“They made us sign our papers for a year,
        And dressed us in a natty sailor’s suit;
    They taught us how to heave the lead and steer,
        And how to handle guns and how to shoot. 
    We fancied we’d be leaving right away
        To capture prizes on the Spanish Main,
      And be raising merry hades
      With the dusky Spanish laddies,
    And within a month come steaming home again.

    Chorus.

    “But instead we ran a ferry
      All along the Jersey shore,
    And our turns were empty very,
      And our hands were awful sore. 
    We would give our bottom dollar
      Just to see a cable car,
    Just to hear a newsboy holler,
      Just to smoke a good cigar.

    “In times of peace we do not have to sweep
        Or carry coal or stand on watch all night;
      We do not have to scrub down decks or keep
        Our toothbrush chained, or brasswork shining bright. 
      We never washed our faces in a pail,
        We never heard the fog-horn’s awful shriek,
          We never ate salt horse,
          We combed our hair, of course,
        And we never wore our stockings for a week.”

    Chorus.

“Suppose you ‘heroes’ pipe down there,” came from the darkness just then.  “What do you think this is, a concert hall?”

“It’s ‘Cutlets,’” muttered “Stump.”  “He would like to make the ship a funeral barge.”

We sat in silence for a while, watching the retreating form of the navigator passing forward; then Tom Le Valley, a zealous member of Number Nine gun’s crew, spoke up.

“Do you see those two lights twinkling over there about where the ‘Dolphin’ should be, fellows?” he asked.

Some one yawned and nodded.

“Reminds you of a story, eh?” asked “Bill,” who was leaning against the rail.  “Well, come to think of it I remember a—­”

“Several years ago I happened to be a patient in a hospital over in Brooklyn,” continued Tom.  “I was almost well and about to leave the place when a man in the upper ward—­”

“I had a cousin once who used to travel a great deal,” interrupted “Bill,” taking a seat on the deck with his back against a bitt.  “One time he happened to be in a small town just outside of Dublin, Ireland.  The inn was crowded and he had to take up his quarters with a family who occasionally rented out rooms.  A circus and menagerie was giving exhibitions in the city, and one night the biggest monkey escaped from its cage and skipped out.  They instituted a search at once, but the animal could not be found.  Well, it happened that the family with whom my cousin was stopping consisted of father and mother and one son about ten years old.  The boy, whose name was Mike, was a regular limb.  Always in mischief and——­”