He’s dressed up like a dandy,
He’s down at Mike’s saloon,
He’s drinkin’ wine and brandy . . .”
It was the voice of John Henry singing the old sailors’ funeral dirge “McGinty.” McGinty is the legendary sea captain who sank to the bottom of the sea, and when sailors get drunk their favorite vision is of McGinty arisen from the dead and drinking in waterfront saloons.
“John Henry!” I called as loud as I could.
I got no answer, except his drunken voice rising in the old song.
Then he weaved out from the shadow of the cargo piled on the wharf to stand at the foot of the gangway. He was so drunk he could hardly keep his balance. He made three gallant efforts to place his foot on the bottom of the gangway; finally, by grabbing the hand ropes he pulled himself aboard and toppled over on the deck. I lifted him up and shook him violently.
“John Henry, stand up!” I shouted at him.
He babbled something unintelligible and drooled down his shirt front as I shook him. His bloodshot eyes focused on me and held there.
“Get your Ole Man give me money for whiskey. Got to have whiskey.”