stood there until the vessel sank and the sea flowed over him.  The opinion at the time was that he could have saved his life if he had made an effort to do so.  I question this very much, as many of the people were picked up in the water, clinging to wreckage; the boats being overcrowded.  The only way by which he could have been saved was to displace some one or clutch at a piece of wreck.  He preferred death to the former, and there is no evidence that he did not attempt to save himself by means of the latter.  The probability is that he gave any such opportunity to some drowning man or woman, and sacrificed himself.  Honour to this brave man who died, not while taking life, but in saving it!

CHAPTER XI

CHANTIES

The signing on and the sailing from Liverpool or London docks of these vessels were not only exciting but pathetic occasions.  The chief officer usually had authority to pick the crew.  The men would be brought into the yard and formed into line.  The chanty-man was generally the first selection, and care was taken that the balance should be good choristers, and that all were able to produce good discharges for conduct and ability.  It was a great sight to see the majestic-looking vessels sail away.  The dock walls would be crowded with sympathetic audiences who had come not only to say farewell, but to listen to the sweet though sombre refrain that charged the air with the enchanting pathos and beauty of “Goodbye, fare you well.”  The like of it has never been heard since those days.  Attempts have been made to reproduce the original, and have failed.  Nobody can reproduce anything like it, because it is a gift exclusively the sailors’ own, and the charm filled the soul with delightful emotions that caught you like a strong wind.

The chanty-man was a distinguished person whom it was impolitic to ignore.  He was supposed to combine the genius of a musical prodigy and an impromptu poet!  If his composition was directed to any real or even imaginary grievances, it was always listened to by sensible captains and officers without showing any indications of ill-humour.  Indeed, I have seen captains laugh very heartily at these exquisite comic thrusts which were intended to shape the policy of himself and his officers towards the crew.  If the captain happened to be a person of no humour and without the sense of music this method of conveyance was abortive, but it went on all the same until nature forced a glimpse into his hazy mind of what it all meant!  Happily there are few sailors who inherit such a defective nature.  It is a good thing that some of these thrilling old songs have been preserved to us.  Even if they do not convey an accurate impression of the sailors’ way of rendering them, they give some faint idea of it.  The complicated arrangement of words in some of the songs is without parallel in their peculiar jargon, and yet there are