and
set a pearly fringe on the distant shore. The tide moves steadily in
flood, broadening in ruffling eddies at the shoals of the Bar. On a
near beacon a tide gauge shows the water, and when sail is furled and
the yards in harbour trim we have naught to do but reckon our wages,
and watch the rising water lapping, inch by inch, on the figured board.
From seaward there is little to be seen of the countryside. The land
about is low to the coast, but far inland blue, mist-capped ranges
stand bold and rugged against the clear northern sky. Beyond the Bar
the harbour lies bare of shipping--only a few fishing skiffs putting
out under long sweeps, and the channel buoys bobbing and heaving on the
long swell. A deserted port we are come to after our long voyage from
the West!

"That'll be th' _Maid o' th' Moy_, Cyaptin," said Ould Andy, squinting
through the glasses at smoke-wrack on the far horizon. "Hot-fut from
Ballina, t' tow ye in. An' Rory Kilgallen may save his cowl, bedad,
f'r we'll naade two fut av watther yet before we get acrost.
Bedad"--in high glee--"he'll nat-t be after knowin' that it's twinty
faate, no liss, that Ould Andy is bringin' in this day!"

With a haste that marks her skipper's anxiety to get a share of the
good things going, the _Maid_, a trim little paddle tug, draws nigh,
and soon a high bargaining begins between Old Jock and the tugman, with
an eager audience to chorus, "D'ye hear that-t, now!" at each fiery
period. Rory has the whip hand--and knows it. No competition, and the
tide making inch by inch on the beacon gauge!

For a time Old Jock holds out manfully. "Goad, no! I'll kedge th'
hooker up t' Sligo Quay before I give ye that!" But high water at hand
and no sign of wind, he takes the tug on at a stiff figure, and we man
the windlass, tramping the well-worn round together for the last time.

_Leave her_ is the set chantey for finish of a voyage, and we roar a
lusty chorus to Granger, the chanteyman.

"O! Leave 'r John-ny, leave 'r like a man,
(_An' leave 'r, John-ny, leave 'r!_)
Oh! Leave 'r, John-ny, leave 'r when ye can,
(_An' it's time--for us--t' leave 'r!_")

A hard heave, and the tug lying short. A Merseyman would have the
weight off the cable by this.

"O! Soon we'll 'ear 'th Ol' Man say,
(_Leave 'r, John-ny, leave 'r!_)
Ye kin go ashore an' take yer pay,
(_An' it's time--for us--t' leave 'r!_")

"Heave, byes," the gossoons bearing