about
the old coaster, the Eliza Jane. I liked to hear him sing that, as,
dancing a one-footed jig-step by the wheel-box, he bumped it out:

"Oh, the 'Liza Jane with a blue foremast
And a load of hay came drifting past.
Her skipper stood aft and he said, 'How do?
We're the 'Liza Jane and who be you?'

He stood by the wheel and he says, 'How do?
We're from Bangor, Maine--from where be you?'

"The 'Liza Jane got a new main truck--
A darn fine thing but wouldn't stay stuck.
Came a breeze one day from the no'-no'-west
And the gosh-darned thing came down with the rest.

Oh, hi-diddle-di--a breeze from the west--
Who'd 'a' thunk the truck wouldn't stuck with the rest?

"Oh, the 'Liza Jane left the wharf one day,
A fine flood tide and the day Friday,
But the darned old tide sent her bow askew
And the 'Liza Jane began for to slew.

Oh, hi-diddle-di--she'd 'a' fairly flew,
If she only could sail the other end to.

"Oh, the 'Liza Jane left port one day,
With her hold full of squash and her deck all hay.
Two years back with her sails all set
She put from Bath--she's sailing yet.

Oh, hi-diddle-di for a good old craft
She'd 've sailed very well with her bow on aft."

There was a long story to the Eliza Jane, but Clancy did not finish
it. Maybe he felt that it was not in harmony with that lowering sky or
that flashing sea. Maybe, too, in the waters that rolled and the wake
that smoked was the inspiration for something more stirring. At any
rate he began, in a voice that carried far, an old ballad of the war
of 1812.

Two or three more stanzas to warm up, and the fight was on. And you
would think Clancy was in it. He laid every mast and yard of the
enemy over the side of her, he made her decks run with blood, and at
the last, in a noble effort, he caused her to strike her flag.

By the time he had finished that, it happened that we were running
before the wind, and, going so, it was very quiet aboard the vessel.
There was none of the close-hauled wash through her scuppers, nor was
there much play of wind through stays and halyards. It was in fact
unusually quiet, and it needed only that to set Clancy off on a more
melancholy tack. So in a subdued voice he began the recitation of one
of the incidents that have helped to make orphans of Gloucester
children:

"Twelve good vessels fighting through the ni