The Fall of British Tyranny Part 11

_SAILOR and BOATSWAIN._

SAILOR. Boatswain!

BOATSWAIN. Holla.

SAILOR. d.a.m.n my eyes, Mr. Boatswain, but here's a black flag of truce coming on board.

BOATSWAIN. Sure enough--where are they from?

SAILOR. From h.e.l.l, I suppose--for they're as black as so many devils.

BOATSWAIN. Very well--no matter--they're recruits for the Kidnapper.

SAILOR. We shall be all of a colour by and by--d.a.m.n me--

BOATSWAIN. I'll go and inform his Lordship and his pair of doxies of it; I suppose by this time they have trim'd their sails, and he's done heaving the log.

[_Exit BOATSWAIN._

SCENE II. _Near the state-room._

BOATSWAIN. Where's his Lordship?

SERVANT. He's in the state-room.

BOATSWAIN. It's time for him to turn out; tell him I want to speak to him.

SERVANT. I dare not do it, Boatswain; it's more than my life is worth.

BOATSWAIN. d.a.m.n your squeamish stomach, go directly, or I'll go myself.

SERVANT. For G.o.d's sake! Boatswain--

BOATSWAIN. d.a.m.n your eyes, you pimping son of a b.i.t.c.h, go this instant, or I'll stick my knife in your gammons.

SERVANT. O Lord! Boatswain. [_SERVANT goes._]

BOATSWAIN [_solus_]. What the devil--keep a pimp guard here, better station the son of a b.i.t.c.h at the mast head, to keep a look out there, lest Admiral Hopkins be upon us.

_Enter KIDNAPPER._

KIDNAPPER. What's your will, Boatswain?

BOATSWAIN. I beg your Lordship's pardon [_Aside. But you can soon fetch up Leeway, and spread the water sail again._], please your honour, here's a boat full of fine recruits along side for you.

KIDNAPPER. Recruits, Boatswain? you mean soldiers from Augustine, I imagine; what reg'mentals have they on?

BOATSWAIN. Mourning, please your honour, and as black as our tarpawling.

KIDNAPPER. Ha, ha, well well, take 'em on board, Boatswain, I'll be on deck presently.

BOATSWAIN. With submission to your honour, d' ye see, [_Scratching his head._] I think we have gallows-looking dogs enough on board already--the sc.r.a.pings of Newgate, and the refuse of Tyburn, and when the wind blows aft, d.a.m.n 'em, they stink like polecats--but d' ye see, as your honour pleases, with submission, if it's Lord Paramount's orders, why it must be so, I suppose--but I've done my duty, d' ye see--

KIDNAPPER. Ha, ha, the work must be done, Boatswain, no matter by whom.

BOATSWAIN. Why, aye, that's true, please your honour, any port in a storm--if a man is to be hang'd, or have his throat cut, d' ye see--who are so fit to do it as his own slaves? especially as they're to have their freedoms for it; n.o.body can blame 'em, nor your honour neither, for you get them for half price, or nothing at all, d' ye see me, and that will help to lessen poor Owld England's taxes, and when you have done with 'em here, and they get their brains knock'd out, d' ye see, your honour can sell them in the West-Indies, and that will be something in your honour's pocket, d' ye see--well, ev'ry man to his trade--but, d.a.m.n my impudence for all, I see your honour knows all about it--d' ye see.

[_Exit BOATSWAIN._

SCENE III. _LORD KIDNAPPER returns to his state-room; the BOATSWAIN comes on deck and pipes._

All hands ahoy--hand a rope, some of you Tories, forward there, for his worship's reg'ment of black guards to come aboard.

_Enter NEGROES._

BOATSWAIN. Your humble servant, Gentlemen, I suppose you want to see Lord Kidnapper?--Clear the gangway there of them Tyburn tulips. Please to walk aft, brother soldiers, that's the fittest birth for you, the Kidnapper's in the state-room, he'll hoist his sheet-anchor presently, he'll be up in a jiffin--as soon as he has made fast the end of his small rope athwart Jenny Bluegarter and Kate Common's stern posts.

FIRST SAILOR. d.a.m.n my eyes, but I suppose, messmate, we must bundle out of our hammocks this cold weather, to make room for these black regulars to stow in, tumble upon deck, and choose a soft berth among the snow?

SECOND SAILOR. Blast 'em, if they come within a cable's length of my hammock, I'll kick 'em to h.e.l.l through one of the gun ports.

BOATSWAIN. Come, come, brothers, don't be angry, I suppose we shall soon be in a warmer lat.i.tude--the Kidnapper seems as fond of these black regulars (as you call 'em, Jack) as he is of the brace of wh.o.r.es below; but as they come in so d.a.m.n'd slow, I'll put him in the humour of sending part of the fleet this winter to the coast of Guinea, and beat up for volunteers, there he'll get recruits enough for a hogshead or two of New-England rum, and a few owld pipe-shanks, and save poor Owld-England the trouble and expense of clothing them in the bargain.

FIRST SAILOR. Aye, BOATSWAIN, any voyage, so it's a warm one--if it's to h.e.l.l itself--for I'm sure the devil must be better off than we, if we are to stay here this winter.

SECOND SAILOR. Any voyage, so it's to the southward, rather than stay here at lazy anchor--no fire, nothing to eat or drink, but suck our frosty fists like bears, unless we turn sheep-stealers again, and get our brains knock'd out. Eigh, master cook, you're a gentleman now--nothing to do--grown so proud, you won't speak to poor folks, I suppose?

COOK. The devil may cook for 'em for me--if I had any thing to cook--a parcel of frozen half-starv'd dogs. I should never be able to keep 'em out of the cook room, or their noses out of the slush-tub.

BOATSWAIN. d.a.m.n your old smoky jaws, you're better off than any man aboard, your trouble will be nothing,--for I suppose they'll be disbursted in different messes among the Tories, and it's only putting on the big pot, c.o.c.key. Ha, ha, ha.

COOK. What signifies, Mr. Boatswain, the big pot or the little pot, if there's nothing to cook? no fire, coal or wood to cook with? Blast my eyes, Mr. Boatswain, if I disgrease myself so much, I have had the honour, d.a.m.n me (tho' I say it that shou'dn't say it) to be chief cook of a seventy-four gun ship, on board of which was Lord Abel-Marl and Admiral Poke-c.o.c.k.

BOATSWAIN. d.a.m.n the liars--old singe-the-devil--you chief cook of a seventy-four gun ship, eigh? you the devil, you're as proud as h.e.l.l, for all you look as old as Matheg'lum, hand a pair of silk stockings for our cook here, d' ye see--lash a handspike athwart his a.r.s.e, get a ladle full of slush and a handful of brimstone for his hair, and step one of you Tories there for the devil's barber to come and shave and dress him.

Ha, ha, ha.

COOK. No, Mr. Boatswain, it's not pride--but look 'e (as I said before), I'll not disgrease my station, I'll throw up my commission, before I'll stand cook for a parcel of scape gallows, convict Tory dogs and run-away Negroes.

BOATSWAIN. What's that you say? Take care, old frosty face--What? do you accuse his worship of turning kidnapper, and harbouring run-away Negroes?--Softly, or you'll be taken up for a Whig, and get a handsome coat of slush and hog's feathers for a christmas-box, c.o.c.key: Throw up your commission, eigh? throw up the pot-halliards, you mean, old p.i.s.s-to-windward? Ha, ha, ha.

COOK. I tell you, Mr. Boatswain--I--

BOATSWAIN. Come, come, give us a chaw of tobacco, Cook--blast your eyes, don't take any pride in what I say--I'm only joking, d' ye see----

COOK. Well, but Mr. Boatswain----