Seamen, like Arabs, work best in unison under the inspiration of music. “Sails,” the Glenalvon’s acknowledged leader in vocal productions, burst out in a rasping shriek:—
“As I was walkin’ down Ratcliffe Highway.”
All hands caught up the chorus in a roar that the distant cliffs threw back at us:—
“Blow! boys! blow the man down!” heaving together at each repetition of the word “blow.”
“Sails” continued:—
“A pretty young maid I chanced for to meet.”
“Oh! give us some time to blow the man down!”
“Says she, ‘Young man, will you stand treat?’”
“Blow! boys! blow the man down!”
“‘Delighted,’ says I, ‘for a charmer so sweet.’”