' Liverpool t' Noo York an' then down south, 'ere--boun' t' Callao.
Off th' Falklan's, the Old Man opens out 'is bloomin' slop-chest an'
starts dealin'. A pound for blankits wot ye c'd shoot peas through,
an' fifteen bob for serge shirts--same kind as th' Sheenies sells a'
four an' tanner in th' Mawrsh! Of course, nobody 'ud buy 'em in at
that price, though we wos all 'parish rigged'--us bein' 'bout eight
months out from 'ome. If we 'ad been intendin' t' leave 'er, like th'
queer-fella, there, it 'ud a bin all right, but we 'ad 'bout
twenty-five poun' doo each of us, an' we wasn't keen on makin' th' Old
Man a n'ansome presint!"

"How could he get that?"

"'Ow could 'e get it? Easy 'nuff, in them days! As soon as we 'ad a
bin over th' rail, 'e 'ud 'ave us down in 'is bloomin' book--slops
supplied--five pun' 'ere--six pun' there--an' so on! ... Well, I was
sayin' as we was goin' south, round th' 'Orn! Winter time it was--an'
cold! Cruel! Ye couldn't tell who ye'r feet belonged to till ye 'ad
ye'r boots off. West an' sou'-west gales, 'ard runnin', ... an' there
we wos, away t' hell an' gone south' o' th' reg'lar track!

"I wos at the wheel one day, an' I 'eard th' Old Man an' th' Mate
confabbin' 'bout th' ship's position.

"'Fifty-nine, forty, south,' says th' Mate. 'Antarctic bloody
exploration, I call this!' ... 'E was frappin' 'is 'an's like a
Fenchurch cabby.... 'It's 'bout time ye wos goin' round, Capt'n!
She'd fetch round 'Cape Stiff' with a true west wind! She'll be in
among th' ice soon, if ye don't alter th' course! Time we was gettin'
out o' this,' says he, 'with two of th' han's frost-bit an' th' rest of
us 'bout perishin'!'

"'Oh no,' says old Lewis. 'No, indeed! Don't you make any mistike,
Mister! South's th' course, ... south till I sells them fine blankits
an' warm shirts!'"

VI

ROUNDING THE HORN

Rounding Cape Horn from the eastward, setting to the teeth of the great
west wind, to the shock and onset of towering seas; furious combination
of the elements that sweep unchecked around the globe!

Days passed, and we fared no farther on. North we would go with the
yards hard on the back-stays; to wear ship, and steer again south over
the same track. Hopeless work it was, and only the prospect of a
slant--a shift of wind that would let us to our journey--kept us
hammering doggedly at the task.

Day after day of huge sea and swell, mountainous in calm or storm.
Leaden-grey