Harbour.

"Once again these old eyes have seen this fair haven," the Ancient
Mariner, beside them gazing, babbled; and Daughtry could not help but
notice the way the wheat-farmer and the pawnbroker pricked their ears to
listen and glanced each to the other with scant eyes. "It was in '52, in
1852, on such a day as this, all drinking and singing along the decks, we
cleared from Sydney in the _Wide Awake_. A pretty craft, oh sirs, a most
clever and pretty craft. A crew, a brave crew, all youngsters, all of
us, fore and aft, no man was forty, a mad, gay crew. The captain was an
elderly gentleman of twenty-eight, the third officer another of eighteen,
the down, untouched of steel, like so much young velvet on his cheek. He,
too, died in the longboat. And the captain gasped out his last under the
palm trees of the isle unnamable while the brown maidens wept about him
and fanned the air to his parching lungs."

Dag Daughtry heard no more, for he turned below to take up his new
routine of duty. But while he made up bunks with fresh linen and
directed Kwaque's efforts to cleaning long-neglected floors, he shook his
head to himself and muttered, "He's a keen 'un. He's a keen 'un. All
ain't fools that look it."

The fine lines of the _Mary Turner_ were explained by the fact that she
had been built for seal-hunting; and for the same reason on board of her
was room and to spare. The forecastle with bunk-space for twelve, bedded
but eight Scandinavian seamen. The five staterooms of the cabin
accommodated the three treasure-hunters, the Ancient Mariner, and the
mate--the latter a large-bodied, gentle-souled Russian-Finn, known as Mr.
Jackson through inability of his shipmates to pronounce the name he had
signed on the ship's articles.

Remained the steerage, just for'ard of the cabin, separated from it by a
stout bulkhead and entered by a companionway on the main deck. On this
deck, between the break of the poop and the steerage companion, stood the
galley. In the steerage itself, which possessed a far larger
living-space than the cabin, were six capacious bunks, each double the
width of the forecastle bunks, and each curtained and with no bunk above
it.

"Some fella glory-hole, eh, Kwaque?" Daughtry told his seventeen-years-
old brown-skinned Papuan with the withered ancient face of a centenarian,
the legs of a living skeleton, and the huge-stomached torso of an elderly
Japanese wrestler. "Eh, Kwaque! What you f