TO
XIII. HOMEWARD!
XIV. A TRICK AT THE WHEEL
XV. ''OLY JOES'
XVI. EAST, HALF SOUTH!
XVII. ADRIFT
XVIII. "----AFTER FORTY YEAR!"
XIX. 'IN LITTLE SCOTLAND'
XX. UNDER THE FLAG
XXI. 'DOLDRUMS'
XXII. ON SUNDAY
XXIII. A LANDFALL
XXIV. FALMOUTH FOR ORDERS
XXV. "T' WIND'ARD!"
XXVI. LIKE A MAN
EPILOGUE: "1910"

THE BRASSBOUNDER

I

THE 'BLUE PETER'

Ding ... dong.... Ding ... dong. The university bells toll out in
strength of tone that tells of south-west winds and misty weather. On
the street below my window familiar city noises, unheeded by day,
strike tellingly on the ear--hoof-strokes and rattle of wheels, tramp
of feet on the stone flags, a snatch of song from a late reveller, then
silence, broken in a little by the deep mournful note of a steamer's
siren, wind-borne through the Kelvin Valley, or the shrilling of an
engine whistle that marks a driver impatient at the junction points.
Sleepless, I think of my coming voyage, of the long months--years,
perhaps--that will come and go ere next I lie awake hearkening to the
night voices of my native city. My days of holiday--an all too brief
spell of comfort and shore living--are over; another peal or more of
the familiar bells and my emissary of the fates--a Gorbals cabman,
belike--will be at the door, ready to set me rattling over the granite
setts on the direct road that leads by Bath Street, Finnieston, and
Cape Horn--to San Francisco. A long voyage and a hard. And where
next? No one seems to know! Anywhere where wind blows and square-sail
can carry a freight. At the office on Saturday, the shipping clerk
turned his palms out at my questioning.

"Home again, perhaps. The colonies! Up the Sound or across to Japan,"
he said, looking in his _Murray's Diary_ and then at the clock, to see
if there was time for him to nip home for his clubs and catch the 1.15
for Kilmacolm.

Nearly seventeen months of my apprenticeship remain to be served.
Seventeen months of a hard sea life, between the masts of a starvation
Scotch barque, in the roughest of seafaring, on the long voyage, the
stormy track leading westward round the Horn.

It will be February or March when we get down there. Not the worst
months, thank Heaven! but bad enough at the best. And we'll be badly
off this voyage, for the owners have taken two able seamen off our
complement. "Hard times!" they will be saying. Aye! hard times