ed to a close approximation of hers. Anon,
our anxiety about the zigzag is dispelled by a message from the
commodore, cancelling former orders. He has sat tight on it to nearly
the last minute, hoping for a clearance.

[Illustration: THE MAYFLOWER QUAY, THE BARBICAN, PLYMOUTH]

With the coming of the chief officer's watch we feel that the 'day' is
beginning. Twelve to four are unholy hours that belong to no proper
order of our reckoning. They are past the night, and have no kinship
with the day: bitter, tedious, helpless spaces of time that ought only
to be passed in slumber and oblivion. By five, and the lift greying,
there is something in the movement about the decks that suggests an
awakening of the ship to busy life and action, after the sullen torpor
of an uneasy night. The troop 'fatigue men' turn out to their duties,
and traffic to the cooking-galleys goes on, even under the unceasing
downpour that falls on us. The guard get busy on their rounds,
challenging the men as they step out of the companionways, to show their
life-belts in order and properly adjusted. Complaint and discussion are
frequent, but the guard are firm in their insistence. "I should worry!"
is the strange request, appeal, exhortation, demand, reply, aside, that
punctuates each meeting on the decks below. In nowise influenced by the
sinister import of the questioning, the duty troops on the boat-deck
waken up. The spirit of matutinal expression descends on them, despite
the rain, and they whistle cheerful 'harmonic discords,' till barked to
silence by Sergeant 'Jawn.'

The watch on deck trail hoses and deck-scrubbers from the racks and set
about preparations for washing down, bent earnestly on their standard
rites though the heavens fall! The carpenter and his mate are assembling
their gear and tools, awaiting better daylight to get on with their
repairs to the damaged lifeboats. On the bridge we seem congested. Extra
'day' look-outs obstruct our confined gangways and the bulk of their
weather harness, plus life-belts and megaphones, restricts a ready
movement. In preparation for busy daylight, the signalmen put out their
bunting on the lettered hooks, and ease off the halyards that are set
'bar-tight' by the soaking rain. There is, withal, an air of freshness
in the morning bustle that comes in company with the dawn.

With gloom sufficient for our signal needs (and light enough for
protection) we flash a message to our consort. She is _Neleu