“Of course there is,” replied Smith; “a sea-song without a chorus is like a kite without a tail—it is sure to fall flat, but the chorus is an old and well-known one—it is only the song that is new. Now then, clear your throats, gentlemen.”
Song—The Loss of the Nancy Lee.
I.
’Twas on a Friday morning that I went off,
An’ shipped in the Nancy Lee,
But that ship caught a cold and with one tremendous cough
Went slap to the bottom of the sea, the sea, the sea,
Went slap to the bottom of the sea.
Chorus.—Then the raging sea may roar,
An’ the stormy winds may blow,
While we jolly sailor boys rattle up aloft,
And the landlubbers lie down below, below, below
And the landlubbers lie down below.
II.
For wery nigh a century I lived with the crabs,
An’ danced wi’ the Mermaids too,
An’ drove about the Ocean in mother o’ pearl cabs,
An’ dwelt in a cavern so blue, so blue, so blue,
An’ dwelt in a cavern so blue.
Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.
III.
I soon forgot the sorrows o’ the world above
In the pleasures o’ the life below;
Queer fish they made up to me the want o’ human love,
As through the world o’ waters I did go, did go, did go;
As through the world o’ waters I did go.
Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.
IV.
One day a horrid grampus caught me all by the nose,
An’ swung me up to the land,
An’ I never went to sea again, as everybody knows,
And as everybody well may understand, ’derstand, ’derstand,
And as everybody well may understand.
Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.
The plaudits with which this song was received were, it need scarcely be remarked, due more to the vigour of the chorus and the enthusiasm of the audience than to intrinsic merit. Even Robin Wright was carried off his legs for the moment, and, modest though he was, broke in at the chorus with such effect—his voice being shrill and clear—that, he unintentionally outyelled all the rest, and would have fled in consternation from the saloon if he had not been caught and forcibly detained by the sporting electrician, who demanded what right he had to raise his steam-whistle in that fashion.
“But I say, young Wright,” he added in a lower tone, leading our hero aside, “what’s this rumour I hear about a ghost in the steward’s cabin?”
“Oh! it is nothing to speak of,” replied Robin, with a laugh. “The lad they call Stumps got a fright—that’s all.”
“But that’s enough. Let us hear about it.”
“Well, I suppose you know,” said Robin, “that there’s a ghost in the Great Eastern.”
“No, I don’t know it from personal experience, but I have heard a report to that effect.”
“Well, I was down in Jim Slagg’s berth, having a chat with him about the nature of electric currents—for he has a very inquiring mind,—and somehow we diverged to ghosts, and began to talk of the ghost of the Great Eastern.
“‘I don’t believe in the Great Eastern ghost—no, nor in ghosts of any kind,’ said Stumps, who was sitting near us eating a bit of cheese.