...
And before we had been to sea three days I detected a conspiracy on the
part of the first and second mates, the cook, and the sailmaker--the
object of the conspiracy being, apparently, to drink half the liquor out
of each receptacle, then fill the depleted cask with hot water, shaking
it up thoroughly, and so mixing it.
As far as I could judge, the old, bow-legged sailmaker had taken out a
monopoly on the cases of beer aft. Never were sails kept in better
condition. He was always down there, singing and sewing.
Several times I saw him coming up whistling softly with a lush air of
subdued and happy reminiscence.
* * * * *
Several mornings out ... and I couldn't believe my ears ... I heard a
sound of music. It sounded like a grind-organ on a city street....
_The Sunshine of Paradise Alley_.
And the captain's voice was booming along with the melody.
I peeked into Schantze's cabin to announce breakfast.
He had a huge music box there. And he was singing to its playing, and
dancing clumsily about like a happy young mammoth.
"Spying on the 'old man,' eh?"
He came over and caught me by an ear roughly but playfully.
"No, Captain, I was only saying breakfast is ready."
"You're a sly one ... do you like that tune? _The Sunshine of Paradise
Alley?_ It's my favorite Yankee hymn."
And it must have been; every morning for eighty-nine days the gaudy
music box faithfully played the tune over and over again.
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