The sailor was right: "It was a dirty
business."
The sporting instinct in the _bona-fide_ British seaman was
always very strong. The white-washed Yankee--that is to say,
not a real American, but a Blue-nose, _i.e._, a Nova
Scotiaman--was never very popular, because of his
traditional bullying and swaggering when all was going well,
and his cowardice in times of danger. Once a vessel was
coming from 'Frisco, and when off Cape Horn she ran into an
ice-berg which towered high above the sailors' heads. There
was great commotion and imminent peril. A Blue-nose was
chief mate, and he became panic-stricken, flopped on to his
knees, and piteously appealed for Divine interposition to
save them from untimely death. The second mate, who was a
real John Bull, believed in work rather than prayer, at
least so long as their position threatened sudden
extinction. He observed the petitioner in the undignified
position of kneeling in prayer beside the mainmast. It
angered him so that he put a peremptory stop to his
pleadings by bringing his foot violently in contact with the
posterior portion of his body, simultaneously asking him,
"Why the h--- he did not pray before? It's not a damned bit
of good praying now the trouble has arisen! Get on to your
pins," said the irate officer, "and do some useful work!
This is no time for snivelling lamentations.
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