THE CAST-AWAY. 139 



Had the light from the lantern been a very 

 little brighter, all hands might have beheld real 

 tears welling up in the eyes of Jack Weatherface, 

 but whether his tender sentimentality was due to 

 musical responsiveness, or to an affectionate dis- 

 position, or to a guilty conscience, or to the 

 effects of New England rum, no fellow can say for 

 certain. His feelings, however, were those of the 

 whole company. The song had found their 

 hearts. 



Mattapoisett sang on, with a half perceptible 

 quiver in his voice : — 



"All changeless beside me is standing, 

 A sweet girl I know, oh so well ! 

 A voice murmurs, ' Break not your promise, 

 You made in the green, leafy dell ! ' 

 Now she's gone ; and I start from my pillow, 

 Aroused by the sea-birds' wild screams, 

 And I'm far, far away from those loved ones, 

 Whose faces I see in my dreams ! ' ' 



There was a moment of silence. 



Then " Bravo ! Bravo ! " burst from the throats 

 of the whalemen. 



The low rafters shook with their applause. Six 

 tumblers were smashed in the uproar, and the 

 sashing was knocked clean out of the window- 

 frame. 



" Come," said Mattapoisett, " Curse the doleful 

 chanty ! Let's take a cruise around the old 



