The mate went up on deck. The breeze was fresh. There were the stars, steady. He shook himself Like a dog coming out of water and felt better. Six weeks, with luck, and they’d be back in port And he could draw his pay and see his girl. Meanwhile, it wasn’t his watch, so he could sleep. The captain still below, reading that Bible.⁠ ⁠… Forget it⁠—and the noises, still half-heard⁠— He’d have to go below to sleep, this time, But after, if the weather held like this, He’d have them sling a hammock up on deck. You couldn’t smell the black so much on deck And so you didn’t dream it when you slept.