of the Bonin Islands, sailed in among the reefs to the
land-locked harbour, and let our anchor rumble down where lay a score or
more of sea-gypsies like ourselves. The scents of strange vegetation
blew off the tropic land. Aborigines, in queer outrigger canoes, and
Japanese, in queerer sampans, paddled about the bay and came aboard. It
was my first foreign land; I had won to the other side of the world, and
I would see all I had read in the books come true. I was wild to get
ashore.

Victor and Axel, a Swede and a Norwegian, and I planned to keep together.
(And so well did we, that for the rest of the cruise we were known as the
"Three Sports.") Victor pointed out a pathway that disappeared up a wild
canyon, emerged on a steep bare lava slope, and thereafter appeared and
disappeared, ever climbing, among the palms and flowers. We would go
over that path, he said, and we agreed, and we would see beautiful
scenery, and strange native villages, and find, Heaven alone knew, what
adventure at the end. And Axel was keen to go fishing. The three of us
agreed to that, too. We would get a sampan, and a couple of Japanese
fishermen who knew the fishing grounds, and we would have great sport.
As for me, I was keen for anything.

And then, our plans made, we rowed ashore over the banks of living coral
and pulled our boat up the white beach of coral sand. We walked across
the fringe of beach under the cocoanut-palms and into the little town,
and found several hundred riotous seamen from all the world, drinking
prodigiously, singing prodigiously, dancing prodigiously--and all on the
main street to the scandal of a helpless handful of Japanese police.

Victor and Axel said that we'd have a drink before we started on our long
walk. Could I decline to drink with these two chesty shipmates?
Drinking together, glass in hand, put the seal on comradeship. It was
the way of life. Our teetotaler owner-captain was laughed at, and
sneered at, by all of us because of his teetotalism. I didn't in the
least want a drink, but I did want to be a good fellow and a good
comrade. Nor did Louis' case deter me, as I poured the biting, scorching
stuff down my throat. John Barleycorn had thrown Louis to a nasty fall,
but I was young. My blood ran full and red; I had a constitution of
iron; and--well, youth ever grins scornfully at the wreckage of age.

Queer, fierce, alcoholic stuff it was that we drank. There was no
telling where or h