eathe the very poetry of
the ocean. But it is remarkable that those songs--which would lead one
to think that man-of-war's-men are the most care-free, contented,
virtuous, and patriotic of mankind--were composed at a time when the
English Navy was principally manned by felons and paupers, as mentioned
in a former chapter. Still more, these songs are pervaded by a true
Mohammedan sensualism; a reckless acquiescence in fate, and an
implicit, unquestioning, dog-like devotion to whoever may be lord and
master. Dibdin was a man of genius; but no wonder Dibdin was a
government pensioner at L200 per annum.

But notwithstanding the iniquities of a man-of-war, men are to be found
in them, at times, so used to a hard life; so drilled and disciplined
to servitude, that, with an incomprehensible philosophy, they seem
cheerfully to resign themselves to their fate. They have plenty to eat;
spirits to drink; clothing to keep them warm; a hammock to sleep in;
tobacco to chew; a doctor to medicine them; a parson to pray for them;
and, to a penniless castaway, must not all this seem as a luxurious
Bill of Fare?

There was on board of the Neversink a fore-top-man by the name of
Landless, who, though his back was cross-barred, and plaided with the
ineffaceable scars of all the floggings accumulated by a reckless tar
during a ten years' service in the Navy, yet he perpetually wore a
hilarious face, and at joke and repartee was a very Joe Miller.

That man, though a sea-vagabond, was not created in vain. He enjoyed
life with the zest of everlasting adolescence; and, though cribbed in
an oaken prison, with the turnkey sentries all round him, yet he paced
the gun-deck as if it were broad as a prairie, and diversified in
landscape as the hills and valleys of the Tyrol. Nothing ever
disconcerted him; nothing could transmute his laugh into anything like
a sigh. Those glandular secretions, which in other captives sometimes
go to the formation of tears, in _him_ were expectorated from the
mouth, tinged with the golden juice of a weed, wherewith he solaced and
comforted his ignominious days.

"Rum and tobacco!" said Landless, "what more does a sailor want?"

His favourite song was "_Dibdin's True English Sailor_," beginning,

"Jack dances and sings, and is always content,
In his vows to his lass he'll ne'er fail her;
His anchor's atrip when his money's all spent,
And this is the life of a sailor."

But poor Landle