howed that we had lost all regard for routine.

A damp mist, the 'pride o' the morning,' was creeping in from seaward,
and the siren at the Golden Gate emitted a mournful wail at intervals.
Near us, at the anchorage, a big black barque, loaded and in sea-trim,
was getting under weigh, and the haunting strain of 'Shenandoah,' most
beautiful of sea-chanteys, timed by the musical _clank_ of the windlass
pawls, was borne on the wind to us.

"An outward-bounder, and a blue-nose at that," said Martin.

We wondered if Wee Laughlin was already in her fo'cas'le, with a
skinful of drugged liquor to reckon with. The 'crimps' lose no time if
they can get their man under, and Wee Laughlin, by his own glory of it,
was a famous swallower.

In the half-deck, some of the boys were already turned in, and lying in
uneasy attitudes, with only their boots and jackets off. Jones, who
had been severely handled in the scrimmage, was moaning fitfully in his
sleep, his head swathed in bloody bandages, and the pallor showing in
his face through the grime and coal-dust. Hansen was the last man in.
He threw himself wearily down on the sea-chests, now all of a heap to
leeward, snatched a pillow from under Munro's head, and composed
himself to rest.

"Mate says I'm to keep watch, 'n call him at eight bells; but, judgin'
by th' way he put the grog down, I'm damn sure he'll stir tack nor
sheet till midday.... Firemaster says she's under hand, 'n he'll have
the fire out in two hours, 'n she can bally well look out for
herself.... T' hell with an anchor watch; I can't keep my eyes open,
an' 'll work ... work ... no m----"

IX

IN 'FRISCO TOWN

We moored at Mission Wharf to discharge what cargo the fire had spared,
and there we made a lubberly picture, outcast among so many trim ships.
The firemen had done their duty and had left us to do ours, and we had
to work our hardest to put the ship in order again. A firm of
shipwrights were employed to repair the damage--the twisted stanchions,
buckled beams, burnt decks, worthless pumps, and hold fittings. Old
Jock was not a Scotchman for nothing, and to make their contract
profitable, the 'wrights did nothing that they could wriggle out of.
So we had extra work to do--their work--and from daylight to dark were
kept hard at it, man-driven as only our hardcase Mate could drive. It
was no wonder that we were in a state of discontent. Here we were,
after a long, hard voyage, working our 'so