“Yes,” replied Dick.

Jack’s alive and full of fun,
When his hulk is crazy,
As he basks in Greenwich sun,
Jolly still though lazy. 
So drink, and call for what you please,
Until you’ve had your whack, boys;
We’ll think no more of raging seas,
Now that we’ve come back, boys.

Chorus.—­With a whip, snip, high cum diddledy,
The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling;
Smack, crack—­this is our jubilee;
Huzza, my lads! we’ll keep the pot boiling.

As this was the last chorus, it was repeated three or four times, and with hallooing, screaming, and dancing in mad gesticulation.

“Hurrah, my lads,” cried Jemmy, “three cheers and a bravo.”

It was high time that they went on board; so thought Frau Vandersloosh, who trembled for her chandeliers; so thought Babette, who had begun to yawn before the last song, and who had tired herself more with laughing at it; so thought they all, and they sallied forth out of the Lust Haus, with Jemmy Ducks having the advance, and fiddling to them the whole way down to the boat.  Fortunately, not one of them fell into the canal, and in ten minutes they were all on board; they were not, however, permitted to turn into their hammocks without the important information being imparted to them, that Snarleyyow had disappeared.

Chapter X

In which is explained the sublime mystery of keel-hauling—­Snarleyyow saves Smallbones from being drowned, although Smallbones would have drowned him.

It is a dark morning; the wind is fresh from the northwest; flakes of snow are seen wafting here and there by the wind, the avant-couriers of a heavy fall; the whole sky is of one murky grey, and the sun is hidden behind a dense bank.  The deck of the cutter is wet and slippery, and Dick Short has the morning watch.  He is wrapt up in a Flushing pea-jacket, with thick mittens on his hands; he looks about him, and now and then a fragment of snow whirls into his eye; he winks it out, it melts and runs like a tear down his cheek.  If it were not that it is contrary to man-of-war custom he would warm himself with the double-shuffle, but such a step would be unheard of on the quarter-deck of even the cutter Yungfrau.

The tarpaulin over the hatchway is pushed on one side, and the space between the coamings is filled with the bull head and broad shoulders of Corporal Van Spitter, who, at last, gains the deck; he looks round him and apparently is not much pleased with the weather.  Before he proceeds to business, he examines the sleeves and front of his jacket, and having brushed off with the palm of his hand a variety of blanket-hairs, adhering to the cloth, he is satisfied, and now turns to the right and to the left, and forward and aft—­in less than a minute he goes right round the compass.  What can Corporal Van Spitter want at so early an hour?  He has not come up on deck for nothing, and yet he appears to be strangely puzzled:  the fact is, by the arrangements of last night, it was decided, that this morning, if Snarleyyow did not make his appearance in the boat sent on shore for fresh beef for the ship’s company, the unfortunate Smallbones was to be keel-hauled.