138 THE CAST-AWAY. 



Up went twenty chins in air. Down went 

 twenty scalding gulps of New England rum. 



Mattapoisett set his empty tumbler on the 

 coral window-sill, leaned heavily against the wall, 

 folded his brawny arms, and began, — his round, 

 mellow baritone filling the boat-house with a fine, 

 vibrant melody. It was a voice that would have 

 been worthy of applause in better company. 



When sunk deep in sleep on the ocean, 

 'Neath southern skies' brilliant blue dome, 

 In fancy I hear the trees rustle, 

 That shaded my window at home. 

 I hear the flocks bleat in the meadows, 

 The cries of the men to their teams, 

 But dearer to me are the many 

 Loved faces I see in my dreams." 



" Good, good, good ! " they shouted, Britons 

 and Yankees alike. Mattapoisett Joe had chosen 

 the one song that would soften every heart, the 

 " one touch of nature " that would make the 

 whole sailor-world kin. He took up the second 

 verse : — 



" First rises the old chimney corner, 

 And then my dear father I see, 

 Whose pride ties are over, are over, 

 His children to have on his knee. 

 And then by the bunk-board stands mother, 

 With eyes full of sweet, loving joy, 

 Who, ere going to rest, bends to offer 

 A prayer for her poor sailor boy." 



