"My windpipe is not quite so fresh as it was once," said Jansen, putting his bony fingers up to his neck, "but here goes:--
"In spite of wind and weather, In spite of mountain waves, If our timbers hold together And we sink not to our graves; The Cape we still will double, boys, The stormy Cape we'll clear,-- Who cares for toil or trouble, boys, Who thinks of watery bier?
"We left our wives behind us, Bright India's realms to gain, Let nothing then remind us Of them and home again; Close luff'd with well-set sails, lads, We still our course will steer, And beaten back by adverse gales, lads, Cry 'Thus, boys, and so near.'
"Who cares for mocking billows, Or demons of the deep? One half sleep on our pillows, While t'others deck-watch keep; Who cares for lightning's flashing, boys, Or noisy thunder's roar? We laugh at wild spray dashing, boys, And clouds that torrents pour.
"The ocean is the seaman's slave, Though mutiny it may; Our beast of burden is the wave As well by night as day; To round the Cape we'll reckon, lads, For so our captain will'd; Three cheers for Vanderdecken, lads, His vow shall be fulfill'd."
"Yaw--yaw," cried the crew, "we'll round the Cape yet. Drink, boys, drink--three cheers for Vanderdecken! We'll caulk the old ship; we'll repair our old sail; we'll mend our old clothes; we'll darn our old stockings, and then to sea again. Hurrah!--hurrah!"
Thus did they continue to drink and carouse until, if they had had any eyes left in their head, they never could have seen visually; but ghosts see mentally, and in the midst of their mirth and jollity, they saw some tall objects coming down gradually and peeping over the rocks, probably attracted by the fiddle of Dirk Spattrel.
"The natives!"--cried Jansen, "the natives!--now, my men, recollect the captain's orders--don't be rude to the women."
"Yaw--nein--yaw!" replied the reeling spectres; "oh, nein, but we'll get them down here and have a dance; that's civility all over the world."
"But I say," hiccupped Spielman, "what rum beggars these islanders be! only look, they are coming down to us, all of their own accord!"
This was true enough; a herd of kangaroos, attracted by the sound of the music, but of course not able to distinguish the spectre seamen, who, like all others of a similar nature, were invisible to mortal and to kangaroo eyes, had come down fearlessly to the foot of the rock where the crew were carousing.