The vocalists were the Cyclops, to judge by the tremendous
thumps that kept clean time to their sturdy tune. Yet it was but human
labor, so heavy and so knowing, that it had called in music to help. It
was the third mate and his gang completing his floor to receive the
coming tea chests. Yesterday he had stowed his dunnage, many hundred
bundles of light flexible canes from Sumatra and Malacca; on these he had
laid tons of rough saltpetre, in 200 lb. gunny-bags: and was now mashing
it to music, bags and all. His gang of fifteen, naked to the waist,
stood in line, with huge wooden beetles, called commanders, and lifted
them high and brought them down on the nitre in cadence with true
nautical power and unison, singing as follows, with ponderous bump on the
last note in each bar:--
[Illustration: Song sung by labor gang.]
And so up to fifteen, when the stave was concluded with a shrill "Spell,
oh!" and the gang relieved streaming with perspiration. When the
saltpetre was well mashed, they rolled ton waterbutts on it, till the
floor was like a billiard table. A fleet of chop boats then began to
arrive, so many per day, with the tea chests.
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