the ordinary seamen and boys tailing on, and perhaps the cook, steward, carpenter, and sailmaker lending a hand, and all hands join in a ringing chorus of the ocean, mingling in harmony with the clear sky, indigo-blue waves, and the sea breeze purring aloft among the spars and rigging: "Oh, poor Reuben Ranzo, Ranzo, boys, O Ranzo, Oh, Ranzo was no sailor, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo. So they shipped him aboard a whaler, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo, And he could not do his duty, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo. So the mate, he being a bad man, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo, He led him to the gangway, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo, And he gave him five-and-twenty, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo, But the captain, he being a good man, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo, He took him in the cabin, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo, And he gave him wine and whiskey, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo, And he learned him navigation, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo, And now he's Captain Ranzo, Ranzo boys, O Ranzo." // Then, for the pumps, it is the chanty Hugill titles RUN LET THE BULGINE RUN: // Finally the mate's clear, sharp order comes: "Belay there; clap a watch tackle on the lee fore brace." "Aye, aye, sir!" And so every sheet, halliard, and brace is swayed up and tautened to the freshening breeze. The gear is coiled up, the brasswork polished until it glistens in the morning sun, the paintwork and gratings are wiped off, decks swabbed dry, and