The end of this being attached, we took plenty of room, and strained
away once more.

"Give us a song, Shorty," said the doctor; who was rather sociable, on
a short acquaintance. Where the work to be accomplished is any way
difficult, this mode of enlivening toil is quite efficacious among
sailors. So willing to make everything as cheerful as possible,
Shorty struck up, "Were you ever in Dumbarton?" a marvellously
inspiring, but somewhat indecorous windlass chorus.

At last, the Yankee cast a damper on his enthusiasm by exclaiming, in
a pet, "Oh! dumn your singing! keep quiet, and pull away!" This we
now did, in the most uninteresting silence; until, with a jerk that
made every elbow hum, the root dragged out; and most inelegantly, we
all landed upon the ground. The doctor, quite exhausted, stayed
there; and, deluded into believing that, after so doughty a
performance, we would be allowed a cessation of toil, took off his
hat, and fanned himself.

"Rayther a hard customer, that, Peter," observed the Yankee, going up
to him: "but it's no use for any on 'em to hang back; for I'm dumned
if they hain't got to come out, whether or no. Hurrah! let's get at
it agin!"

"Mercy!" ejaculated the doctor, rising slowly, and turning round.
"He'll be the death of us!"

Falling to with our hoes again, we worked singly, or together, as
occasion required, until "Nooning Time" came.