The seaman's voice reached them now in a hushed undertone of murmured song. Later it swelled out into this gruesome forecastle refrain:
_Where the sharks go to pray,
And the dead men lay—
Where the crabs crawl to bite,
And the eels—_
"Henderson!" rang the young captain's voice sharply.
"Aye, aye, sir!" came a growl from the engine room.
"Save that song for the deck watch. We want to hear the clock tick."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The seaman was as good as his word. No more of the awesome ditty floated back from him.