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"I'm afeard care carried him off, somehow or other, as it killed the cat, for he war the most disconsolate, doleful, down-hearted chap I ivver saw piping the hands to dinner. An' so he's d'id! Poor old bo'sun! we'll nivver see his loike ag'in."
He was a good one over his vittles, too, was the corporal, and likewise at his drink!" "Faix, ye lie, ye divil," cried the seemingly lifeless man, reviving at this moment and struggling to his feet. "I'm not d'id at all, at all! D'ye think now I'm going to be kilt by a Haythin Chaynee? Begorrah, whin I am kilt, may the saints in h'iven presairve me from it yit!
"Begorrah, its moighty little rousin' I want, sor! The ould barquey's that lively that she'd wake a man who'd been d'id for a wake, sure! I've been so rowled about in me burth and banged agin' the bulkheads that my bones fell loike jelly and I'm blue-mouldy all over. But what d'ye want, cap'en? Sure, I'm helping the youngster with this whale here."
"Now all you Star of the Norths that are still alive, come over here to starboard; the chaps that are d'id, sure, can shtop where they are!"
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