The Salty Rogue

The name’s Phineas Krunk—Old Fin to the lads on the watch. Aye, the joints are stiff as salt-horse and the throat’s full of bilge, but many’s the yarn I can tell. Nine voyages in deep-water hulls. Nine! Five times doubling the Horn in a howling gale. Who else can say so, I ask ye?

I know the working tunes, every stick of them. But being the cross-grained sort, I’d slip a new verse or two into the halyard shanties. Flipped the rhythms, too—French ditties I picked up in a Marseille crimp-house. Lordy, them Marseille girlies on the docks, their topsails all a-flutterin’! I tell you! Now knock off the chatter, you green hands! Those tunes was never written down. How else to give a jab to the skipper without him ever the wiser?

Belay that! Listen to what we actual sang aboard the Jenny Lind. A proper clipper cruise, that one.

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