Chapter 32

A DISH OF DUNDERFUNK.

In men-of-war, the space on the uppermost deck, round about the
main-mast, is the Police-office, Court-house, and yard of
execution, where all charges are lodged, causes tried, and
punishment administered. In frigate phrase, to be _brought up to
the mast_, is equivalent to being presented before the grand-
jury, to see whether a true bill will be found against you.

From the merciless, inquisitorial _baiting_, which sailors,
charged with offences, too often experience _at the mast_, that
vicinity is usually known among them as the _bull-ring_.

The main-mast, moreover, is the only place where the sailor can
hold formal communication with the captain and officers. If any
one has been robbed; if any one has been evilly entreated; if any
one's character has been defamed; if any one has a request to
present; if any one has aught important for the executive of the
ship to know--straight to the main-mast he repairs; and stands
there--generally with his hat off--waiting the pleasure of the
officer of the deck, to advance and communicate with him. Often,
the most ludicrous scenes occur, and the most comical complaints
are made.

One clear, cold morning, while we were yet running away from the
Cape, a raw boned, crack-pated Down Easter, belonging to the
Waist, made his appearance at the mast, dolefully exhibiting a
blackened tin pan, bearing a few crusty traces of some sort of a
sea-pie, which had been cooked in it.

"Well, sir, what now?" said the Lieutenant of the Deck, advancing.

"They stole it, sir; all my nice _dunderfunk_, sir; they did,
sir," whined the Down Easter, ruefully holding up his pan. "Stole
your _dunderfunk!_ what's that?"

"_Dunderfunk_, sir, _dunderfunk_; a cruel nice dish as ever man
put into him."

"Speak out, sir; what's the matter?"

"My _dunderfunk_, sir--as elegant a dish of _dunderfunk_ as you
ever see, sir--they stole it, sir!"

"Go forward, you rascal!" cried the Lieutenant, in a towering
rage, "or else stop your whining. Tell me, what's the matter?"

"Why, sir, them 'ere two fellows, Dobs and Hodnose, stole my
_dunderfunk_."

"Once more, sir, I ask what that _dundledunk_ is? Speak!" "As
cruel a nice------"

"Be off, sir! sheer!" and muttering something about _non compos
mentis_, the Lieutenant stalked away; while the Down Easter beat
a melancholy retreat, holding up his pan like a tambourine, and
making dolorous music on it as he went.

"Where are you going with that tear in your eye, like a travelling
rat?" cried a top-man.

"Oh! he's