Once More, With Feeling
Once More, with Feeling
Summary: Snipes, the Musical! Kind of. The Genesis engineers sing a'song around the Nebula.
Date: 59 ACH
Related Logs: None

Main Nexus Nebula - Main Nexus

This is a large main spine corridor running the entire length of the craft. At specific distances, interlock connections and bulkhead doors are placed. Branching off this corridor are secondary corridors that lead to hatches connecting the modules of the Nebula. People are here. Refugees from the Colony Worlds, housed on this ship. At the far end of the ship, there is an opening to the engine room, where the sublight engines are housed.

Snatch is just at the tail end of a few hours' sleep, which she's catching on the floor of Engineering near the hatch she's working in. Even the hardest working snipes need some shut eye. She sleeps with one hand clenched around the handle of the toolcase she's using as an impromptu pillow, her other hand clutching a wrench to her chest as if it were a teddy bear or something.

It's not quite O'Dark Thirty but it's definitely still into the breakfast hour as Rhea makes her way onto the Nebula. Armed with her tools, ready to work. The ship has mostly been cleared of refugees at this point, so the snipes and the few civilian technician volunteers that've agreed to help out have it mostly to themselves.

"Mopsus Doe, Mopsus Doe
Went on the ship and wouldn't go…"

It's an impromptu song that greets the sleeping PO, something that sounds like it's being made up on the spot. Quill, of course, is the source of it, wandering in from a different part of the ship. Was he aboard elsewhere, or just came from the Genesis? Who knows. The tune continues,

"Shifts and shifts, then and now
Mopsus Doe had sworn a vow
That all the work, she would complete
Even though she's clearly beat
Sleeping here upon her tools,
Makin' others look like lazy fools."

Rhea's arrival cuts off the rest of the song, if indeed there was more of it, and Quill looks over to greet her, "Morning sir."

Snatch sleeps through the song, but the arrival of the Cap'm, or it's announcement by the Doc, touches some 'on' switch deep inside the snipe, and she sits up almost instantly, dragging an armsleeve acrss her drool-damp cheek and making her cheek bear a lovely new pattern of smudges of grease and oil. She lets go of her case and pulls the goggles up from over her eyes, which had been flipped to the welding lenses in order to grant her some dark. "Morn'n Cap'm!" she echoes, veering wildly toward bright eyed and bushy tailed again as she prepares to climb back down into her hole.

"Morning," Rhea says dryly, both to the sleeping tech and singing engineer. "You can leave your kit here, Del Boccyo. We'll get to our work in due time. Need to fuel up first. I got a coffee pot hooked up in the engine room." It's a Zimmermann Job Site. Of course there's ready access to coffee. She marches in that direction, motioning for the pair of them to follow.

Quill sets down the equipment cases he'd brought in, and grins at Rhea. "Real coffee?" the ensign inquires, "Or brown water, the sad ghost of coffee past, wrest of tortured grounds long past the hour when their caffeinated souls should have been laid to peace in the recycler?" He's following anyway, though, regardless of what the answer actually is. There's a smile for the tech, too, as she awakes. "How long have you been here, Snatch?"

Snatch leaves her case as she's told, crawling back up out of the hole the short ways she'd managed to get down there. She tucks the wrench in her toolbelt and drags her goggles down around her neck to re-tie her bandana. "Ou-ais, groun's," she murmurs approvingly of the coffee, no matter what sort it is. "An' than all 'pen's on whan taahm's we'ns at, Doc. Ah reckon Ah knocked off 'roun' 'bout twun-an-two hunnert ahr."

Subtitles: Mm, yeah, coffee. And that all depends on what time it is, Doc. I think I fell asleep around 11:00 PM.

"Rationing's a bitch, Professor," Rhea answers Quill wryly. "Though we've wringed a little more caffeine out of the pots now. With new ships come new supplies." Likely not /much/ more than the standard brown water, but Rhea will also drink just about anything vaguely coffee-like. A pot has already been made by some industrious technician, though it's early enough to still be relatively full. Rhea pours herself a mug, downing it black, her tongue long grown used to Navy brew.

Quill pours a second mug of delicious coffeewater and offers it to Snatch, if she accepts it then he'll pour a third for himself. "You know the XO has a stash of real coffee?" he says, sounding rather like someone speaking of mystical treasure. "Pure stuff, real stuff, with this touch of… blueberries, or blackberries, or something. It's phenomenal." This, though, this is ordinary coffee. Oh well. Moving on. A brow arches at Rhea, curious and amused. "You managed to escape paperwork for a while?"

Snatch takes the mug offered to her with a grunt of appreciation, and she seeks that touch of caffeine almost immediately, nursing the drink until she's sure it's cool enough, and then drinking deep. Not drinking for the flavor, nor doing much more than raising both brows in quiet consideration of this fruity coffee the Doc's describing. The allegation against her Cap'm raises the snipe's hackles a little bit. "Han! Ne pas! Cap'm ain't no desk monkey. She'ns hons't-t'-jiminy snaahp like's the rest on's, an' don' y'ns git smirkin' on'r," she warns the Doc, though it's a friendly warning.

Subtitles: Hey! No way! The Major isn't a desk monkey. I swear to Castor and Pollux she's a snipe like the rest of us, so don't go mocking her.

Rhea chuckles at Quill's question. "I flee paperwork, Ensign Quill. With all deliberate speed. Occasionally it catches up with me and I'm forced to confront it in a knock-down street fight. The papercuts are, likewise, a bitch. Anyhow, I'm here to work. Nothing gets the head in order like an even eight hours on a freighter." She eyes Snatch as she drinks her coffee. She's likely noticed the inordinate amount of time the snipe has been spending over here, but she doesn't remark on it. Yet. She asks the ensign, "How's the work going over here? This ship's been frakked up one side and down the other, in more ways than one." As for the XO's coffee stash, she sighs. "I've heard but have not yet seen. It's like a legend in brass circles. The city of gold. Fountain of youth. Colonel's coffee stash."

"Ou-ais, Snatch, she is a proper snipe," Quill agrees with the tech, "Which is why it's depressing when our Major's deskbound. We'll toast her escape accordingly, with pints of motor oil. Besides, I only mock people I like and respect." He looks back to Rhea, somewhat more seriously. "I actually had in mind to talk to you about that, sir. If paperwork starts piling up and you don't need to be a Major or a department head to sort it out, I'll offer to help out. I don't necessarily /like/ it, but I'd like to see less of it taking you away from the machines, and I operated in academia for twelve years. Paperwork is my bitch. As for the work on the ship, mm, it's coming along. There's a metric frack-ton of work to do still, but we're making a dent in it. Snatch here deserves a commendation for putting in overtime." About the legendary coffee, he smiles wistfully. "It's real. I've had it. I had to drank it out of a bowl because there weren't any cups around, but it was still extraordinary."

Snatch steps to one side to let the officers talk, draining her coffee without much delay and almost on cue to Quill's toast. She eyes the pot prospectively and licks at a tooth. More? She looks up at the talk of commendation, "A hain't done nothin but traah'n t' git this here canott up an' flaahn. Than's mahn task an' m'a gone git 'er done," she objects.

Rhea winks at Quill. "I've endeavored to train you to mock me, Quill. I'd be heart-broken if I'd failed in that respect." She eyes Quill as he offers to help with her paperwork. In that weighing, accessing sort of way she sometimes eyes him. A more subtle, turning-over version of the dissection she gave him when she plucked him off the Carina. It might be a little unnerving. But she just nods shortly. "I'm getting weighed down with Cylon memos, mainly. Which I can't pawn off without breaking clearances. But I will pass the reports on the ship repairs off to you. Sort through them and keep up with weekly duty reports. I'll drop them on your console tomorrow, when we're all back at the home shop." She downs some more coffee of her own, reaching for the pot and offering to pour another for Snatch. "You've both done good work here, in very difficult circumstances. There's a lot of emotion in the Fleet about this ship right now. I'm hoping having her back up and running will allow us to put some of that behind us with the civilians."

Quill looks slightly concerned when he is Eyed as only Rhea can Eye someone, an intense optical scrutiny bound to make even the most confident ego squirm. The expression of concern deepens when she mentions the Cylons, but he nods to the rest. "Yessir. I'll take care of it, and you'll hear about anything important that sneaks in with the routine business." When Rhea mentions the Nebula's erstwhile civilians, Quill flicks a brief glance at Snatch, then looks back to the Major. "Well, understandably, sir. If I believed in curses I'd say this ship was hexed. Not hexed enough to put repairs behind schedule, though." Hopefully. "How did the civilians take being removed to other ships?"

Snatch brightens up as her longing stare at the coffeepot gets rewarded with more coffee. She doesn't like to be a coffee hog, and it's always easier to be given it than take it herself. She enjoys her second cup thoroughly while the others talk.

Rhea hogs a second cup. Because she's the ChEng and she's earned the right to hog things. "Excellent. The big hurdle'll be the viewport repairs to the Nebula. That'll require intense EVA work. The rest of it is just a matter of putting elbows to grease. I'd like to present a report to command within the next week or two. You can tag along on that. Observe the frightening upper brass in their natural habitat. Maybe the XO'll share his coffee." She winks. As to hexes, she frowns. "I don't believe in that nonsense. But, this ship has been through a great deal. People seem inclined to believe it's done. I'm not one of them. As for the civilians, it's a mixed bag right now. Some are relieved to have found some kind of help that'll get them on their way. Most are leery. The outright hostility is actually rare, but it's present. Mostly a reaction to what they went through with the Pegasus. Can't say I blame them too much. You kick a dog enough times, you can't be surprised when it bites back. I just hope all of that's over now. In any case, I think it'll be for the good to have the Nebula civilians mixed in with the others. This place may not be hexed, but it's not fit place to live right now. Too many bad memories."

All the cool kids are doing it. Quill takes a second cup of coffeewater as well, peering into its depths as though attempting to ascertain the future there. The ensign glances up and echoes, "EVA work?" He does not sound thrilled. Nothing involved in getting a PhD prepares one for frolicking around in airless zero-gee. Even reporting to the brass sounds better than that, and he smiles wryly. "I doubt he'll share his coffee, sir, something like that is like an eclipse. Rare, fun, mildly alarming, and if you investigate it too closely it may burn your eyes out. Does Command want a report on all the new civilian ships, or just the Nebula, in light of its, um, special circumstances?" Quill nods at the mention of the civilians' state, looking into his coffee again. "Yeah. I figured that was the situation, more or less."

Snatch looks up from the dregs of her second cup as Rhea mentions the major hurdles, and, in time, she pipes up, "Thar's an whole nother prollem, Cap'm… them backup gen'raters," she notes. "Ah wen' lookin' bout t'see what all shape they'ns war in… an' Ah reckon they'ns in damn fine shape, where'er they'ns at, 'cause they'ns ain't here. E'en we'ns git FTL up'n thins here canott… we'ns gone risk jum'n'm san safeties?" Snatch asks.

"You EVA certified yet?" Rhea asks Quill, peering at him narrowly. "I'd like to get you trained, but I'm not going to put anyone on that job who doesn't have proper expertise in zero-g work. It'll be a bitch of a repair, besides. I would like to get you up to snuff for it, though. We'll slot out some training time for it in your schedule. It's above and beyond Basic training, especially the quick-through they're doing now." As for the report she answers, "Best roll all of them together. To make it sound a little less dire. The Nebula seems less daunting when you roll it in with the less bitchy ships." She sips at her second cup, turning to Snatch. Eyes widening. "What do you mean they aren't here, PO?"

"Well, I know how to not die if there's a serious emergency venting atmosphere and people into space," Quill explains his EVA experience, dryly. "How to probably not die. I doubt I'm the one you'd want on that job, Major, I'll see to finishing up projects on one of the other ships while that's going on. And make a date for training." At Snatch's words, Quill draws a breath, and nods. "She's right, sir. Pegasus must have taken the backups, down to the last bolt and bracket. If we want this ship to have emergency auxiliary power, we're going to have to pull a generator off another ship."

Snatch looks regretfully up over the rim of the coffee cup as she finishes hers off. Lowering the cup to waist level, she looks to the Doc and then back to the Cap'm. "Than's purry much whan Ah war reck'nin', ou-ais," she agrees mildly, waiting for the Cap'm to make some sort of decision on the matter, as if it should be an easy thing for her.

Rhea smirks. "How not to die is a start. I'll get you into a suit and we'll take a pass around one of the ships. The Astra, I think. She's a similar design to the Nebula but far more intact. Just needs some minor hull patches. Don't worry. I won't let you fall into the cosmos." But the generator matter consumes the majority of her attention at the moment. She frowns. Thoughtfully. "Well. We've got those generators we pulled off the Persius. I don't particularly like losing them to this, but this is clearly where they're most needed. They should mor ethan suffice. They were built for a battlestar, and those take far more juice than a freighter."

"I'm not worried about falling into the cosmos, sir, I'm worried about /floating/ into them at an eternally constant speed unhindered by forces of atmospheric friction or gravity." Quill smiles wryly. "Astra hull patches, it is." As Rhea gets her decision-makin' mojo on, the Ensign pulls his ever-present notebook out of a pocket and starts jotting down notes. "Well, that'd certainly do the trick. We'd probably have to rig something up so the amount of power a battlestar generator churns out won't overpower the Nebula, but I don't think that will be the hard part." He looks to Snatch as though seeking her confirmation on that, then glances back to Rhea. "Command won't fuss about us taking something that could have been used for Genesis, and applying it to a civilian vessel?"

Snatch considers the question, looking thoughtful, "Ah reckon Ah could rig up an paahradapper. Man well git unweildy, bun she'ns gone work," she nods. Translation? There are probably going to be a lot of wires and tubes strapped to the floor of Engineering in an an effort not to trip anyone.

"Command has given us the directive to get this vessel up and running," Rhea says briskly. Dismissive. Anyhow, getting command to like it is her problem, not theirs. "And a Persius generator is the only way that's going to happen that I can see. Parts from that battlestar are getting spread piece-meal all around the Fleet. This'll just be one more stop for her." To Snatch, she just nods shortly and says, "Do it." The ChEng likes wires and tubes.

"So say we all," Quill comments on the topic of the Persius-generator transfer, scribbling another note before the notebook vanishes back into its pocket. "We can start on that today, after some minor repair work to the electrical systems in there." One brow lifts, just a touch. "Should there be extra notes in the work report regarding why this is the only tenable solution for the lack of generator problem? In case someone gets twitchy over it?"

"Ou-ais, Cap'm!" is the predictable reply from the backwater enginesnipe as she's given her orders. With no further ceremony she licks the inside of the cup for any last hints of coffee and puts it away, then heads off to get to work.

Rhea snorts. "Just note that the Pegasus crew ripped the generators out of this ship, leaving it a husk, and now we have to clean up their mess," she says shortly. Going over these ships and seeing the damage has given her a healthy hatred of the Pegasus and its people. "That should satisfy Commander Regas just fine. Oh, PO!" She hollers to Snatch before she can disappear. "One more thing, before you go."

Quill nods, a crisp, officerly nod that seems to be more or less the non-verbal equivalent of a yes sir. "If those people on the Pegasus are lying awake in their bunks at night, I hope they're worrying about what will happen if another military-led fleet finds them someday," he notes, acerbically. "It wouldn't be nice." Then he hushes, so Snatch can hear whatever it is Rhea has to say.

Snatch hauls up her toolkit and twists her back, looking over, "Ou-ais, Cap'm?" she calls.

"The Pegasus is *not* a military ship any longer," Rhea says, tone low but firm. "Not by my definition. They've become little more than pirates. Frankly, I've no wish to find them." She takes a breath. Trying to dismiss thoughts of that particular to ship. She turns to Snatch. "After your ship here is over, you're to head back to the Genesis. Get some sleep in your own bunks. Sans toolkit pillow." It's an order, if a gently-given one.

Quill lifts a brow slightly at the order, then looks back to Snatch. "It isn't wasted time," he assures everyone's favorite carcajou-shooting, paahradapper-fixing Aerelonese snipe. "You deserve it, and if you keep working yourself non-stop you'll eventually burn out. Long after most other people would have, granted, but still."

Snatch looks rather like the Cap'm told her to go to bed without any supper for a moment. She'll have to figure out what shift she's actually supposed to be on, anyhow. She's more or less given up on that strange thing known as being off duty. She opens her mouth to raise objections that there's -work- that needs done, but the Doc cuts her off at the pass and she just wrinkles up her nose, drawing her lips to one side. "Ou-ais, Cap'm, Doc," she replies. Looks like Snatch has the evening off. Maybe she can find herself a husband. Even get the ceremony done, she considers, if she finds a good one early enough. But for now she toddles off to get to sizing up the power conduits she'll need to adapt battlestar backup generators to.

Rhea feels no need to explain, though Quill likely hit on her reasoning. She's confident the petty officer will follow those instructions as well as she follows all the others she receives. She keeps a steady eye regarding Snatch, nodding briskly when she accepts the time off gracefully. Ugly as it was, it had to be done.

Quill watches Snatch go, then parks his empty coffee cup next to the coffee pot and looks to Rhea. "Sir, can I ask you something?" He's assuming a yes, and thus just keeps talkin'. "I knew she was doing this. She doesn't like shifts, she works, sleeps, works again. I think it's a cultural thing, I mean… there's not a goal PO Del Boccyo wants to achieve here, she just thinks it's the right thing to do. The only thing to do. Should I have stopped her before you had to? I know I'm an officer, but it didn't seem like… I don't know. Didn't seem like my place to say 'stop working, we have shifts for a reason.'"

Snatch gets down to it, idly considering another shower when she gets back… even if she had one only last week. It couldn't hurt in husband-hunting, she figures. Lookin' pretty and all. Maybe wear one of those new bandanas the Lambkin gifted her with.

Rhea doesn't bother giving Quill permission to ask. You can ASK the ChEng anything, though you may not like the answer you get. She nods along with him. "I'm not one to get after someone for working a few extra ours, Quill. Gods knows I do it enough times myself. But I know when to dial it back. You can easily reach a point where you martyr yourself for this job. You feel like, if you leave your console, somehow the engines'll fail or some rot. It's not true. There are plenty of good snipes in our shop and they're all ready to pick up the slack. I try to keep an eye on my people. But, yes, it *is* your place to say exactly that. It's one of the bitch parts of the job. But, being an officer's a bitch." She offers him a sympathetic half-smile.

"Shit. Poor Snatch," Quill says, looking in the direction in which the industrious PO vanished. Now he'll be worrying about failing the engines /and/ failing the staff. Yay, officerness! "I'll keep an eye on her hours from here on out, but usually if you tell her something once you won't have to say it again. Something else about Del Boccyo, though, and again I don't know what to do about it… she doesn't read well. Enough to get by, but things like that cylon memo — I read that one for her since she couldn't or didn't have time to work out what it said herself. Should I be working on that, trying to get her memo-literate? Or just let it go? I don't know what the 'officer' thing to do here is. And I don't want to insult her by going, 'oh look at you, you're from Aerelon, watch me be an educated asshole about it.'"

Snatch lets useless thoughts of pretty bandanas and showers fall from her mind as she sets herself to the task at hand, unlatching the bulkhead panelling where the generators were once attached and climbing up on top of it to take survey of what's there to connect to.

Rhea sips at her coffee, eying Quill again. In her way. "Yes, I know. For most of the basic work we do it's, frankly, not a problem. She's a technician. She's not doing aeronautical design. Even you and I spend most of our day working with our hands and, if you can follow basic instructions, you can get along. But she has as good a touch as any with the mechanics, and I think she has potential to be a lead NCO. You climb that ladder, to where you're leading the work groups, you need some book skills. It's not something I'd order you to but, if you're willing to work with her, I'd appreciate it."

"Well, I'll see if she's open to it, anyway," Quill replies, with a touch of a smile. "Again with the not wanting to insult her. But you're right, she's got potential. I'd say Del Boccyo deserves a promotion, but that's based in a basic appreciation for people who work harder than the rest, not in a military understanding of how promotions actually work and what criteria they depend on." He quirks a brow upwards. "Whatever the case, she'd probably appreciate it if I shut up and got to work down there. You headed that way, sir, or set to wrench a different part of the ship?"

Rhea got a chuckle of Quill's educated asshole comment, though she waits for him to go on before she elaborates on it. "Don't make it a tribal Aerelon-Virgon thing in your head, Ensign. You let yourself get intimidated by that, you'll get weighed down by a lot of bullshit. We're about the work. The more skills we have, the more useful tools we are. Simple as that. I came up pretty hard myself. I was enough of a nerd to do the books myself, but I was pretty rough on social skills. I was nothing but improved by having officers honest enough to tell me what I needed to work on. They wouldn't have done it if they hadn't thought me worth the time." She finishes her coffee, nodding. "I'll head down with you. By the way, Ensign, do you know which colony I was grown on?" He may not. Her accent's been softened by decades off-world, and she almost never talks about her pre-Navy life.

Snatch plies apart the connectors and then clenches the soft rubbery end of the pliers in her mouth before reaching into her toolbelt for another tool, lifting it to the end of a wire to get a proper gauging.

"I don't," Quill admits to Rhea, confessing a lack of insight about her origins as he fetches his tool cases and starts heading towards the room in which the much-talked-about Mopsus Doe Del Boccyo is employing pliers and gauges. "But from what I can discern I figure you're not from Caprica, and I reserve all planet-based mockery for Capricans."

Rhea chuckles. "As well you should. I know several highly-offensive Caprican jokes that I'm very proud of. I did do my undergrad work on Caprica, come to it. *That* was a culture shock. I actually got to like the city of Delphi, and both it and I survived without permanent injury. Made me get over a lot of my prejudices, actually. Meeting Capricans I had to admit weren't complete assholes." She heads to the same room, though her pace isn't terribly speedy. "But I was born and raised on Sagittaron. Which, I assure you, more than lives up to its reputation."

Snatch makes sure she knows what she's working with before snapping the connectors back into place, drawing up her toolcase and opening it to pull out the corresponding sort of connectors she'll need in order to get started. Jut keep adding stuff until it turns into something you can plug those generators into. That's the theory. And as she does so, she seems to have taken a page from Quill's book, because she begins to sing. Now, she doesn't have a pretty voice, like he does, and even those who don't know the song can -likely- tell that it's off-key as hell, but it's got a good lively spirit behind it that speaks to her having enjoyed listening that song at one point in her life.

"At least your planet is interesting enough to /have/ a reputation," Quill points out, raising a brow. "Though I've always found it true that 'may you live in interesting times' is a fairly appalling curse. I never made it to Sagittaron. You think any of it is still with you, despite leaving it behind?" His footsteps carry him to the hatchway of Snatch's work room, but there the ensign just pauses, silently listening to her sing with a surprised and delighted expression on his face. Give him time, yep. Quill will infect them all and engineering will become Snipes: The Musical.

"Neva thought ya'd end up workin' fer'a Saggie, dijya, honey?" Rhea asks, putting more emphasis on her Sagittaron accent than she usually does. It's definitely not a dulcet tongue. She doesn't answer right away, resuming in her more softened dialect. "For a long time, I didn't even want to admit it was a part of me. Figured I'd left that frak-hole colony behind when I was eighteen. Never did go back. But…it made me who I am. There are parts of myself I know I wouldn't have if I'd grown up on Caprica, or Tauron, or Aerelon. And I don't think I could imagine myself without those pieces. We're all of us two things, Ensign Quill. Where we come from, and who we make ourselves into. The foundation shapes the product, but we don't have to let it define us. Shouldn't try to run from it, either. Got to own yourself before you can re-engineer something better." She pauses as the tune catches her ears. Surprised. And amused. She listens to it a moment. Trying to pick it up. And then, joins in. Singing in her own decidedly less-than-choir-quality voice. The Saggie dialect is far more apparent when she's harmonizing.

"I would have considered it just as likely as the concept of me working for the fracking /Navy/," Quill grins at Rhea's first comment. "Both at once? Let's just say my paradigm has shifted so far I can't even see it in my rear-view mirror anymore." He sobers a bit at her next words, eyeing the Major thoughtfully, but comment is forestalled when she starts singing. And then there's another surprised grin, delighted by this rarity. The ensign doesn't join in the song, however, simply listening as though he doesn't want to taint the joint Snatch-Rhea musical debut.

Snatch sings, of course, in Aerelonese, but it's a highly repetitive song, with a new lyric only every two to three lines, and even those with no idea what it means can catch onto the choral lines after even the first verse. The 'Colonial Translation' will be provided for the sanity of the typist.

The Northeast wind begins to blow
We're going to dance down by the river

Three ships full of wheat come in on the tide: we're going to dance.
We're going to dance, down on the island.
Three maidens come to barter for the wheat
We're going to dance down by the river

Beautiful girls to make the heart fly: we're going to dance.
We're going to dance, down on the island.
The youngest of them was light on her feet
We're going to dance down by the river

So to the side of the boat she skipped: we're going to dance.
We're going to dance, down on the island.
'At what price do you sell the wheat?'
We're going to dance down by the river

'For you only— six cents a bushel': we're going to dance.
We're going to dance, down on the island.

Snatch herself looks up with some surprise as the Cap'm joins in the song, but then just grins and gets back to the work, singing even more spiritedly then before.

'Oh, I hear my mamma calling me'
We're going to dance down by the river

'And her grandbabies do cry': we're going to dance.
We're going to dance, down on the island.
'Oh, my beauty, you're lying to me'
We're going to dance down by the river

'You have never had any children': we're going to dance.
We're going to dance, down on the island.

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