"You 'eard that, Bill?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Ay," answered Bill Adams. "He slipped down from the t'gallant yards
by the halliards."
"Would ye mind pinchin' me?"
"Where?"
"Anywhere; in the fleshy part of the ham for choice; not too
vigorous, but just to make sure. He come down by the halliards.
_Which_ halliards?"
"Signal halliards, belike. Damme, why not? Aboard a vessel with the
decks laid ath'artships--"
"An' the maintopm'st went smack-smooth--you _'eard_ him? What sort
o' spar--"
"Dunno"--Bill paused and audibly shifted his quid--"unless 'twas a
parsnip. The mizz'n-m'st seems to have stood it, though her stays
_do_ lead to a brass-headed nail in the scuppers."
"In a gale off Pernambuco . . . 'twas his duty, and as a seaman he
did it," quoted Mr. Jope in a low voice thrilled with awe. "Bill, we
must 'ave him. If he did but 'alf of it, we must 'ave him. In them
togs, aboard the _Vesuvius_ now . . . Lord love me, he's dancin'!"
"Ay, and he's going to sing."
"_Sing!_"
"Mark my word, he's going to sing," repeated Bill Adams with
confidence; and, sure enough, Mr. Sturge stepped forward and with a
reproachful glance at the empty Royal box uplifted his voice:
"When honest Jack across the foam
Puts forth to meet the Gallic foe,
His tributary tear for home
He wipes away with a Yow-heave-ho!
Man the braces,
Take your places,
Fill the tot and push the can;
He's a lubber
That would blubber
When Britannia needs a _Man_!"
"S'help us, Bill, what are they doing _now_?" gasped Ben Jope, as two
groups of seamen, one at either wing, took up the chorus; tailing on
to a cable and heaving while they sang.
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