Southport Telegraph

BOB SPUNYARN. THE PRACTICAL JOKER
BY HAWSER MARTINGALE.

The last time that Bob Spunyarn went to sea, was in the ship Mandricardo, of Boston. He was second mate of that ship, and proved himself an active, trustworthy and ever vigilant officer. When he was before the mast, he loved to steal a nap on deck during his watch, especially, when it was not his lookout—and many a sweet sleep has he enjoyed seated on the body of the windlass, well wrapped in his monkey jacket, and his head reposing on the bitts.

But when he was promoted, he seemed to be aware of the responsibility which rested upon him, and never allowed himself to be caught napping. He constantly walked the quarter deck, watching the wind and the weather, and kept the sails constantly trimmed, according to the breeze. He would also cause a good look-out to be kept on the forecastle—and rigorously exacted from the starboard watch, that one man, at least, should at all times be awake and moving.

It was a cold, but clear, moonlight night, in the month of November, as the ship Mandricardo was dashing along, with the wind a-beam, on soundings, off the entrance of the British Channel. The starboard watch had the first watch that night—and Mr. Spunyarn gave the men strict orders to keep a good look-out. But, about seven bells, much to his surprise and indignation, he became aware that no one was walking the forecastle deck. Old Peter Peterson, a Swede, a veteran seaman, who, by the way, was hardly ever seen asleep in his life, was leaning over the gunwale in the lee waist, quietly smoking a cheroot. Bob asked him whose look-out it was.

"Jonathan Doolittle's," replied Peter.

"Why, the fellow is fast asleep somewhere—the good-for-nothing vagabond cannot be trusted—he would sleep with his head in a bucket of water. But I will try to awaken him at any rate."

Mr. Spunyarn walked forward softly—and beheld on the inner part of the bowsprit, the gaunt form of Jonathan Doolittle, stretched at full length—his head lying between the nightheads—his capacious mouth wide open—and snoring away, as if for a wager!

Bob told Peter to keep silent, and draw a bucket of water—he then went aft, and told the man at the wheel not to be alarmed at any noise that he might hear, and to pay no attention to any orders which he might give from the forecastle to alter the course.

The helmsman grinned intelligence, for he knew Mr. Spunyarn well.

Bob then went forward again. Poor Jonathan was still in the same position—transported to the Land of Dreams—and apparently deeply engaged in bottling off sleep, as if to secure a stock for a long voyage. The second mate took the bucket of salt water, stood over Jonathan, and gently poured a portion of the contents into his capacious mouth. This was an awkward interruption to Jonathan's deep reveries. The poor fellow was almost suffocated—and while he was gasping and struggling to get breath, Bob rolled him on deck, and dashed the remainder of the water in his face, at the same time screaming in a loud voice, "Hard down your helm—Jonathan's overboard."

This was all enacted in less time than it can be described—and the whole thing was so admirably managed, that poor Doolittle actually believed that he had fallen overboard while asleep on the bowsprit—and being a good swimmer: he "struck out" on the deck, as it for dear life, and looked like an overgrown frog trying to swim in a basin of water. He essayed to call for help, but the salt water in his throat prevented—and the coughing and sputtering, and struggling of the poor fellow was such, that neither the second officer, nor Peter Peterson, could restrain their risible muscles, but burst into a laugh, which rang merrily through the ship, and was the means of bringing Jonathan to his senses, though not before the watch below, as well as the remainder of the watch on deck, roused by the dreadful cry of "a man overboard," had rushed to the scene of action in time to enjoy the joke.

Jonathan Doolittle was cured of sleeping on deck, and was ever afterwards vigilant when entrusted with the look-out.