The whole kit had belonged to a former cook, a very musical nigger, who had died at sea, and bequeathed his violin to his ship.

Sambo had been well liked, and there were some old hands would be well pleased to hear his fiddle once more.
It took me some little time to find everything, and when I got back to Dennis another song had begun.

A young sailor I did not know was singing it, and the less said about it the better, except that it very nearly led to a row.

It was by way of being a comic song, but except for one line which was rather witty as well as very nasty, there was nothing humorous about it, unless that it was funny that any one could have been indecent enough to write it, and any one else unblushing enough to sing it.

I am ashamed to say I had heard some compositions of a similar type at Snuffy's, and it filled me with no particular amazement to hear a good deal of sniggering in the circle round the spittoon, though I felt miserably uncomfortable, and wondered what Mr.O'Moore would think.