let him take shelter till morning in our forecastle. Following my
strict orders, I refused his request, mildly at first, in a sterner
tone as he insisted with growing impudence.

"For God's sake let me, matey! Some of 'em are after me--and I've
got hold of a ticker here."

"You clear out of this!" I said.

"Don't be hard on a chap, old man!" he whined pitifully.

"Now then, get ashore at once. Do you hear?"

Silence. He appeared to cringe, mute, as if words had failed him
through grief; then--bang! came a concussion and a great flash of
light in which he vanished, leaving me prone on my back with the
most abominable black eye that anybody ever got in the faithful
discharge of duty. Shadows! Shadows! I hope he escaped the
enemies he was fleeing from to live and flourish to this day. But
his fist was uncommonly hard and his aim miraculously true in the
dark.

There were other experiences, less painful and more funny for the
most part, with one amongst them of a dramatic complexion; but the
greatest experience of them all was Mr. B-, our chief mate himself.

He used to go ashore every night to foregather in some hotel's
parlour with his crony, the mate of the barque Cicero, lying on the
other side of the Circular Quay. Late at night I would hear from
afar their stumbling footsteps and their voices raised in endless