“Mein Gott—­but how, mynheer—­we no have the excuse.”

“But I’ll give you one,” replied Ramsay—­“you shall go to the Hague.”

The corporal touched his hat with the greatest respect, and walked forward to communicate this good news.  The crew of the Yungfrau and the conspirators or smugglers were soon on the best of terms, and as there was no one to check the wasteful expenditure of stores and no one accountable, the liquor was hoisted up on the forecastle, and the night passed in carousing.

“Well, he did love his dog after all,” said Jemmy Ducks.

“And he’s got his love with him,” replied one of the smugglers.

“Now, Jemmy, let’s have a song.”

“It must be without the fiddle then,” replied Jemmy, “for that’s jammed up with the baggage—­so here goes,”

     I’ve often heard the chaplain say, when Davey Jones is nigh,
     That we must call for help in need, to Providence on high,
     But then he said, most plainly too, that we must do our best,
     Our own exertions failing, leave to Providence the rest.

     I never thought of this much till one day there came on board,
     A chap who ventur’d to join as seaman by the Lord! 
     His hair hung down like reef points, and his phiz was very queer,
     For his mouth was like a shark’s, and turn’d down from ear to ear.

     He hadn’t stow’d his hammock, not much longer than a week,
     When he swore he had a call, and the Lord he was to seek. 
     Now where he went to seek the Lord, I can’t at all suppose,
     ’Twas not on deck for there I’m sure, he never show’d his nose.

     He would not read the Bible, it warn’t good enough for him,
     The course we steered by that he said, would lead us all to sin;
     That we were damn’d and hell would gape, he often would us tell,
     I know that when I heard his jaw, it made me gape like hell.

     A storm came on, we sprung a leak, and sorely were we tired,
     We plied the pumps, ’twas spell and spell, with lots of work beside;
     And what d’ye think this beggar did, the trick I do declare,
     He called us all to leave the pumps and join with him in prayer.

     At last our boatswain Billy, who was a thund’ring Turk,
     Goes up to him and says, “My man, why don’t you do your work?”
     “Avaunt you worst of sinners, I must save my soul,” he cried,
     “Confound your soul,” says Billy, “then you shall not save your hide.”

     Acquaintance then he made soon with the end of the fore-brace,
     It would have made you laugh to see his methodisty face;
     He grinn’d like a roast monkey, and he howl’d like a baboon,
     He had a dose from Billy, that he didn’t forget soon.

     “Take that,” said Billy, when he’d done, “and now you’ll please
          to work,
     I read the Bible often—­but I don’t my duty shirk,
     The pumps they are not choked yet, nor do we yet despair,
     When all is up or we are saved, we’ll join with you in player.”