w
you haf bedder look von de vind as Ah got. Ah sail mein sheep! Ah
dond't vait for de fair winds nor not'ings!"

"No," said Burke, "but ye get 'em, all the same. Everybody knows ye've
th' divil's own luck, Schenke!"

"Und so you vas! Look now, Cabtin Burke. You t'nk you got so fast a
sheep as mein, eh? Veil! Ah gif you a chanst to make money. Ah bet
you feefty dollars to tventig, Ah take mein sheep home quicker as you
vass!"

"Done wit' ye," said stout old 'Paddy' Burke, though well he know the
big German barque could sail round the little _Hilda_. "Fifty dollars
to twenty, Captain Schenke, an' moind y've said it!"

The green boat sheered off and forged ahead, Schenke laughing and
waving his hand derisively. When they had pulled out of earshot, the
old man turned ruefully to the mate: "Five pounds clean t'rown away,
mister! Foine I know the _Rickmers_ can baate us, but I wasn't goin'
t' let that ould 'squarehead' have it all his own way! Divil th' fear!"

We swung under the _Hilda's_ stern and hooked on to the gangway. The
old man stepped out, climbed a pace or two, then came back.

"Look ye here, byes," he said, "I'll give ye foive dollars a man--an' a
day's 'liberty' t' spind it--if ye only baate th' 'Dutchmen.' . . .
Let th' Cup go where it will!"

III

The Bay of San Francisco is certainly one of the finest natural
harbours in the world, let Sydney and Rio and Falmouth all contest the
claim. Land-locked to every wind that blows, with only a narrow
channel open to the sea, the navies of the world could lie peacefully
together in its sheltered waters. The coast that environs the harbour
abounds in natural beauties, but of all the wooded creeks--fair
stretches of undulating downs--or stately curves of winding river, none
surpasses the little bay formed by the turn of Benita, the northern
postern of the Golden Gates. Here is the little township of Sancilito,
with its pretty white houses nestling among the dark green of the
deeply wooded slopes. In the bay there is good anchorage for a limited
number of vessels, and fortunate were they who manned the tall ships
that lay there, swinging ebb and flood, waiting for a burthen of golden
grain.

On Saturday the little bay was crowded by a muster of varied craft.
The ships at anchor were "dressed" to the mastheads with gaily-coloured
flags. Huge ferryboats passed slowly up and down, their tiers of decks
crowded with sightseers. Tug-boats and la