“A cruel place, them Magellan Straits,” he said.  “Dudna thot domned mate-fellow nigh putt me ashore twice on the one passage through?  He was a eediot, a lunatuc.  I wouldna have hum on the brudge a munut.  Comun’ tull Narrow Reach, thuck weather, wuth snow squalls, me un the chart-room, dudna I guv hum the changed course?  ‘South-east-by-east,’ I told hum.  ‘South-east-by-east, sir,’ says he.  Fufteen munuts after I comes on tull the brudge.  ‘Funny,’ says thot mate-fellow, ‘I’m no rememberun’ ony islands un the mouth o’ Narrow Reach.  I took one look ot the islands an’ yells, ’Putt your wheel hard a-starboard,’ tull the mon ot the wheel.  An’ ye should a-seen the old Tryapsic turnun’ the sharpest circle she ever turned.  I waited for the snow tull clear, an’ there was Narrow Reach, nice uz ye please, tull the east’ard an’ the islands un the mouth o’ False Bay tull the south’ard.  ’What course was ye steerun’?’ I says tull the mon ot the wheel.  ‘South-by-east, sir,’ says he.  I looked tull the mate-fellow.  What could I say?  I was thot wroth I could a-kult hum.  Four points dufference.  Five munuts more an’ the old Tryapsic would a-been funushed.

“An’ was ut no the same when we cleared the Straits tull the east’ard?  Four hours would a-seen us guid an’ clear.  I was forty hours then on the brudge.  I guv the mate his course, an’ the bearun’ o’ the Askthar Light astern.  ’Don’t let her bear more tull the north’ard than west-by-north,’ I said tull hum, ‘an’ ye wull be all right.’  An’ I went below an’ turned un.  But I couldna sleep for worryun’.  After forty hours on the brudge, what was four hours more?  I thought.  An’ for them four hours wull ye be lettun’ the mate loss her on ye?  ‘No,’ I says to myself.  An’ wuth thot I got up, hod a wash an’ a cup o’ coffee, an’ went tull the brudge.  I took one look ot the bearun’ o’ Askthar Light.  ’Twas nor’west-by-west, and the old Tryapsic down on the shoals.  He was a eediot, thot mate-fellow.  Ye could look overside an’ see the duscoloration of the watter.  ‘Twas a close call for the old Tryapsic I’m tellun’ ye.  Twice un thirty hours he’d a-hod her ashore uf ut hod no been for me.”

Captain MacElrath fell to gazing at the sleeping child with mild wonder in his small blue eyes, and his wife sought to divert him from his woes.

“Ye remember Jummy MacCaul?” she asked.  “Ye went tull school wuth hus two boys.  Old Jummy MacCaul thot hoz the farm beyond Doctor Haythorn’s place.”

“Oh, aye, an’ what o’ hum?  Uz he dead?”

“No, but he was after askun’ your father, when he sailed last time for Voloparaiso, uf ye’d been there afore.  An’ when your father says no, then Jummy says, ‘An’ how wull he be knowun a’ tull find hus way?’ An’ with thot your father says:  ’Verry sumple ut uz, Jummy.  Supposun’ you was goin’ tull the mainland tull a mon who luved un Belfast.  Belfast uz a bug sutty, Jummy, an’ how would