k Tars, as I have since had many occasions to observe.
The intense dolefulness of the ditty was not diminished by the fact that
the cook had no musical ear, and having started on a note that was no
note in particular, he flattened with every long-drawn lamentation till
the ballad became more of a groan than a song. When the grog-tub was
deposited, Dennis beckoned to the boatswain, and we made our way to his
side.

"Your cook's a vocal genius, anyhow, bo'sun," said he. "But don't ye
think we'd do more justice to our accomplishments, _and keep in tune_,
if we'd an accompaniment? Have ye such a thing as a fiddle about ye?"

The boatswain was delighted. Of course there was a fiddle, and I was
despatched for it. I should find it hanging on a hook at the end of the
plate-rack, and if the bow was not beside it it would be upon the shelf,
and there used to be a lump of resin and a spare string or two in an
empty division of the spice-box. The whole kit had belonged to a former
cook, a very musical nigger, who had died at sea, and bequeathed his
violin to his ship. Sambo had been well liked, and there were some old
hands would be well pleased to hear his fiddle once more.

It took me some little time to find everything, and when I got back to
Dennis another song had begun. A young sailor I did not know was singing
it, and the less said about it the better, except that it very nearly
led to a row. It was by way of being a comic song, but except for one
line which was rather witty as well as very nasty, there was nothing
humorous about it, unless that it was funny that any one could have been
indecent enough to write it, and any one else unblushing enough to sing
it. I am ashamed to say I had heard some compositions of a similar type
at Snuffy's, and it filled me with no particular amazement to hear a
good deal of sniggering in the circle round the spittoon, though I felt
miserably uncomfortable, and wondered what Mr. O'Moore would think. I
had forgotten Alister.

I was not likely soon to forget his face as I saw it, the blood swelling
his forehead, and the white wrath round his lips, when he gripped me by
the shoulder, saying, in broader Scotch than usual, "Come awa' wi' ye,
laddie! I'll no let ye stay. Come awa' oot of this accurst hole. I
wonder he doesna think black burning shame of himsel' to stand up before
grey-heided men and fill a callant's ears with filth like yon."

Happily just indignation had choked Alister's voic