d
already left the whistling-buoy astern. Off to the east, her sails
just showing above the waves, was a pilot-boat with the number 7 on her
mainsail. The evening was closing in; the Farallones were in plain sight
dead ahead. Far behind, in a mass of shadow just bluer than the sky, he
could make out a few twinkling lights--San Francisco.

Half an hour later Kitchell came on deck from his supper in the cabin
aft. He glanced in the direction of the mainland, now almost out of
sight, then took the wheel from one of the Chinamen and commanded, "Ease
off y'r fore an' main sheets." The hands eased away and the schooner
played off before the wind.

The staysail was set. The "Bertha Millner" headed to southwest, bowling
easily ahead of a good eight-knot breeze.

Next came the order "All hands aft!" and Wilbur and his mates betook
themselves to the quarterdeck. Charlie took the wheel, and he and
Kitchell began to choose the men for their watches, just as Wilbur
remembered to have chosen sides for baseball during his school days.

"Sonny, I'll choose you; you're on my watch," said the Captain to
Wilbur, "and I will assoom the ree-sponsibility of your nautical
eddoocation."

"I may as well tell you at once," began Wilbur, "that I'm no sailor."

"But you will be, soon," answered the Captain, at once soothing and
threatening; "you will be, Mister Lilee of the Vallee, you kin lay to
it as how you will be one of the best sailormen along the front, as our
dear friend Jim says. Before I git throo with you, you'll be a sailorman
or shark-bait, I can promise you. You're on my watch; step over here,
son."

The watches were divided, Charlie and three other Chinamen on the port,
Kitchell, Wilbur, and two Chinamen on the starboard. The men trooped
forward again.

The tiny world of the schooner had lapsed to quiet. The "Bertha Millner"
was now clear of the land, that lay like a blur of faintest purple
smoke--ever growing fainter--low in the east. The Farallones showed but
their shoulders above the horizon. The schooner was standing well
out from shore--even beyond the track of the coasters and passenger
steamers--to catch the Trades from the northwest. The sun was setting
royally, and the floor of the ocean shimmered like mosaic. The sea
had gone down and the fury of the bar was a thing forgotten. It was
perceptibly warmer.

On board, the two watches mingled forward, smoking opium and playing
a game that looked like checkers. Three