n Finn at th' w'eel, eh? Don't tell me! Ah knows as
niggers is lucky an' Finns ain't; an' don't ye give me none o' yer
bloody sass, young feller, cos ..." ("Haul away mainyards, there!") ...
"_Ho! ... io ... io...._ Ho! round 'em in, me sons. ... _Ho! ... io
... io...._ Twenty days t' th' Line, boys! ... _Ho ... io ... ho!_"

A hard case, Martin!

Turning on heel, we left Innistrahull to fade away on the quarter, and,
under the freshening breeze, made gallant steering for the nigger.
This was more like the proper way to go to sea, and when eight bells
clanged we called the other watch with a rousing shout.

"Out, ye bloomin' Jonahs! Turn out, and see what the port watch can do
for ye. A fair wind down Channel, boys! Come on! Turn out, ye hungry
Jonahs, and coil down for your betters!"

* * * * *

After two days of keen sailing, running through the Channel traffic, we
reached the edge of soundings. The nor'-west breeze still held, though
blowing light, and under a spread of canvas we were leaning away to the
south'ard on a course for the Line Crossing. We sighted a large
steamer coming in from the west, and the Old Man, glad of a chance to
be reported, hauled up to 'speak' her. In hoists of gaily coloured
bunting we told our name and destination, and a wisp of red and white
at the liner's mast acknowledged our message. As she sped past she
flew a cheering signal to wish us a 'pleasant voyage,' and then lowered
her ensign to ours as a parting salute.

"Keep her off to her course again--sou'-west, half south!" ordered the
Old Man when the last signal had been made.

"Aff tae her coorse ag'in, Sur! Sou'-west, hauf south, Sur!"

At sound of the steersman's answer I turned from my job at the signal
locker. Wee Laughlin, eyes on the weather clew of the royals, was
learning!

III

THE WAY OF THE HALF-DECK

The guttering lamp gave little light in the half-deck; its trimming had
been neglected on this day of storm, so we sat in semi-gloom listening
to the thunder of seas outside. On the grimy deal table lay the
remains of our supper--crumbs of broken sea-biscuits, a scrap of greasy
salt horse, dirty plates and pannikins, a fork stabbed into the deal to
hold the lot from rolling, and an overturned hook-pot that rattled from
side to side at each lurch of the ship, the dregs of the tea it had
held dripping to the weltering floor. For once in a way we were
miserably sil