and clean shirt, and
goes below. A gay, likeable lad is George the Fourth, with bonnie
brown hair and steady blue eyes.

Mechanically I rise at twelve, hustle on my "dungarees," and,
sweat-rag in my teeth, I pass along the deck beneath the stars which
dust the midnight dome. My friend the Mate is just ahead, as I vanish
through a low-arched doorway which shows black against his white
paint. Careful now; these stairs are steep, and the upward-rising air
is like a gust of the "stormy blast of hell." Round the low-pressure
cylinder, then down again--and we are "below."

The steady beat and kick has become a thunderous uproar; by the yellow
light of the electrics you can see the engines--_my_ engines for the
next four hours. George is round by the pumps, stripped to the waist,
washing. He has finished; on the black-board he has recorded his
steam-pressure, his vacuum, his speed per minute, the temperature of
his sea water, his discharge water, and feed water; but he cannot
leave till I have thumbed all bearings, noted all water levels, tried
the gauges, and see that bilges, pumps, thrust-block, tunnel-shaft,
and stern-gland are all right. And while I do all this I try to make
out the orchestration of the uproar as my friend would some tremendous
Wagnerian clangour. Ah, what would he think of this, the very heart of
things, if he were but here?

Does George the Fourth feel the romance of it? Not a bit. George the
Fourth was pitch-forked into a marine engineering shop at the ripe
age of thirteen. He is twenty-two now, and carnal minded. He wants
"siller" for--well, _not_ for the Broomielaw. He wants to go "east"
again to Singapore, where the ladies of Japan are so charming and so
cheap. The only hope for him is that he may fall in love. I pray
without ceasing that he may fall in love. See the young pagan lounging
round by the stokehold door. Now you will perceive what I argued as to
the heroic nature of their lives.

"L.P. Top end is warm," I observe reproachfully.

"'Twas red-hot when it came to me," he exaggerates genially, putting
a clay "gun" in his mouth, and adding:

"Chief says, clean Number Four smoke-boxes fore and aft yoore watch,
an' ta trimmers to tak' nowt fra' th' thwart-ship boonkers."

Then he swings away, climbing the stairs with one eye on the engine.
A goodly youth, such as we admire; a magnificent young animal with
possibilities.

And then the firemen. I stand under the ventilator--it is cooler--