From under the bows the broken boom
(still tethered to us by stout guy-ropes) thunders and jars as we move
through the water.

"Cut and clear away!" roars Old Jock. "Let her go!"

Aye, let her go! ... We are off ... crippled an' all ... out for open
sea again!

XIX

IN LITTLE 'SCOTLAND'

It was to no purpose that Lloyds' agent pointed out the convenience and
advantage of the inner port: it was as useless for the local pilot to
look grave and recall dire happenings to Captains who had elected to
effect their repairs in the outer harbour--just here, at Port William.
Old Jock's square jaw was set firm, his eyes were narrowed to a crafty
leer; he looked on everyone with unconcealed suspicion and distrust.
He was a shipmaster of the old school, 'looking after his Owners'
interest.' He had put in 'in distress' to effect repairs.... He was
being called upon to spend _money_!

"No, no!" he said to all their reasoning. "My anchor's doon, an' here
I stoap! I've conseedered a' that ye've pit furrit! 'Convenience tae
th' toon, if supplies are needit'? (I'll no' need that mony!) ... 'Nae
distance tae bring th' workin' gang'? (I've a wheen men here mysel'!)
... 'Nae dues tae pay'? (We're jist as cheap here!) ... No, no,
Maister Fordyce! Ye can jist mak' up yeer mind on that! We'll dae a'
th' repairs oot here! I'm no' comin' in!"

"Oh weel! Jist as ye like, Captain! Jist as ye like! ... But--as
th' pilot here 'll tell ye--ye're in a verra bad poseetion if it comes
on tae blow f'ae the south-east! An' south-east 's a hard win', I'm
tellin' ye!"

"Aye, aye! Jist that! ... Weel, if it comes tae blow frae th'
south-east (I'm no much feart o' that at this time o' th' year) we're
in a guid berth tae slip anchor an' run her in tae Port Stanley. It'll
be time enough then! But I'm no' goin' in there if I can help it! ...
If I brocht her in therr"--pointing to the narrows that led to the
inner harbour--"I micht hae tae wait for a fair win' tae bring her oot,
when oor bit damage is sortit.... No, no! We'll dae fine oot here.
Smooth watter! Guid holdin' ground!"

"Oh, the holding ground is all right," said the pilot. "Eight fathom
... mud and stones! Good enough for anything but south or southeast."

"Oh, aye!" continued the Old Man. "We'll dae fine here.... If it
wisna' for that bowsprit bein' steeved up and th' rivets stertit in th'
bows o' her, I widna' be here at a'.... Spars? ... We ca