“I love the lullaby of the waves, which sound like the rustling of leaves of a mighty forest, and although the glimpse of the moonlight through the port window tempts to wakefulness, it is pleasant to slumber to the music of the ocean, varied only by the sound of the boatswain's pipe, the distant singing of the sailors as the hoist the sails to catch a favouring breeze, the half-hourly ringing of the ship's bells, and the answer of the man on the watch that “All's well.” The “shandy” man who leads the singing of the sailors when they go round in a gang washing the decks commonly improvises a song on passing events. After each couplet the gang join in a plaintive kind of chorus, reminding me of songs I have heard sung by the monks at night in Italy.”
[America in 1876, Pencillings During a Tour in the Centennial Year; with a Chapter on the Aspects of American Life, Leng, p.18, 1877]