u husky coal-jammers!" roared Parsons at them, as if he
could be heard beyond the rail. "I wouldn't be aboard of you for my
share of the Southern trip--and mackerel away up in G, too. Would you,
Billie?"

"Then? Naw!" said Hurd, with a wrinkling of his little nose.

"No, nor me neither," said Long Steve. "Hi--ever hear the cook--ever
hear George Moore's song:--

'If ever you go to sea, my boy,
Don't ever you ship on a steamer;
There's stacks to scrape and rails to paint--
It's always work to clean her.
When the wind is wrong and the shore is by,
They'll keep you clear of leeway,
But they roll and they jolt and they're never dry--
They're the devil's own in a sea-way!'"

Steve, trying to sing that, had one hand hooked into a ring-bolt under
the rail and he was slowly pickling--we were all pickling--like a
salted mackerel in a barrel.

An hour past Five Fathom and the tall white tower of Cape Henlopen
could be made out ahead, as well as the gray tower of Cape May through
the mists to the northward. The wind was coming faster and it felt
heavier. We could judge best of how we were looking ourselves by
watching all our fellows near by. We could see to the bottom planks of
two to leeward of us, while on the sloping deck of one to windward it
was plain that only what was lashed or bolted was still there. When
they reared they almost stood up straight, and when they scooped into
it the wonder was that all the water taken aboard didn't hold her
until the next comber could have a fair whack at her.

The men--that is, a few of them--might joke, but were all glad to be
getting in. There's no fun staying wet and getting wetter all night
long. If it wasn't for the wetness of a fellow it would have been
great, for it was the finest kind of excitement, our running to
harbor--that night--especially in the morning when we were passing
three or four and nobody passing us. We went by one fellow--the
Martinet she was--a fair enough sailer--passed her to windward of
course, our gang looking across at their gang and nobody saying a
word, but everybody thinking a lot, you may be sure. It was worth a
square meal that.

With the Martinet astern, the skipper let her pay off and run for the
end of the Breakwater. For a while he let the wind take her fair
abeam, with sheets in, and the way she sizzled through the water was a
caution. There was a moment that an extra good blast hit her that my
heart sank,