"A chantey, boys!" shouted Mr. Stoddard as he took his place "beforehand" on the rope. "Come now, run her up, lads. _Up! Up!_" and the heavy yard commenced to creep along the mast to the sound of the creaking parral, the complaining of the blocks, and the haunting deep sea tune of "Blow the Man Down," greatest of all the two haul chanteys. Jimmy--"Now rouse her right up boys for Liverpool town," Sailors--"Go way--way--blow the man down." Jimmy--"We'll blow the man up and blow the man down," Sailors--"Oh, give us some time to blow the man down." Jimmy--"We lay off the Island of Mader_de_gascar." Sailors--"Hi! Ho! Blow the man down." Jimmy--"We lowered three anchors to make her hold faster," Sailors--"Oh, give us some time to blow the man down." _Chorus_ All hands--"Then we'll blow the man up, And we'll blow the man down, Go way--way--blow the man down. We'll blow him right over to Liverpool town, Oh, give us some time to blow the man down. Ho! Stand by your braces, And stand by your falls; Hi! Ho! Blow the man down, We'll blow him clean over to Liverpool town, Oh, give us some time to blow the man down." Old Marshall faced to windward, his mustache lifting in the breeze, the grey weather worn fringe of hair bending up over his battered nose. He always sang with a full quid in his cheek, and the absence of several front teeth helped to give a peculiar deep-sea quality to his voice. "We have a man-o-war crew aboard, Mr. Zerk!" shouted the Captain from the top of the cabin, where he had come out to see the fun. "Aye, aye, sir! Some crew!" returned the Mate, looking over us with a grim smile. CHAPTER III CHRISTMAS DAY ON THE HIGH SEAS Life was not always so pleasant on board the _Fuller_. Hard words were the common run of things and the most frightful and artistic profanity often punctuated the working of the ship. Given a ship's company barely strong enough to handle a two thousand five hundred ton three-skysail yarder, even had they all been seasoned able seamen, our officers had to contend with a crew over half of which rated below that of the "ordinary" classification of seamanship, thick skinned clodhoppers, all thumbs on a dark night, and for many weeks after leaving port, as useless as so much living ballast. The kicking and moulding into form of this conglomerate mass of deep sea flotsam, gathered for the ship by the boarding masters, and duly signed on the ship's articles as A.B., called for all but superhuman efforts. The curse is far more potent than the gentle plea, especially when hard fists and hobnailed sea boots are backed by all of the age old authority of the sea. To work a ship of the proportions of the _Fuller_, with seventeen hands forward, called for man driving without thought of anything but the work required.