iss. He wanted "that 'ere tail" to be half a fathom long,
and though it was duly measured every week "that 'ere tail" refused to
grow another inch.

Billy Waters had a fine tail, but his was only, to use his own words,
"two foot one," but it was "half as thick agen as Tom Tully's," so he
did not mind. In fact the first glance at the gunner's round
good-humoured face told that there was neither envy nor ambition there.
Give him enough to eat, his daily portion of cold water grog, and his
'bacco, and, again to use his own words, he "wouldn't change berths with
the king hissen."

"Easy there, Billy messmet," growled Tom Tully; "avast hauling quite so
hard. My tail ain't the cable."

"Why, you don't call that 'ere hauling, Tommy lad, do you?"

"'Nuff to take a fellow's head off," growled the other, just as the
midshipman pulled in another mackerel, and directly after another, and
another, for they were sailing through a shoal, and the man at the helm
let his stolid face break up into a broad grin as the chance of a mess
of mackerel for the men's dinner began to increase.

"Singing down deny, down deny, down deny down,
Sing--"

"Easy, messmet, d'yer hear," growled Tom Tully, straining his head round
to look appealingly at the operator on his tail. "Why don't yer leave
off singing till you've done?"

"Just you lay that there nose o' your'n straight amidships," cried
Billy, using the tail as if it was a tiller, and steering the sailor's
head into the proper position. "I can't work without I sing."

"For this I can tell, that nought will be well,
Till the king enjoys his own again."

He trolled out these words in a pleasant tenor voice, and was just
drawing in breath to continue the rattling cavalier ballad when the
young officer swung his right leg in board, and, sitting astride the low
bulwark, exclaimed--

"I say, Billy, are you mad?"

"Mad, sir? not that I knows on, why?"

"For singing a disloyal song like that. You'll be yard-armed, young
fellow, if you don't mind."

"What, for singing about the king?"

"Yes; if you get singing about a king over the water, my lad. That's an
old song; but some people would think you meant the Pretend--Hallo! look
there. You look out there forward, why didn't you hail? Hi! here fetch
me a glass. Catch hold of that line, Billy. She's running for
Shoreham, as sure as a gun. No: all right; let go."

He threw the line to the gunner just as a mackerel made