F. Colburn (Francis Colburn) Adams
Chapter 34
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.
Swiggs. "I thought I'd just haul my tacks aboard, run up a bit, and
see what sort of weather you were making, Tom," says he, touching
clumsily his small-brimmed, plait hat, as he recognizes the young
man, whom he salutes in that style so frank and characteristic of
the craft. "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. And he gives his
quid a lurch aside, throws his hat carelessly upon the floor, shrugs
his shoulders, and as he styles it, nimbly brings himself to a
mooring, at Tom's side. "It's a hard comforter, this state. I don't
begrudge your mother the satisfaction she gets of sending you here.
In her eyes, ye see, yeer fit only to make fees out on, for them ar
lawyer chaps. They'd keep puttin' a body in an' out here during his
natural life, just for the sake of gettin' the fees. They don't care
for such things as you and I. We hain't no rights; and if we had,
why we hain't no power. This carryin' too much head sail, Tom, won't
do-'twon't!" Spunyarn shakes his head reprovingly, fusses over Tom,
turns him over on his wales, as he has it, and finally gets him on
his beam's ends, a besotted wreck unable to carry his canvas. "Lost
yeer reckonin', eh, Tom?" he continues as that bewildered individual
stares vacantly at him. The inebriate contorts painfully his face,
presses and presses his hands to his burning forehead, and says they
are firing a salute in his head, using his brains for ammunition.
"Well, now Tom, seein' as how I'm a friend of yourn--"
"Friend of mine?" interrupts Tom, shaking his head, and peering
through his fingers mistrustfully.
"And this is a hard lee shore you've beached upon; I'll lend ye a