There were evidently more sailormen aboard than either the bosun or Black Davis had calculated on, for the chorus came with a roar: "Heave a-way, my Johnnies, heave a-way!"
"I saw the charming maids so gay,
A-coming down in flocks,"
continued Jack.
Then again came the deep-sea roar of—
"Heave away, my bully boys,
We're all bound to go!"
The shanghaied cowpuncher watched everything the while with a keen eye, and the chantying greatly pleased him.
"This is shore most elegant music," he said to Jack. "What for of a play would it be if I gives them the 'Dying Ranger.'"
"Wouldn't go, Broncho," replied the other. "These are sailors' working songs; they're to help the capstan round."
"You shorely surprises me, Jack. This here ship business is some deep an' interestin' as a play, an' you'll excuse me for ropin' at you with questions an' a-pesterin', but I'm cutting kyards with myself desp'rate as to this here whirlygig concarn we-alls is a-pushin' round."
"Why, we're getting up the anchor, Broncho. Do you hear that 'klink, klink'? That's the cable coming in."
"Hove short!" suddenly sang out the mate.