“He says, how do, my uncle Gabriel? 
But dis is not your uncle Gabriel. 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“Yes, it is my uncle Gabriel;
For I do know you, uncle Gabriel. 
Oh, my boys, I’m most done!

“De man belonged to Major Prosser,
So cum and hang de Nigger Gin’ral. 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“For he’s ruined old Virginny!
Hard times in old Virginny. 
Oh, my boys, I’m most done!

“Dey wrote a letter to de tailor,
To cut out de Gin’ral’s ruffles. 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“Dey cut de ruffles out o’ iron! 
So they handcuff and chained him. 
Oh, my boys, I’m most done!

“Dey went and called a troop of light horse
To come and guard de Nigger Gin’ral! 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“To guard him all to de city of Richmond,
To guard him up unto de justice. 
Oh, my boys, I’m most done!

“De justice tuk him to de gobnor—­
(Monroe he set up for gobnor). 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“Command him to de Penetenshy;
On Thursday week come on his trial. 
Oh, my boys, I’m most done!

“Dey went and called all de country
For to come and see de Nigger Gin’ral. 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“Some dey call him Archy Mullen—­’My
right name is John Decullen.’ 
Oh, my boys, I’m most done!

“I’m here to-day and gone to-morrow;
I did not come for to stay for eber.’ 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“So den dey tuk him to de gallows,
Drive him down dere in a wagon. 
Oh, my boys, I’m most done!

“Dey drive him down unto de gallows,
Dey drive him down with four gray horses. 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“(Price’s Ben, he drive de wagon)
Very sad loss to Major Prosser. 
Oh, my boys, I’m most done!

“Dey drove him right beneath de gallows,
And den dey hang him and dey swing him. 
Oh-e-oh!  Oh-e-oh!

“And dat de fate of de Nigger Gin’ral,
Who almost ruined old Virginny! 
Now, my boys, I’m quite done!”

“You’ve quite done, have you, Billy?” said Harness; “take my advice and never begin again.”

“Eh, Mister Dick, you no ab song like dat in your budget, and I neber give you de tune.”

“I hope you won’t; but now I’ll play you a tune which will beat you hollow.”  Hereupon Dick Harness imitated the squeaking of pigs and caterwauling of cats upon his fiddle, so as to set everybody laughing, except Opposition Bill, who pretended to be very sulky.

“Come, Dick, it’s your turn now.  Give us a regular forecastle song,” said Ben the Whaler.

“Well, then, here’s one that’s been sung ever since the days of old Queen Anne: 

     “It was one November—­the second day—­
     The admiral he bore away,
     Intending for his native shore. 
     The wind at sou’sou’west did roar;
     There was likewise a terrible sky,
     Which made the sea to run mountains high.