"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!"
"'Ear that, Bill?"
"O' course I 'ears it. Why not? I knew there was something funny wi' them shrouds. They carries the family portraits on 'em—it's all right, I tell you."
"But 'feeds,' he said."
"Meanin' the picter; though maybe they sling the meat-safe there as well. They ought to."
"They couldn't!"
"Why not? Well, then, p'raps they strikes it now and then in a gale—off Pernambuco—along wi' the t'gallant yards. Stow yer talk, Ben Jope, and let a man listen."
The audience encored Mr. Sturge's song vociferously; and twice he had to repeat it before they would suffer him to turn again and defy the still scowling Lieutenant.
"Ay, sir; the British seaman, before whose collective valour the crowned tyrants of Yurope shrink with diminished heads, dares to proclaim himself a Man, and in despite of any petty tyrant of the quarter-deck. Humble his lot, his station, may be. Callous he himself may be to the thund'ring of the elements or the guns of his country's foemen; but never will he be found irresponsive to female distress in any shape or form. Leftenant Vandeloor, you have upraised your hand against A Woman; you have struck her a Blow. In your teeth I defy you!" (Frantic applause.)
"My word, Bill, the Duke ought to been here to 'ear that!"