Another of the many instances of the resourceful mariner's irrepressible gaiety even under most embarrassing conditions is contained in a story which I heard related aboard ship in the early days of my sea-life many times, and the veracity of it was always vouched for by the narrator whose personal acquaintance with the gentlemen concerned was an indispensable factor in the interest of the tale, and a distinction he was proud of to a degree. I have said that Ratcliffe Highway was the rendezvous of seafaring men. It provided them with a wealth of facilities for the expeditious disposal of money that had been earned at great hazard, and not infrequently by the sweat of anguish. One chilly November morning a sailor was walking down the Highway. His step was jerky and uncertain, for his feet were bare; his sole articles of dress consisted of a cotton shirt and a pair of trousers that seemed large enough to take another person inside of them. These were kept from dropping off by what is known as a soul-and-body lashing--that is, a piece of cord or rope-yarn tied round the waist. His manner indicated that he felt satisfied with himself and at peace with all creation, as he chanted with a husky voice the following song:-- "Sing goodbye to Sally, and goodbye to Sue; Away--Rio! And you who are listening, goodbye to you, For we're bound to Rio Grande! And away--Rio, aye Rio! Sing fare ye well, my bonny young girl, We're bound for Rio Grande!" He was met by a shipmate just then who had been searching for him during several days. The song was cut short by the mutual warmth of greeting. "What ho, Jack!" interjected the faithful comrade, with a gigantic laugh; "you are under very small canvas this morning. Have you been in heavy weather?" "Yes," said Jack, "I have; but there's a fellow coming up astern must have had it worse than me. He _was_ under bare poles, but I see he's got a suit of newspapers bent now, and he's forging ahead very fast!" There is a grim humour about this story which brings a certain type of sailor vividly to mind. CHAPTER XIII THE MATTER-OF-FACT SAILOR