice, he had only to roll it to a convenient size whilst in his mouth, and way was made for its fellow, both in magnitude and solidity. This was followed up in such quick succession, that I was doubtful whether he had not some way of concealing the pieces, other than the port-hole entrance to his face, and I was determined to tarry a moment to have my doubts satisfied. I remarked he had a heavy job before him, and hinted should he want assistance, he might command my services. After saluting me with a laugh, peculiarly his own, he drew himself off towards a dark corner, with a shyness that prompted my curiosity to observe his actions; and I was no little amused to see him select a hiding place for his ham, between the water casks, to be again brought out at a more convenient period, when windfalls of the like kind were less abundant, or the eyes of the curious were elsewhere directed.
The few remarks I bestowed upon this person in the commencement of the narrative, I then thought would be the last; but there were traits about him that deserve farther record, and as he now is on his fifth foraging excursion, I will devote a page to his memory.
In my former notice, I said he had taken a berth with us, for the want of a better shelter, not doubting his room would be much more valuable than his person; but this is only another instance of error, by judging prematurely of one's accomplishments, when no opportunity has allowed the individual to display himself to advantage.
The Loafer showed early symptoms of improvement in the duties of the brig, beyond many who were better educated for the profession of a marine. Though never active, he was always to be found where duty required, quietly assisting to the extent of his abilities. He was never known to miss his number at watch call, nor his mess place at meal times. His extreme strength, for he possessed that of a giant, was valuable to his fellow-workers of the brig. Without the least apparent exertion, he could do more at a heavy lift or pull, than any other on board.
At eating, the Loafer stood second best to none, and had the crew been possessed of his voracity, to the same degree, the former prediction of the prize-master would have been verified — the brig would have had to seek a port for supplies, ere a week from her departure from port. He as often took his food in a raw, as in a cooked state, merely rolling it with the tongue, and it was gone — no one ever seeing him masticate as others. This gave rise to an idea that he possessed the faculty of raising his cud, kine-like, but there was no proof that this was the case. Among the whole number of the green hands, the Loafer was the only one that was not sick — "I never sickens," said he, "except when supplies fall short."
Never while in the brig, did anything go wrong between him and the crew, only when he went prowling about the cook's department, for the offal of the pot, when a din and uproar was raised by the sable majesty of grease, at his depredations upon the marrow bones and pot skimmings, intended to enrich the slush tub, his lawful and undeniable perquisites, which our friend in question always committed, at the least inattention of the blackamore. To such an extent had the Loafer carried this cribbing process, that the crew had already given him the distinctive cognomen of the turkey-buzzard of the brig.
Many a sharp argument have I overheard by the members of his mess, whether he had any claims to humanity? Some supposed him to be the imp of darkness, aping the human form. "No, no," an opponent in the argument would say, "the old one is too cute, to put on such a frame." Others supposed him a wizard, the Wandering Jew, or a sweeper expelled from the Flying Dutchman, When the disputants grew warm in their debates, they would appeal to him in good earnest to know, "who in the devil's name he was." Instead of answering their inquiries, he would sidle out of the circle with a laugh, and traverse the deck or hold, hiding whatever he might pick up, in crevices and corners, like the cur, to be brought forth in times of scarcity when wanted.