The food was bad, the wages low;—­
      Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! 
    But now ashore again we’ll go;—­
      It’s time for us to leave her!

    The sails are furled, our work is done! 
      Leave her, Johnnie, leave her! 
    And now on shore we’ll have our fun! 
      It’s time for us to leave her! &c, &c.”

Such songs were not stereotyped in their composition.  They varied according to circumstances.  Sometimes they were denunciatory, and at other times full of fun, praise of the ship, and pathos.  There was seldom a middle course, but whatever side was taken the spontaneous poetic effusion was not ended until the whole story had been unfolded.

CHAPTER XII

JACK IN RATCLIFF HIGHWAY

As soon as the vessel was moored in a home port, decks cleared up and washed down, the mate intimated to the crew that their services would not be required any longer; and those who wanted it, received a portion of the balance of wages due to them in advance until they signed clear of the articles.  There were few who did not take advantage of this, and many of them had disbursed it in one way or another long before the three days’ grace, which was allowed the captain to make up his accounts and pay off, had expired.

The villainous agencies at work in those days (and even in these) to decoy poor Jack, could be counted by the score.  Their task was not a difficult one.  They knew him to be a complacent prey for their plans to drug and rob him.  Many of these poor fellows on the first night after landing would allow the whole of a voyage’s earnings to be bartered from them, so that before they actually received their balance of wages they had spent it, and they became ready for the first ship, which oft-times, indeed, was long in turning up.  Meanwhile they were turned into the street without any compunction, just as they stood.  Of course they were to blame; but what about the evil tribe who tempted them?  They should have been made to refund every penny that had been extorted while their victims were under the influence of drink, or should have been made to do six months in lieu of refunding.  This plan might be adopted with advantage to the community even at the present time.

In these sailor circles there was once a well-known incorrigible named Jimmie Hall, a native of Blyth, who for the most part sailed out of London on long voyages.  It did not matter how long Jimmie had been away on a voyage, or how much pay he had to take, he was never longer than a week in funds, and more frequently only one or two days.  This half-tamed creature was walking up Ratcliffe Highway one winter morning between two and three o’clock, and he met an old shipmate of his.  They greeted each other with some warmth.  Jimmie’s friend related to him a tale of destitution.  He had been on the spree, spent all his money, and two days before had been turned out of the boarding house, and had slept out for two nights.  Jimmie, with sailor-like generosity, said, “I am glad to have met you.  It gives me an opportunity of asking you to share with me rooms at my hotel.”