Old Jamaica pine-apple — “Tots” for Tommy Atkins — The grog tub aboard ship — Omelette au rhum — Rum-and-milk — Ditto-and-ale — A maddening mixture — Rectifying gin — “The seasoning as does it” — Oil of turpentine and table-salt — A long thirst — A farthing’s worth of Old Tom — Roach-alum — Dirty gin — Gin and bitters — “Kosher” rum — An active and intelligent officer — Gambling propensities of the Israelites — The dice in the tumbler — Nomenclature at “The Olde Cheshyre Cheese” — “Rack” — “Cork.”

We now come to Rum, “superior old Jamaica pine-apple,” otherwise known as “sailors’ tea”—the spirit in question having from time im-me-mo-rial been held in high esteem by mariners both afloat and ashore. Rum is probably one of the easiest beverages to make, being, simply, fermented and distilled cane-sugar. Occasionally pine-apples and guavas are thrown into the still, but in making this spirit on a large scale no attempts are made to add to its flavour and thereby deduct from the profits to be made on the commodity. It is coloured with caramel, and the longer you keep it the better and, therefore, the more valuable, it becomes. In the city {84} of Carlisle in the year 1865 some rum known to be 140 years old was sold for ￡3?:?3s. per bottle.

This is not the brand served out to our army and navy; although the “tots” issued periodically to Tommy Atkins and Ben Bowline consist of good, sound liquor, wholesome enough, save for gouty subjects—and a sailor with the gout would be of about as much use to his Queen and country as a watch without works—and writing from past experience I can aver that every drop of liquor, whether ale or rum, supplied in a regimental canteen had to be previously passed by a committee of “taste.” In many ships, nowadays, no rum or other intoxicant is served out; and as no equivalent is given, it might appear as though the owners made a good thing out of the temperate habits of their crews. But I do not believe in total abstinence as an aid to work; and I have never seen a sailor the worse—on board ship—for his “tot.” On the other hand, in the old days of “Green’s” troop-ships, the old sailing-vessels which made the voyage to India round the Cape of Good Hope, it was by no means infrequent for a soldier to be “overcome” by the cane-spirit, of which he occasionally got rather more than his orthodox allowance.

How was this managed? The thrifty seafarers were in the habit of selling their grog allowance to the “swaddies”; and as soon as the ship’s captain found this out, he issued stringent regulations which it might have been expected would put a stop to this practice. When all hands were piped to grog a ship’s officer was {85} stationed by the tub, to see that each sailor drank his allowance. Still there was intoxication amongst the troops, and it was discovered that many of the sailors’ pannikins had false bottoms, and that in this way the rum was concealed. After that the ship’s officer was enjoined to see that each sailor partook of his tot; but even this precaution failed; for the rum would be ejected from the men’s mouths into a bucket in the fo’c’sle, and then sold—a disgusting practice which merited severe punishment, and frequently obtained it.

We English do not make nearly as much use of rum in cookery as do our lively neighbours. One of the most approved of entremets is an omelette au rhum, a truly grateful dish, if the omelette be properly made, although rum be spelt with an “h.” But it is a mistake to use rum-sauce with plum-pudding, as do the French; for brandy is a far better digestive of the cloying materials of which the pudding is composed. As mentioned in Cakes and Ale, rum-and-milk is said, by the chief English authority on dietetics, to be the most powerful restorative known to man. This may, or may not, be true; I am prepared to back a judicious dose of “the Boy”—not limited to a “split pint,” either. But of all horrible mixtures, defend me from rum-and-ale, which used to be a potion much in favour with the dangerous classes of our metropolis, in the days when I went “slumming” in search of plain unvarnished facts. A steaming tumbler of rum and hot water, with a piece of butter melted therein, was, in my younger days, in vogue as an infallible {86} specific to eject a cold from the head. Nowadays, I prefer the cold.

Gin is supposed by students, who do not make practical test of their learning, to be distilled from malt, or from unmalted barley, or from some other grain, and afterwards rectified and flavoured. And just as it was (according to Mr. Samuel Weller) the seasoning which did it in the case of the cheap pies, so is it the rectifying, and the flavouring which do it, in the matter of gin. Occasionally “rectifying” is hardly the right word to use. That there is such a thing as wholesome, tolerably-pure gin is more than probable; but there is also a very undesirable fluid sold to the poorer classes, and esteemed by their vitiated palates, known under different pet names, of which “blue ruin” and “white satin” are two. This brand of gin is flavoured more or less with oil of turpentine and common salt. No wonder thirst stalks abroad next morning!

“In one well-known hostelry,” observes a writer in a daily newspaper, “situated not a stone’s throw from the Bank of England, you can, if you be so minded, ask for and obtain a farthing’s worth of gin. It is served in tiny liqueur-glasses, and the custom dates from the time when the purchasing power of the coin in question was far greater than it is now, and when consequently, a farthing&rs............