There’s many a seaman on this cruise what never will go back.
So crowd every stitch upon her, and the devil care for the spars!
And cry good-bye to earth and sky, for we’re sailing to the stars.
“All a-sailing to the stars,
Ye gentlemen Jack-tars;
We’ll meet again at Fiddler’s Green,
All up among the stars.”
The boat’s crew joined in the chorus, very much out of time, and ceased; we could hear the sea-birds, disturbed from their nesting-places among the rocks, crying and calling overhead, as the party came aboard; then Dawkins struck up again, as he came stumbling down the companion-ladder.
“Oh, up with the Jolly Roger to mizen and peak and main!
There’s many a mess of swabs afloat what’s spoiling to be slain—