compel me to cling tightly to the swaying rope to prevent being
overcome. Close as I was the bark appeared scarcely more than a dense
shadow swaying above me, without special form, and unrevealed by the
slightest gleam of light, merely a vast bulk, towering between sea and
sky. Forking out, however, directly over where I clung desperately to
the wet hawser, my eyes were able to trace the bow-sprit, a massive
bit of timber, with ropes faintly traced against the sky, the rather
loosely furled jib flapping ragged edges in the gusts of wind.
Suddenly, as I stared upward, I became aware that two men were working
their way out along the foot-ropes, and, as they reached a point
almost directly over my head, became busily engaged in tightening the
gaskets to better secure the loosening sail. The foot of one slipped,
and he hung dangling, giving vent to a stiff English oath before he
succeeded in hauling himself back to safety, The other indulged in a
chuckling laugh, yet was careful not to speak loudly.

"Had one drink too many, Tom?" he asked. "That will pay yer fer
finishin' the bottle, an' never givin' me another sup."

The other growled, evidently not in any too good humor after his
mishap.

"You, hell! Yer bed the fu'st ov it. Thar's no sorter luck yer don't
git yer fair share of, Bill Haines--trust yer fer thet. What I ain't
got straight yet, is whar thet stuff cum from so easy. Thet wus the
real thing."

Haines laughed again, working carelessly. As the men advanced along
the spar I could distinguish their forms more clearly.