“Well, Tom, I haven’t seen anything of you for I don’t know how long, since you’ve taken to a seafaring life. This is a beautiful day, is it not? It makes one feel so happy and cheerful such a day as this. Everybody and everything looks gay; the birds seem so merry, and the little clouds seem to scud away as if their hearts were as light as themselves. Come, sit down a minute; here’s a song for you you’ve never heard, one I don’t often sing, because they say it’s all about myself.”
“Well, then, I should like to hear that.”
“Here goes, then.
“Sam Swipes, he was a seaman true
As brave and bold a tar
As e’er was dressed in navy blue
On board a man-of-war.
“One fault he had—on sea or land
He was a thirsty dog;
For Sammy never could withstand
A glass or so of grog.
“He always liked to be at sea,
For e’en on shore, the rover,
If not as drunk as he could be,
Was always ‘half seas over.’
“The gunner, who was apt to scoff,
With jokes most aptly timed,
Said Sam might any day go off,
’Cause he was always ‘primed.’
“Sam didn’t want a feeling heart,
Though never seen to cry;
Yet tears were always on the start,
‘The drop was in his eye.’
“At fighting Sam was never shy,
A most undoubted merit;
His courage never failed, and why?
He was so full of ‘spirit.’
“In action he had lost an eye,
But that gave him no trouble;
Quoth Sam, I have no cause to sigh,
I’m always ‘seeing double.’
“A shot from an unlucky gun
Put Sam on timber pegs;
It didn’t signify to one
Who ne’er could ‘keep his legs.’
“One night he filled a pail with grog,
Determined he would suck it:
He drained it dry, the thirsty dog!
Hiccupped, and ‘kicked the bucket.’”
“There’s Bill’s fiddle, Dick,” said I, getting up; “I thought you would bring him out.”
“Yes, I was sure of that. I’ll sing another verse or two, and then be off to the park, and leave him in the lurch.”
“I can’t wait any more, Dick; I must go to my father,” said I. “Well, off with you, then, and I’m off too. Sing tura ha, tura ha, tura lura ha. Bill’s coming down. How savage the nigger will be!”