# Davy and the Goblin/Chapter XIII

“I wonder why the ocean doesn’t keep still sometimes, and not be moving its edge about all the time,” said Davy, after watching the waves that constantly rolled up on the beach and then rolled back again, looking like creamy soap-suds.
“That wouldn’t do at all!” said a Wave that rolled almost up to his feet. “The beach gets mussed, you see, and we have to smooth it off again. The sea is always tidy;” and here the Wave broke with a little, murmuring laugh, and rolled back again, all in a foam.
Davy was so astonished that it almost took away his breath. A talking Wave was certainly the most marvellous thing he had met with, and in an instant he was lying flat on his face, trembling with eagerness, and waiting for the next Wave to roll up on the shore.
It came in a moment, and gently whispered, “If we didn’t wet the sand once in a while there wouldn’t be any nuts on the beach-trees,—no nuts on the trees, and no shells on the shore;” and here this Wave broke in its turn into foam, and ran back into the sea.
“This is perfectly delicious!” said Davy, joyfully, and as the next Wave rolled up to him he softly asked, “Do you know the Whale?”
“Know him!” cried the Wave, passionately; “I should think I did! Many a time I’ve been spanked by his horrid old tail. The nasty, blundering, floundering, walloping old”—and here the end of the sentence dribbled away in a sort of washy whisper.
“Such a mouth!” said the next Wave, taking up the story. “Like a fishing-smack lined with red morocco! And such a temper! I wouldn’t be so crusty for all”—but just here the Wave toppled over as usual, and the rest of the sentence ran back into the sea.
“Once,” said the next Wave, still scolding about the Whale,—“once he got so far up on the shore that he couldn’t get back into the water for a long time, and he blamed me for it, and called me names. He said I was a mean, low tide;” but just as Davy was eagerly listening for the rest of the story this Wave, like the rest, broke into foam and washed away.
“It’s really too ridiculous, the way they break off their sentences!” cried Davy, impatiently.
“Is it, indeed!” said a big Wave, coming in with a rush. “Perhaps you’d like to get acquainted with an angry sea!”
It was an angry sea, indeed; for, as the Wave said this, the ocean was suddenly lashed into fury, the water rose into huge, green billows that came tossing up on the shore, and Davy, scrambling to his feet, ran for his life. The air was filled with flying spray, and he could hear the roar of the water coming on behind him with a mighty rush as he ran across the beach, not daring to stop until he found himself out of reach of the angry ocean, on a high bluff of sand. Here he stopped, quite out of breath, and looked back.
The wind was blowing fiercely, and a cloud of spray was dashed in his face as he turned toward it, and presently the air was filled with lobsters, eels, and wriggling fishes that were being carried inshore by the gale. Suddenly, to Davy’s astonishment, a dog came sailing along. He was being helplessly blown about among the lobsters, uneasily jerking his tail from side to side to keep it out of reach of their great claws, and giving short, nervous barks from time to time, as though he were firing signal-guns of distress. In fact, he seemed to be having such a hard time of it that Davy caught him by the ear as he was going by, and landed him in safety on the beach. He proved to be a very shaggy, battered-looking animal, in an old pea-jacket, with a weather-beaten tarpaulin hat jammed on the side of his head, and a patch over one eye; altogether he was the most extraordinary-looking animal that could be imagined, and Davy stood staring at him, and wondering what sort of a dog he was.
“Are you a pointer?” he said at last, by way of opening conversation.
“Not I,” said the Dog, sulkily. “It’s rude to point. I’m an old Sea-Dog, come ashore in a gale.”
Here he stared doubtfully at Davy for a moment, and then said, in a husky voice:—
“What’s the difference between a dog-watch and a watch-dog? It’s a conundrum.”
“I don’t know,” said Davy, who would have laughed if he had not been a little afraid of the Dog.
“A dog-watch keeps a watching on a bark,” said the old Sea-Dog; “and a watch-dog keeps a barking on a watch.” Here he winked at Davy, and said, “What’s your name?” as if he had just mentioned his own.
“Davy”—began the little boy, but before he could say another word the old Sea-Dog growled, “Right you are!” and, handing him a folded paper, trotted gravely away, swaggering, as he went, like a seafaring man.
The paper was addressed to “Davy Jones,” and was headed inside, “Binnacle Bob: His werses;” and below these words Davy found the following story:—
To inactivity inclined Was Captain Parker Pitch’s mind; In point of fact, ’twas fitted for A sedentary life ashore.
His disposition, so to speak, Was nautically soft and weak; He feared the rolling ocean, and He very much preferred the land.
A stronger-minded man by far Was gallant Captain Thompson Tar; And (what was very wrong, I think) He marked himself with India ink.
He boldly sailed the “Soaking Sue” When angry gales and tempests blew, And even from the nor-nor-east He didn’t mind ’em in the least.
Now, Captain Parker Pitch’s sloop Was called the “Cozy Chickencoop,”— A truly comfortable craft, With ample state-rooms fore and aft.
No foolish customs of the deep, Like “watches,” robbed his crew of sleep; That estimable lot of men Were all in bed at half-past ten.
At seven bells, one stormy day, Bold Captain Tar came by that way, And in a voice extremely coarse He roared “Ahoy!” till he was hoarse.
Next morning, of his own accord, This able seaman came aboard, And made the following remark Concerning Captain Pitch’s bark:—
“Avast!” says he, “Belay! What cheer! How comes this little wessel here? Come, tumble up your crew,” says he, “And navigate a bit with me!”
Says Captain Pitch, “I can’t refuse To join you on a friendly cruise; But you’ll oblige me, Captain Tar, By not a-taking of me far.”
At this reply from Captain Pitch, Bold Thompson gave himself a hitch, It cut him to the heart to find A seaman in this frame of mind.
“Avast!” says he; “we’ll bear away For Madagascar and Bombay, Then down the coast to Yucatan, Kamtschatka, Guinea, and Japan.”
“Stand off for Egypt, Turkey, Spain, Australia, and the Spanish Main, Then through the nor-west passage for Van Dieman’s Land and Labrador.”
Says Captain Pitch, “The ocean swell Makes me exceedingly unwell, And, Captain Tar, before we start, Pray join me in a friendly tart.”
And shall I go and take and hide The sneaking trick that Parker tried? Oh! no. I very much prefer To state his actions as they were:
With marmalade he first began To tempt that bluff seafaring man, Then fed him all the afternoon With custard in a table-spoon.
No mariner, however tough, Can thrive upon this kind of stuff; And Thompson soon appeared to be A feeble-minded child of three.
He cried for cakes and lollipops; He played with dolls and humming-tops; He even ceased to roar “I’m blowed!” And shook a rattle, laughed, and crowed.
When Parker saw the seamen gaze Upon the captain’s cunning ways, Base envy thrilled him through and through. And he became a child of two.
Now, Parker had in his employ A mate, two seamen, and a boy; The mate was fond as he could be Of babies, and he says, says he,—
“Why, messmates, as we’re all agreed Sea-bathing is the thing they need, Let’s drop these hinfants off the quarter!” (They did, in fourteen fathom water).
—and here the story came abruptly to an end.
Davy was quite distressed at this, particularly as the dreadful thought came into his mind that some babies do not know how to swim, and he was therefore very well satisfied when he saw that the old Sea-Dog had apparently changed his mind about going away, and was swaggering along toward him again.
“If you please,” said Davy, as the surly creature came within hearing distance,—“if you please, sir, were the two little captains drowned?”
“Well, sticking, as it were, to the truth, they were not,” replied the old Sea-Dog, very gruffly.
“Then, why don’t you say so in the story?” said Davy.
Now, this was pretty bold of him, for old Sea-Dogs don’t much like to have fault found with their verses, and this particular old Sea-Dog evidently did not like it at all, for, after staring at Davy for a moment, he began walking slowly around him in such a threatening manner that Davy, thinking that perhaps he meant to jump on him from behind, began also turning so as to keep his face always toward the Dog. Meanwhile, as you may well believe, he began to feel very sorry that he had said anything about the verses.
Presently the old Sea-Dog broke into a clumsy canter, like a weary old circus horse, and as he went heavily around the circle he began to explain about the story. “You see there’s more of it,” said he, wheezing dreadfully as he galloped; “but then I haven’t had the time to put the rest of it in rhyme. It’s all about old Thompson’s crew as stayed aboard the ‘Soaking Sue,’ and saw the skippers floating by and hauled ’em out and got ’em dry, and when the little creeturs cried they gave ’em something warm inside, and being as they had no bed they stowed ’em in a bunk instead,”—but just at this moment the old Sea-Dog, who had been constantly increasing his speed, disappeared in a most extraordinary manner in a whirling cloud of sand, and Davy, who was by this time spinning around like a teetotum, discovered that he himself was rapidly boring his way, like a big screw, down into the beach. This was, of course, a very alarming state of things; but, before Davy could make an effort to free himself, the whirling cloud of sand burst upon him with a loud, roaring sound like the sea, and he felt himself going directly down through the beach, with the sand pouring in upon him as if he had been inside of a huge hour-glass. He had just time to notice that, instead of scraping him, the sand had a delightful ticklesome feeling about it, when he went completely through the beach, and landed, with a gentle thump, flat on his back, with tall grass waving about him.