Gulf-weed swam in close squadron on the emerald sea; and on the western
horizon screw-pile lighthouses stood up out of the water, marking the
nearness of the low-lying Floridan beaches, and reminding one of
mysterious Everglades beyond.

"A man, they tell me," said Hamilton, "can go into that country at the
back there, and be a hermit, and live honestly on his own fish and
fruit. I believe I'd like that life. I could go there, and be decent,
and perhaps in time I should forget things."

"Don't you try it. The mosquitoes are shocking."

"There are worse devils than mosquitoes. Now I should have thought there
was something about those Everglades that would have appealed to
you, Skipper?"

"There isn't, and I've been there. You want a shot-gun in Florida to
shoot callers with, not eatables. I've written verse there, and good
verse, but it was the same old tale, sir, that brought it up to my
fingers' ends. I'd been having trouble just then--yes, bad trouble. No,
Mr. Hamilton, you go home, sir, to England and find a country place, and
get on a farm, and watch the corn growing, and hear the birds sing, and
get hold of the smells of the fields, and the colors of the trees, and
then you'll enjoy life and turn out poetry you can be proud of."

"Doesn't appeal to me. You see you look upon the country with a
countryman's eye."

"Me," said Kettle. "I'm seaport and sea bred and brought up, and all I
know of fields and a farm is what I've seen from a railway-carriage
window. No, I've had to work too hard for my living, and for a living
for Mrs. Kettle and the youngsters, to have any time for that sort of
enjoyment; but a man can't help knowing what he wants, sir, can he? And
that's what I'm aiming at, and it's for that I'm scratching together
every sixpence of money I can lay hands on."

But here a sudden outcry below broke in upon their talk. "That's Mr.
Cranze," said Kettle. "He'll be going too far in one of his tantrums one
of these days."

"I'm piously hoping the drunken brute will tumble overboard," Hamilton
muttered; "it would save a lot of trouble for everybody. Eh, well," he
said, "I suppose I'd better go and look after him," and got up and
went below.

Captain Kettle sat where he was, musing. He had no fear that Cranze, the
ship's butt and drunkard, would murder his man in broad, staring
daylight, especially as, judging from the sounds, others of the ship's
company were at present baiting him. But he did not see