Chapter 5 - Page 2

There was no scarcity of eatables, which were discussed amid a running
fire of conversation upon every kind of topic; and then came the "bowl,"
a composition of various strong and spicy ingredients, of which Carl had
the secret, and which finally was lighted, and ladled into the glasses
whilst the blue flame was burning.

Carl Beck was the life of the party; and very well he looked as he sat
there astride over the bench, with his glass in his hand, and his
officer's jacket with its anchor-buttons thrown open, and sang first one
and then another of the rollicking drinking-songs that were then in
vogue, the others joining in the chorus. He gave them, then, a cheery
sailor-song, which brought in its train a series of anecdotes from the
recent war.

Old Jacob, under the influence of the prevailing good-fellowship and the
good cheer, had become uncommonly lively for him, and would even put in
a word now and then. But every attempt to make him tell a story himself
failed. Only when the action at the Heather Islands came up for
discussion for a while did he come out with a bit of a yarn, as he
called it.

"Yes," he said, putting carefully down the glass that was handed to him,
"it was a great battle, was that. The country lost a fine ship there,
and many a brave lad to boot. But God's curse hangs over the man that
piloted the Englishman in to the Sand Islands--although none here, while
he was alive, knew his name. It was said he soon after made an end of
himself through remorse, like Judas Iscariot. However that may be, at
the mouth of the channel there is a flat sunk rock that a man in his
sea-boots can stand on at low water, and there they see him on moonlight
nights making piteous signs for help, until the water at last comes over
his head, and he disappears. God help the man that'll row out to
him--it's always foul weather when he is to be seen."

"Have you ever seen him yourself, Jacob?" asked Carl Beck.

"I'll not say that I have, and I'll not say that I haven't. But I know
that the last time I was off those islands, we had such tremendous
weather that we thought ourselves lucky in making any port at all."

For a while every one was busied with the thoughts which Jacob's recital
had suggested, and there was a solemn pause, which was broken by Carl
Beck's striking up another song to keep off sleep:--

"Before the wind and a flowing sail,
Vessels for every port!
In letters of gold a dear girl's name
On every stern inwrought!
The vessel may sail the world around,
But with her the girls will still be found!
Hurrah! then, boys, for the one of your mind,
That never, oh, never, you'll leave behind."