Fo'C'sle Comradeship

There's not much in the fo'c'sle of a ship But old sea boots and chests that stand in rows While up above a smoky lantern glows, And hanging from a peg the oilskins drip, Sometimes in storms the water rushes in; Sometimes we stifle for a breath of air; Yet somehow comradeship gets being there And common hardship makes the stranger kin . . . Blood-brothers we become, but not in peace, - Still ready to exchange the lie and blow; Just like the sea our quarrels rise and cease: We've never a dull moment down below . . . But set upon us in a tavern brawl You'll find that you will have to fight us all.