"Good old!" they cried. "Oh, give her cloth! Hurray!
For three weeks more to Valparaiso Bay!
"She smells old Vallipo," the Bosun cried.
"We'll be inside the tier in three weeks more,
Lying at double-moorings where they ride
Off of the market, half a mile from shore,
And bumboat pan, my sons, and figs galore,
And girls in black mantillas fit to make a
Poor seaman frantic when they dance the cueca."
Eight bells were made, the watch was changed, and now