Then the spell of the night was broken. From forward came the half-barbaric music of a “sand-box” rattle, a squeaky fiddle, and a mouth organ, and echoing over the harbor came Sam’s full-throated voice in a weird, garbled version of “Sally Brown”:
“Oh, Sally Brown she are so pretty—
Way-ee Sally, Sally Brown!
Oh, Sally Brown o’ Noo York City—
Way-ee ’ll spen’ mah money for Sally Brown.
“Oh, Sally Brown she fall ’n th’ water—
Way-ee Sally, Sally Brown!
Oh, Ah drug her out an’ had n’ oughter—
Way-ee ’ll spen’ mah money for Sally Brown.
“Oh, Sally Brown she say she love me—