"Ay, and he's going to sing."
"Sing!"
"Mark my word, he's going to sing," repeated Bill Adams with confidence; and, sure enough, Mr. Sturge stepped forward and with a reproachful glance at the empty Royal box uplifted his voice:
"When honest Jack across the foam
Puts forth to meet the Gallic foe,
His tributary tear for home
He wipes away with a Yow-heave-ho!
Man the braces,
Take your places,
Fill the tot and push the can;
He's a lubber
That would blubber
When Britannia needs a Man!"
"When honest Jack across the foam
Puts forth to meet the Gallic foe,
His tributary tear for home
He wipes away with a Yow-heave-ho!
Man the braces,
Take your places,
Fill the tot and push the can;
He's a lubber
That would blubber
When Britannia needs a Man!"
"S'help us, Bill, what are they doing now?" gasped Ben Jope, as two groups of seamen, one at either wing, took up the chorus; tailing on to a cable and heaving while they sang.
"Fishin' the anchor," said Bill pensively; "that's what they're doin'. She carries her catheads amidships. The ship's all right, once you get the hang of her."
"Bill, we must 'ave him!"
"Hush it, you swab! He's beginning again."
"But when among the heaving clouds,
Aloft, alone, with folded arms,
He hangs her portrait in the shrouds
And feeds on Susan's glowing charms,
To th' horizon
Soft his sighs on
Angel wings the zephyrs fan,
While his feelings,
Deep revealings,
Prove that Jack remains a Man!"