That evening after supper there was a gathering of the choice spirits of the crew in the vicinity of the after wheel-house. "Dye," the chief member of the "Yankee's" choir, started one of "Steve's" little songs, which, although rendered very quietly in deference to the rules observed on blockade, was greatly enjoyed. The air was "Tommy Atkins," and the words ran as follows:
"They made us sign our papers for a year,
And dressed us in a natty sailor's suit;
They taught us how to heave the lead and steer,
And how to handle guns and how to shoot.
We fancied we'd be leaving right away
To capture prizes on the Spanish Main,
And be raising merry hades
With the dusky Spanish laddies,
And within a month come steaming home again.
CHORUS.
"But instead we ran a ferry
All along the Jersey shore,
And our turns were empty very,
And our hands were awful sore.
We would give our bottom dollar
Just to see a cable car,
Just to hear a newsboy holler,
Just to smoke a good cigar.
"In times of peace we do not have to sweep
Or carry coal or stand on watch all night;
We do not have to scrub down decks or keep
Our toothbrush chained, or brasswork shining bright.
We never washed our faces in a pail,
We never heard the fog-horn's awful shriek,
We never ate salt horse,
We combed our hair, of course,
And we never wore our stockings for a week."
CHORUS.
"Suppose you 'heroes' pipe down there," came from the darkness just then. "What do you think this is, a concert hall?"
"It's 'Cutlets,'" muttered "Stump." "He would like to make the ship a funeral barge."
We sat in silence for a while, watching the retreating form of the navigator passing forward; then Tom Le Valley, a zealous member of Number Nine gun's crew, spoke up.
"Do you see those two lights twinkling over there about where the 'Dolphin' should be, fellows?" he asked.