Wild Adventures round the Pole

“From east to west, from pole to pole,
Where’er waves break or waters roll,
My empire is – ”
His Wife– “And you belong to me.”
Cock o’ the North. – “All hail, great monarch of the sea!”
Neptune– “The clouds pay tribute, and streams and rills
Come singing from the distant hills.”
His Wife. – “Do stop, my dear; you’re not a poet,
And never were – ”
Neptune. – “Good sooth, I know it.
But now lead on, our blood feels cold,
For truth to tell, we’re getting old.
We and our wife have seen much service,
Besides – the dear old thing is nervous,
So to the ship lead on, I say,
We’d see some fun on this auspicious day.
My younger sons I fain would bless ’em.”
His Barber. – “And I can shave.”
His Wife (rapturously). – “And I can kiss ’em.”

The six poor lads who were to be operated on, and whose only fault was that they had never before crossed the line, trembled in their prison as they heard the big guns thunder forth, announcing the arrival of King Neptune. They trembled more when, dressed in white, they were led forth, a pair at a time, and seated blindfolded on the chair of the terrible tub, and duly shaved and blessed and kissed; but they trembled most when the bolt was drawn, and they tumbled head foremost into the icy water; but when, about twenty minutes thereafter, they were seen seated in a row in dry, warm clothing, you would not have known them for the same boys. Their faces were beaming with smiles, and each one busied himself discussing a huge basin of savoury sea-pie. They were not trembling then at all.

At the dinner which followed, Neptune took the head of the table, with his wife on his right and McBain himself as vice-president. The dinner was good even for the Arrandoon, and that is saying a deal. In size, in odour, and beauty of rotundity, the plum-pudding that two stalwart men carried in and placed in front of Neptune, was something to remember for ever and a day. Size? Why, Neptune could have served it out with his trident. Ay! and everybody had two helps, and looked all the healthier and happier after them.

Our three chief heroes were in fine form, Rory in one of his funniest, happiest moods. And why not? Had not he dubbed himself Queen o’ the May? Yes, and well he sustained the part.

I am not sure how Neptune managed to possess himself of so many bottles of Silas Grig’s green ginger, but there they were, and they went all round the table, and even the men of the crew seemed to prefer it to rum. The toasts given by the men were not a few, and all did honour to the manliness of their hearts. The songs sung ere the table was cleared were all well worth listening to, though some were ballads of extreme length.

Neptune was full of anecdotes of his life and adventures, and his wife also had a good deal to say about hers, which caused many a peal of laughter to rattle round the table.

Some of the men recited pieces of their own composition. Here is one by the crew’s pet, Ted Wilson to wit:

The Ghost of the Cochin-Shanghai

’Tis a tale of the Greenland ocean,
A tale of the Northern seas,
Of a ship that sailed from her native land
On the wings of a favouring breeze;
Her skipper as brave a seaman
As ever set sail before,
Her crew all told as true and bold
As ever yet left the shore.

And never a ship was better “found,”
She couldn’t be better, I know,
With beef in the rigging and porkers to kill,
And tanks filled with water below;
And turkeys to fatten, and ducklings and geese,
And the best Spanish pullets to lay;
But the pride of the ship, and the pet of the mess,
Was a Brahma cock, Cochin-Shanghai.
And every day when the watches were called,
This cock crew so cheery O!
With a shrill cock-a-lee, and a hoarse cock-a-lo,
And a long cock-a-leerie O!
But still as the grave was the brave bird at night,
For well did he know what was best;
Yes, well the cock knew that most of the crew
Were weary and wanted their rest
But one awful night he awoke in a fright,
Then wasn’t it dreary O!
To hear him crow, with a hoarse cock-a-lo,
And a shrill cock-a-leerie O!

Oh!

Then out of bed scrambled the men in a mass,
“We cannot get sleep,” they all cried;
“May we never reach dock till we silence that cock,
We’ll never have peace till the villain is fried.”
All dressed as they were in the garments of night,
Though the decks were deep covered with snow,
They chased the cock round, with wild yell and bound,
But they never got near him – no. And wherever he flew, still the bold
Cochin crew, With a shrill cock-a-lee, and a hoarse cock-a-lo,
And a long cock-a-leerie O!
Now far up aloft defiant he stands,
Like an eagle in eerie O!
Till a sea-boot at last, knocked him down from the mast,
And he sunk in the ocean below.
But the saddest part of the story is this:
He hadn’t quite finished his crow,
He’d got just as far as the hoarse cock-a-lo
But failed at the leerie O!

Oh-h!

And that ship is still sailing, they say, on the sea,
Though ’tis hundreds of years ago;
Till they silence that cock they’ll ne’er reach a dock,
Nor lay down their burden of woe;
For out on the boom, till the crack of doom,
The ghost of the Cochin will crow,
With his shrill cock-a-lee, and his hoarse cock-a-lo,
But never the leerie O!

No!

They tell me at times that the ship may be seen
Straggling on o’er the billows o’ blue,