He took a pistol from his breast
And waved that lit--tle toy --

"Little toy" with an enthusiastic flourish and great unction
on Flash Jack's part --

"I'll fight, but I won't surrender!" said
The wild Kerlonial Boy.

Even this fails to rouse the company's enthusiasm. "Give us a song, Abe!
Give us the `Lowlands'!" Abe Mathews, bearded and grizzled, is lying
on the broad of his back on a bench, with his hands clasped under his head --
his favourite position for smoking, reverie, yarning, or singing.
He had a strong, deep voice, which used to thrill me through and through,
from hair to toenails, as a child.

They bother Abe till he takes his pipe out of his mouth and puts it
behind his head on the end of the stool:

The ship was built in Glasgow;
'Twas the "Golden Vanitee" --

Lines have dropped out of my memory during the thirty years gone between --

And she ploughed in the Low Lands, Low!

The public-house people and more diggers drop into the kitchen,
as all do within hearing, when Abe sings.

"Now then, boys: