Then--"Get out your washdeck gear! Wash down!" and the day's work would begin.
The rough passage around the Horn--seagoing with the bark on--worked the discontent out of our systems, and with the return of fine weather, all hands cheered up and life became more and more worth living. The dog watches were lively, with hotly contested arguments on all topics under heaven. The less the debaters knew about a subject, the more they would have to say about it; resembling in this regard large numbers of more sophisticated folk ashore. Some of the discussions would last for days, being carried on as a serial story, from dog watch to dog watch, with overflow sessions on deck at night. As none of the contenders would ever budge an inch from their positions, the points at issue always remained undecided except in the fish argument, which was settled by the mate.
For a long time Martin, Joe and Scouse indulged in heated discussion as to whether fish was meat, or whether it was something else. Joe contended for the negative, that fish was not meat, while Martin and Scouse insisted that fish and meat were the same thing.
Joe had two against him, but being quicker with his tongue he was able to hold Scouse and Martin pretty well in check.
"If fish ain't meat, wot is it?" demanded Martin. "Is it wegetables, or wot?"
This always stumped Joe, but he stuck to his guns and came back stronger each time: "It's fish, that's wot it is, F-I-S-H--FISH!" his voice rising above everything else in the heat of argument.
The debate finally closed in a particularly violent session that continued as our side went aft to muster in the second dog watch.
"Fish you say!" shouted the mate at the unheard of disrespect on the part of Joe, who was frothing at the mouth in the defense of his contention. "I'll fish you, you thick-headed ass," and as Joe woke up to the fact that a new champion had come into the field, the whole watch broke into a laugh at the sequel. "Fish, is it? Well, I'll fish you good and proper. Get a pot of slush and rub down the mizzen topmast. Drop a spot, and you stay on deck tomorrow forenoon, _you fisherman!_" The last with biting sarcasm.
Joe lay aloft with his slush pot, and as a bright moon gave him plenty of light at his work, it also enabled the mate to watch him closely. However, this ended the argument, much to the satisfaction of all of us, for it was a bit wearing.