He had another that he sang when he was worried.
It was a lugubrious ditty, with a refrain beginning: Oh, sailor boy, sailor boy, 'neath the wild billow, Thy grave is yawnin' and waitin' for thee.
He sang this during the worst of the teething period, and, later, when the junior partner wrestled with the whooping cough.

You could always tell the state of the baby's health by the Captain's choice of songs.
Meanwhile Dusenberry grew and prospered.

He learned to walk and to talk, after his own peculiar fashion, and, at the mature age of two years and six months, formally shipped as first mate aboard his father's dory.

His duties in this responsible position were to sit in the stern, securely fastened by a strap, while the Captain and his two assistants rowed out over the bar to haul the nets of the deep water fish weir.
The first mate gave the orders, "All hands on deck! 'Tand by to det ship under way!" There was no "sogerin'" aboard the Hiram Junior--that was the dory's name--while the first officer had command.
Captain Hiram, always ready to talk of the wonderful baby, told the depot master of the youngster's latest achievement, which was to get the cover off the butter firkin in the pantry and cover himself with butter from head to heel.
"Ho, ho, ho!" he roared, delightedly, "when Sophrony caught him at it, what do you s'pose he said?
Said he was playin' he was a slice of bread and was spreadin' himself.

Haw! haw!" Captain Sol laughed in sympathy.
"But he didn't mean no harm by it," explained the proud father.