Now my father was at that time about thirty years of age, and thought no small beer of himself, as the saying goes. He was a tall, handsome man, indeed so good looking that they used to call him “handsome Jack” on board of the Druid, and he had, moreover, a pigtail of most extraordinary size and length, of which he was not a little proud, as it hung down far below the waistband of his trousers. His hair was black and glossy, and his lovelocks, as the sailors term the curls which they wear on their temples, were of the most insinuating description.

— Frederick Marryat, Poor Jack

Invade us, boys, by W. Hodgson 1803

“Oh blow me,” says Jack, “Why don’t I venture, To see if a poor sailor can’t win this treasure. Coz I'll go by, I'll pull on the string; And she'll come down and she'll let me in, Fol la doo, right falero, right fol lol doo."

Well Jack had never seen this sight before-o, Because the string on her finger was all she wore-o. She came down when he pulled on the string And opened up the covers and she let him in, Fol la doo, right falero, right fol lol doo.

Setting sail with only strong coffee to sustain me as I join some Jack tars on a voyage. At least we get to read while on board.

Yes, Herman Melville is coming along.