, or 20 of these cargo boats to moorings. And
ashore was a pub--there were other pubs, plenty of them--but to this one
particular pub came bunches of these cargo captains to forget things.
(Without wishing to offend any prohibition advocate, I have to report
that knocking around the world a man cannot help noticing that men who
face peril regularly do sometimes take a drink to ease off things.)

A barmaid, answering to the name of Phyllis, presided over this pub, a
blond, square-built, capable person, who had always about three or four
of these captains standing on their heads. She was not without
sentiment, but never letting sentiment interfere with business.

"Phyllis, my dear," a skipper would begin, and get about that far when
she--her right hand reaching for the bottle of Scotch and her left for
the soda--would be saying: "The same, captain?"--thereby choking off a
great rush of words, and forwarding the business for which she drew one
pound ten a week.

Before a creature of that kind these cargo captains were bound to preen
themselves. They bought at frequent intervals, not at all like the ways
of another group--not cargo captains--of whom one of our American
warrant officers said: "You buy and buy and buy, and they drink and
drink and drink. It comes time for them to buy, and when it does they
submerge, and don't come up for air."

These cargo skippers were always coming up for air. They would hunt a
man three stories up in his room, wake him out of his sleep, and haul
him down-stairs to have just one more. Between drinks, after they got to
know a man pretty well, they would talk of their sea experiences; and,
after the fashion of all true adventurers, their talk was almost always
of the humorous side of things.

There was a skipper there one morning who bid all hands, especially
Phyllis, good-by. He was off to Alexandria. He would not be back for
three months--more likely five or six months. Phyllis pinned a flower in
his coat and off he went. From the pub window they saw him board his
ship, and an hour later saw her steam out of the harbor and to sea.

That was at ten in the morning. At five in the afternoon--the lights
were just being turned on--those in the pub who happened to be looking
out of the window thought they saw this captain's ghost coming up the
waterside with his crew trailing behind him. The crew looked as if they
had dressed in a hurry and were scampering along to keep warm. But our
skippe