No maiden like BACKSHEESH could tastily cook A kettle of kismet or joint of tchibouk, As ALUM, brave fellow! sat pensively by, With a bright sympathetic ka-bob in his eye. Stern duty compelled him to leave her one day— (A ship’s supercargo was brave ALUM BEY)— To pretty young BACKSHEESH he made a salaam, And sailed to the isle of Seringapatam. “O ALUM,” said she, “think again, ere you go— Hareems may arise and Moguls they may blow; You may strike on a fez, or be drowned, which is wuss!” But ALUM embraced her and spoke to her thus: “Cease weeping, fair BACKSHEESH! I willingly swear Cork jackets and trousers I always will wear, And I also throw in a large number of oaths That I never—no, _never_—will take off my clothes!” * * * * * They left Madagascar away on their right, And made Clapham Common the following night, Then lay on their oars for a fortnight or two, Becalmed in the ocean of Honololu. One day ALUM saw, with alarm in his breast, A cloud on the nor-sow-sow-nor-sow-nor-west; The wind it arose, and the crew gave a scream, For they knew it—they knew it!—the dreaded Hareem!! The mast it went over, and so did the sails, Brave ALUM threw over his casks and his bales; The billows arose as the weather grew thick, And all except ALUM were terribly sick. The crew were but three, but they holloa’d for nine, They howled and they blubbered with wail and with whine: The skipper he fainted away in the fore, For he hadn’t the heart for to skip any more. “Ho, coward!” said ALUM, “with heart of a child! Thou son of a party whose grave is defiled! Is ALUM in terror? is ALUM afeard? Ho! ho! If you had one I’d laugh at your beard.” His eyeball it gleamed like a furnace of coke; He boldly inflated his clothes as he spoke; He daringly felt for the corks on his chest, And he recklessly tightened the belt at his breast. For he knew, the brave ALUM, that, happen what might, With belts and cork-jacketing, _he_ was all right; Though others might sink, he was certain to swim,— No Hareem whatever had terrors for him! They begged him to spare from his personal store A single cork garment—they asked for no more; But he couldn’t, because of the number of oaths That he never—no, never!—would take off his clothes. The billows dash o’er them and topple around, They see they are pretty near sure to be drowned. A terrible wave o’er the quarter-deck breaks, And the vessel it sinks in a couple of shakes! The dreadful Hareem, though it knows how to blow, Expends all its strength in a minute or so; When the vessel had foundered, as I have detailed, The tempest subsided, and quiet prevailed.