"I 'd give twenty years of my life to be alongside her in a ship half her size; yes, even in this one, and I tell ye yon 's the man to put her there, if he gets a chance.

Ain't that so, mates ?" "Ay, ay, Jack, 'tis true," came a deep-toned chorus of approval.
"Besides," went on the forecastle orator, "we all know'd wot kind of a officer he is.

Fightin' and prize money is wot we all want; and here 's where we 'll git it, you 'll see, eh, mates ?" "Ay, ay; Jack's right, Bill." "Then blow the dissyplin', say I; I'll take orders from a man wot ain't afraid o' nothin', wot hates the red rag we knows of, wot won't send me where he won't go himself.

Fightin' and prize money, he 's our man.
Besides, wot's the use o' kickin', we got to do it; we're bound by them articles of war we signed," continued this deep-sea philosopher.

"Now, pass me my can o' grog, Tom, I 'm dry as a cod.