At the cutting in of this whale I had my first experience at the windlass. The heaviest labor falls to the sailors who man the windlass and hoist in the great blanket pieces of blubber and the "old head." Gabriel, the happiest-spirited old soul aboard, bossed the job, as he always did, and cheered the sailors and made the hard work seem like play by his constant chanteys--those catchy, tuneful, working songs of the sea. All the old sailors on the brig knew these songs by heart and often sang them on the topsail halyard or while reefing on the topsail yard. The green hands soon picked up the words and airs of the choruses and joined in. The day laborer on land has no idea how work at sea is lightened by these songs. Gabriel knew no end of them, and in a round, musical voice led the men at the windlass in such rollicking old-time sea airs as "Whiskey for the Johnnies," "Blow the Man Down," "Blow, Boys, Blow," and "Rolling Rio." He would sing a verse and the sailors would stand with their hands on the windlass bars until he had concluded. Then they would heave away with a will and make the pawls clank and clatter as they roared out the chorus. The old negro's favorite was "Whiskey for the Johnnies." It had a fine rousing chorus and we liked to sing it not only for its stirring melody but because we always harbored a hope--which, I may add, was never realized--that the captain would be touched by the words and send forward a drop of liquor with which to wet our whistles. Gabriel would begin in this way: "O whiskey is the life of man." And the sailors as they heaved would chorus: "O whiskey, O Johnny. O whiskey is the life of man, Whiskey for the Johnnies." Then Gabriel would sing: "Whiskey killed my poor old dad, Whiskey drove my mother mad, Whiskey caused me much abuse, Whiskey put me in the calaboose, Whiskey fills a man with care, Whiskey makes a man a bear." And the men would come through with the refrain: "Whiskey, Johnny. I drink whiskey when I can. O whiskey for the Johnnies." At the end of our song which ran through verses enough to bring a blanket piece of blubber swinging inboard, we would look wistfully toward the quarter-deck and wonder if the "old man" would take our musical hint. Or Gabriel would start up "Rolling Rio": "I'll sing you a song of the fish of the sea." The men would thunder: "Rolling Rio." Gabriel would continue: "As I was going down Broadway Street A pretty young girl I chanced to meet." And the sailors would sing: "To my rolling Rio Grande. Hurrah, you Rio, rolling Rio. So fare you well, my pretty young girl, I'm bound for the Rio Grande." "Blow, Boys, Blow" was another with which we made the Arctic ring. The other ships could not have failed to hear its swinging rhythm as it burst from our lusty lungs in this fashion: Gabriel: "A Yankee ship came down the river." The sailors: "Blow, boys, blow." Gabriel: