-coloured disc hard
upon its heels. We were then off the south-western corner of Minorca,
with the high ground on the northern parts of the sister island
standing up clearly against the horizon. Even from that distance we
could make out with the glasses a watch-tower on the peninsula which
divides Pollensa Bay from Alcudia. Up there the sentinels of those
naked slingers who loved wine and women when the world was young had
peered over the blue sea for a first sight of Roman or Carthaginian
pirate galley.

"Happy times when those men lived," said the anarchist; "there were few
laws to trouble them."

"Happy indeed," echoed Haigh, "for a boy with a taste for liquor and
ladies, and who thought unlimited head-breaking a pleasing diversion."

In the middle of the channel a steamer passed us on her way to Algiers.
She was the _Eugene Perrier_, the very Transatlantique Company's
boat that had put us on our course again during that wild, tearing race
from Genoa.

The fact was pointed out, and we looked her over again as one looks at
an old friend who has rendered a big service.

"Bit of a change this day from that, isn't it?" said Haigh.

"About as big as they make 'em," I admitted.

"I'm not so sure that I care for it, though," said he. "It had its
strong points that trip."

"Especially when it was over," I agreed. "Yes, it's fine to look back
at."

"It has one or two memories that will stick. You trying to catch up the
slits in the mainsail as fast as the wind slitted them, with the
knowledge that we'd probably go to glory if you got behind; I shan't
forget that. And I think the face of that man we laughed at on the brig
will stick. Also one or two other items. But as you say, old chappie,
it's nicest to look at from beyond."

The day flushed hotly as it wore on, and still the breeze kept light.
We slid through the water slowly, leaving scarce a trace of wake behind
us. Haigh smoked and drank vermouth; Taltavull busied himself below
with dealing, on paper, with tremendous sums of money; I bathed at
intervals, diving from the bowsprit end, and climbing aboard again by
the lee runner.

It was a lazy, dreamy passage that of ours across the channel, and most
enjoyable withal; but there was a strong lure dragging us on, and I
think all of the ugly cutter's complement were unfeignedly glad when
she opened up abeam both of the high headlands which bound Alcudia Bay.
There is one lighthouse, on the northernmost cape, a