down wind to cross her course, shouting together as we rowed.
Would they never hear? . . . Again! . . . Again!

Suddenly there came a hail from the ship, a roar of orders, rattle of
blocks and gear, the yards swung round and she layed up in the wind,
while the ghostly glare of a blue light lit up the sea around.

A crowd of men were gathered at the waist, now shouting and cheering as
we laboured painfully into the circle of vivid light. Among them a big
man (huge he looked in that uncanny glare) roared encouragement in
hoarse gutturals.

Old Schenke? The _Hedwig Rickmers_?

Aye--Schenke! But a different Schenke to the big, blustering,
overbearing "Square-head" we had known in 'Frisco. Schenke as kind as
a brother--a brother of the sea indeed. Big, fat, honest Schenke,
passing his huge arm through that of our broken old skipper, leading
him aft to his own bed, and silencing his faltering story by words of
cheer. "_Ach, du lieber Gott_! It is all right, no? All right,
Cabtin, now you come on board. Ah know all 'bout it! . . . Ah pick de
oder boat up in de morning, und dey tells me. You come af mit me,
Cabtin. . . . Goot, no?"

* * * * * *

"Ninety-six days, Schenke, and here we are at the mouth of the
Channel!" Old Burke had a note of regret in the saying. "Ninety-six
days! Sure, this ship o' yours can sail. With a bit o' luck, now,
ye'll be in Falmouth under the hundred."

"So. If de vind holds goot. Oh, de _Hedwig Rickmers_ is a goot sheep,
no? But if Ah dond't get de crew of de poor lettle _Hilda_ to work
mein sheep, Ah dond't t'ink ve comes home so quick as hundert days,
no?'"

"God bless us, man. Shure, it's the least they cud do, now. An' you
kaaping' us in food an' drink an' clothes, bedad--all the time."

"Vat Ah do, Cabtin. Ah leaf you starfe, no?"

"Oh. Some men would have put into the Falklands and landed----"

"Und spoil a goot bassage, eh? Ach nein. More better to go on. You
know dese men Ah get in 'Frisco is no goot. Dem "hoodlums," they
dond't know de sailorman vork. But your beoble is all recht, eh!
Gott! If Ah dond't haf dem here, it is small sail ve can carry on de
sheep."

"Och, now, ye just say that, Schenke, ye just say that! But it's glad
I am if we're any use t' ye."

"Hundert days to Falmouth, eh?" Schenke grinned as he said it. "Vat
'bout dot bett now, Cabtin?"

"Oh that," said Burke queerly. "You win, of course.