“I did my duty manfully while on the billows rolling;
And night or day could find the way,
Blindfold, to the maintop-bowling.”
He paused and looked around him.
“‘Blindfold to the maintop-bowling!’” he ejaculated. “Which end of it, d’ye reckon, mates? Would he come down the bolt-rope to the bridle? That must have been it, otherwise what manfulness would he have had occasion to talk about? But listen to this, boys—evidently the work of another nautical man. It’s called ‘The Storm.’
‘Now it freshens, set the braces;
Quick, the topsail sheets let go!
Luff, boys, luff; don’t make wry faces!
Up your topsails nimbly clew!’
‘Set the braces!’ How’s that job done, d’ye know? And when they was told to ‘Luff, boys, luff,’ did they let go of the wheel to ‘Up their topsails nimbly clew’? It must have been a bad storm, that. I wonder they didn’t ship a capstan bar in a lee scupper-hole to keep the ship upright.”
“You mustn’t be too critical,” said I; “it’s the music of those old songs that makes them beautiful.”
“I’ve got nothen to do with the music,” he said warmly. “It’s the words I’m looking at. What’s the music got to do with the sense? See here!” he cried. “What’s the name of it? oh! ‘The Boatswain Calls,’” and he read—
“Come, my boys, your handspikes poise,
And give one general huzza,
Yet sighing as you pull away
For the tears ashore that flow,
To the windlass let us go,
With yo, heave ho!”
He let fall the paper on his knee and stared at me.
“Well, that is certainly very poor stuff,” said I.