I didn't want to do it, for I knew what I should get, An' I wanted to preach Religion, handsome an' out

of the wet,

But the Word of the Lord were lain on me, an' I done what I was set.

I have been smit an' bruisèd, as warned would be the case,

An' turned my cheek to the smiter exactly as Scrip

ture says;

But following that, I knocked him down an' led him up to Grace.

An' we have preaching on Sundays whenever the sea is calm,

An' I use no knife or pistol an' I never take no harm, For the Lord abideth back of me to guide my fighting arm.

An' I sign for four-pound-ten a month and save the money clear,

An' I am in charge of the lower deck, an' I never lose a steer;

An' I believe in Almighty God an' preach His Gospel here.

The skippers say I'm crazy, but I can prove 'em wrong, For I am in charge of the lower deck with all that

doth belong

Which they would not give to a lunatic, and the competition so strong!

HEH!

ANCHOR SONG1

Walk her round. Heave, ah heave her short again!

Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl.
Loose all sail, and brace your yards back and full-
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
Well, ah fare you well; we can stay no more
with you, my love-

Down, set down your liquor and your girl
from off your knee;

For the wind has come to say:

"You must take me while you may,

If you'd go to Mother Carey

(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),

Oh, we're bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!"

Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah break it out o' that! Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear.

Port-port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath

her foot,

And that's the last o' bottom we shall see this year! 1 Copyright, 1893, by D. Appleton & Co.

Well, ah fare you well, for we've got to take her out again

Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargofree.

And it's time to clear and quit

When the hawser grips the bitt,

So we'll pay you with the foresheet and a
promise from the sea!

Heh! Tally on.

Aft and walk away with her! Handsome to the cathead, now; O tally on the

fall!

Stop, seize and fish, and easy on the davit-guy.
Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul!
Well, ah fare you well, for the Channel wind's
took hold of us,

Choking down our voices as we snatch the
gaskets free.

And it's blowing up for night,

And she's dropping Light on Light,

And she's snorting under bonnets for a breath of open sea.

Wheel, full and by; but she'll smell her road alone to-night.

Sick she is and harbour-sick-O sick to clear the land!

Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over

us

Carry on and thrash her out with all she'll stand!

Well, ah fare you well, and it's Ushant slams the door on us,

Whirling like a windmill through the dirty
scud to lee:

Till the last, last flicker goes
From the tumbling water-rows,
And we're off to Mother Carey

(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),

Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!

THE LOST LEGION

THERE'S a Legion that never was 'listed,
That carries no colours or crest,
But, split in a thousand detachments,
Is breaking the road for the rest.
Our fathers they left us their blessing-
They taught us, and groomed us, and
crammed;

But we've shaken the Clubs and the Messes
To go and find out and be damned

(Dear boys!),

To go and get shot and be damned.

So some of us chivy the slaver,

And some of us cherish the black, And some of us hunt on the Oil Coast, And some on-the Wallaby track:

And some of us drift to Sarawak,

And some of us drift up The Fly, And some share our tucker with tigers, And some with the gentle Masai

(Dear boys!),

Take tea with the giddy Masai.