"Walked away with a piece o' change an' a whole kit o' dunnage," was the way he put it.
And also, according to his story, Jimmy had been a lightweight fighter in his youth, many, many years before. He was the best chantey-man in the crew; to hear him "sing" a rope was an inspiration to tired arms and backs.
While memory lasts, the picture of our first chantey, a few days after leaving port, will remain with me as one of the great thrills that have come my way. A heavy squall in the forenoon watch sent all of our tops'l yards to the caps, everything coming down by the run, to hang slatting in the gear. Sky sails, royals, flying jib, t'gans'ls, jib tops'l, jib, fore topmast stays'l, and then the upper tops'ls were lowered, the latter thrashing and straining against the downhauls as the ship heeled to it almost on her beam ends, gaining headway with a rush, and righting herself as we spilled the wind from the bulging canvas.
Passing as quickly as it came, the squall left us wallowing under lower tops'ls, the courses hanging in their gear.
All hands were called to make sail, and as we manned the main tops'l halyards Jimmy Marshall jumped to the pin rail, and with one leg over the top of the bulwark, he faced the line of men tailing along the deck.
"A chantey, boys!" shouted Mr. Stoddard as he took his place "beforehand" on the rope. "Come now, run her up, lads. Up! Up!" and the heavy yard commenced to creep along the mast to the sound of the creaking parral, the complaining of the blocks, and the haunting deep sea tune of "Blow the Man Down," greatest of all the two haul chanteys.
Jimmy—"Now rouse her right up boys for Liverpool town,"
Sailors—"Go way—way—blow the man down."
Jimmy—"We'll blow the man up and blow the man down,"
Sailors—"Oh, give us some time to blow the man down."
Jimmy—"We lay off the Island of Maderdegascar."
Sailors—"Hi! Ho! Blow the man down."
Jimmy—"We lowered three anchors to make her hold faster,"
Sailors—"Oh, give us some time to blow the man down."