was grotesquely limned a picture of a brain
pulsing savagely against the veneer of skin that covered that cleft of
skull beneath the dripping sou'-wester. Then he controlled himself, the
mouth-gash relaxed, and the suave and gentle film drew again across the
eyes.

"I mean, sir," he said softly, "that I am speaking out of a long sea
experience. Times have changed. The old driving days are gone. And I
trust, Mr. Pathurst, that you will not misunderstand me in the matter,
nor misinterpret what I have said."

Although the conversation drifted on to other and calmer topics, I could
not ignore the fact that he had not denied listening to the talk of the
men. And yet, even as Mr. Pike grudgingly admits, he is a good sailorman
and second mate save for his unholy intimacy with the men for'ard--an
intimacy which even the Chinese cook and the Chinese steward deplore as
unseamanlike and perilous.

Even though men like the gangsters are so worn down by hardship that they
have no heart of rebellion, there remain three of the frailest for'ard
who will not die, and who are as spunky as ever. They are Andy Fay,
Mulligan Jacobs, and Charles Davis. What strange, abysmal vitality
informs them is beyond all speculation. Of course, Charles Davis should
have been overside with a sack of coal at his feet long ago. And Andy
Fay and Mulligan Jacobs are only, and have always been, wrecked and
emaciated wisps of men. Yet far stronger men than they have gone over
the side, and far stronger men than they are laid up right now in
absolute physical helplessness in the soggy forecastle bunks. And these
two bitter flames of shreds of things stand all their watches and answer
all calls for both watches.

Yes; and the chickens have something of this same spunk of life in them.
Featherless, semi-frozen despite the oil-stove, sprayed dripping on
occasion by the frigid seas that pound by sheer weight through canvas
tarpaulins, nevertheless not a chicken has died. Is it a matter of
selection? Are these the iron-vigoured ones that survived the hardships
from Baltimore to the Horn, and are fitted to survive anything? Then for
a De Vries to take them, save them, and out of them found the hardiest
breed of chickens on the planet! And after this I shall always query
that phrase, most ancient in our language--"chicken-hearted." Measured
by the _Elsinore's_ chickens, it is a misnomer.

Nor are our three Horn Gypsies, the storm-visitors with the