compressed, more taciturn than ever—­Jansen shook his head, muttering, “Te tog is no tog”—­Bill Spurey had to repeat to the ship’s company the legend of his coming on board over and over again.  The only persons who appeared not to have lost their courage were Jemmy Ducks and poor Smallbones, who had been put in his hammock to recover him from his refrigeration.  The former said, “that if they were to sail with the devil, it could not be helped, pay and prize-money would still go on;” and the latter, who had quite recovered his self-possession, “vowed that dog or devil, he would never cease his attempts to destroy him—­if he was the devil, or one of his imps, it was his duty as a Christian to oppose him, and he had no chance of better treatment if he were to remain quiet.”  The snow-storm continued, and the men remained below, all but Jemmy Ducks, who leaned against the lee side of the cutter’s mast, and, as the snow fell, sang, to a slow air, the following ditty, it probably being called to his recollection by the state of the weather.

’Twas at the landing-place that’s just below Mount Wyse,
Poll leaned against the sentry’s box, a tear in both her eyes,
Her apron twisted round her arms, all for to keep them warm,
Being a windy Christmas-day, and also a snow-storm.

And Bet and Sue
Both stood there too,
A-shivering by her side,
They both were dumb,
And both looked glum,
As they watched the ebbing tide. 
Poll put her arms a-kimbo,
At the admiral’s house looked she,
To thoughts before in limbo,
She now a vent gave free. 
You have sent the ship in a gale to work,
On a lee shore to be jammed,
I’ll give you a piece of my mind, old Turk,
Port Admiral, you be d——­d.

Chorus.—­We’ll give you a piece of our mind, old Turk,
Port Admiral, you be d——­d.

Who ever heard in the sarvice of a frigate made to sail
On Christmas-day, it blowing hard, with sleet, and snow, and hail? 
I wish I had the fishing of your back that is so bent,
I’d use the galley poker hot unto your heart’s content.

Here Bet and Sue
Are with me too,
A shivering by my side,
They both are dumb,
And both look glum,
And watch the ebbing tide. 
Poll put her arms a-kimbo,
At the admiral’s house looked she,
To thoughts that were in limbo,
She now a vent gave free. 
You’ve got a roaring fire I’ll bet,
In it your toes are jammed,
Let’s give him a piece of our mind, my Bet,
Port Admiral, you be d——­d.

Chorus.—­Let’s give him a piece of our mind, my Bet,
Port Admiral, you be d——­d.

I had the flour and plums all picked, and suet all chopped fine,
To mix into a pudding rich for all the mess to dine;
I pawned my ear-rings for the beef, it weighed at least a stone,
Now my fancy man is sent to sea, and I am left alone.