 Isn't it meself that the sea is nearly drowned? And me battered and bait till I was that close to hell I could hear the flames roaring. And never a groan out of me till the sea gave up. And it's seeing the great strength and guts of a man was in me. Oh, yeah, yeah. You was hell a fella, hear you tell it. You'll be calling me a liar once too often, me old bucko. It wasn't the whole story of it and my picture itself in the newspapers of Boston a week back.