Time for us to go,
Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, ’twill be time for us to go.
“Wall,” said Mose Brown, “I ’low that that escape
From the derned cruiser was a blame close shave,
And I myself once in as bad a scrape
Was lifted out by one big thumping wave
On the same line of coast—or thereabout,
Since it was off the Bight—that’s old Benin—
Where as the sayin’ is, ‘but one goes out
Of all a hundred strangers who go in.’