er kettle, a pan in
which to heat the tin of preserved meat for our dinner to-day, and the
copper frying-pan in which three eggs will be cooked _sur le plat_ for
our breakfast to-morrow.

The invaluable Rob Roy lamp {26} is below this frame, and a spare lamp
alongside--a fierce blast it has, and it will be needed if there is bad
weather, for then sometimes as a heavy sea is coming the kitchen is
hastily closed lest the waves should invade it, but the lamp may still be
heard roaring away inside all the same. An iron enamelled plate and a
duster complete the furniture of our little scullery, all the rest of the
things we started with having been improved out of existence, for
simplicity is the heart of invention as brevity is the soul of wit.

If we desire to get at the tubular wooden flag box that some gay colours
may deck our mast in entering a new harbour, this will be found inside
the space aft of the caboose; and again, by reaching the arm still
further into the hollow behind our seat, it will grasp the _storm mizen_,
a strongly made triangular sail, to be used only in untoward hours, and
for which we must prepare by lowering the lug mizen, and shifting the
halyard, tack, and sheet. Then the Rob Roy, with her mainsail and jib
reefed, will be under snug canvas, as seen at page 57.

But now it is bed-time, and the lecture on the furniture of the yawl may
be finished some other day.

CHAPTER II.

Sheerness--Governor--Trim--Earthquake--Upset--Wooden legs--On the
Goodwin--Cuts and soars--Crossing the Straits--The ground at
Boulogne--Night music--Sailors' maps--Ship's
papers--Weather--Toilette--Section.

Sheerness is on the whole a tolerable port to land at, that is, as long
as you refrain from going ashore. The harbour is interesting and more
lively than it appears at first sight, but the streets and shops are just
the reverse.

The Rob Roy ran into this harbour seven or eight times during her cruise,
and there was always "something going on." The anchorage on the south of
the pier is in mud of deep black colour, but not such good holding ground
as it would seem to be, and then what comes up on the anchor runs like
black paint upon your deck, and needs a good scrubbing to get rid of it
from each palm of the anchor. Even after all seems to be cleared away
thoroughly, there may be a piece only the size of a nut, but perverse
enough to fasten upon the white creamy folds of your jib newly washed
out, and