“One would think that the sole purpose of that fiendish gale had been to make a lunatic of that poor devil of a mulatto.  It eased before morning, and next day the sky cleared, and as the sea went down the leak took up.  When it came to bending a fresh set of sails the crew demanded to put back—­and really there was nothing else to do.  Boats gone, decks swept clean, cabin gutted, men without a stitch but what they stood in, stores spoiled, ship strained.  We put her head for home, and—­would you believe it?  The wind came east right in our teeth.  It blew fresh, it blew continuously.  We had to beat up every inch of the way, but she did not leak so badly, the water keeping comparatively smooth.  Two hours’ pumping in every four is no joke—­but it kept her afloat as far as Falmouth.

“The good people there live on casualties of the sea, and no doubt were glad to see us.  A hungry crowd of shipwrights sharpened their chisels at the sight of that carcass of a ship.  And, by Jove! they had pretty pickings off us before they were done.  I fancy the owner was already in a tight place.  There were delays.  Then it was decided to take part of the cargo out and calk her topsides.  This was done, the repairs finished, cargo re-shipped; a new crew came on board, and we went out—­for Bankok.  At the end of a week we were back again.  The crew said they weren’t going to Bankok—­a hundred and fifty days’ passage—­in a something hooker that wanted pumping eight hours out of the twenty-four; and the nautical papers inserted again the little paragraph:  ’Judea.  Barque.  Tyne to Bankok; coals; put back to Falmouth leaky and with crew refusing duty.’

“There were more delays—­more tinkering.  The owner came down for a day, and said she was as right as a little fiddle.  Poor old Captain Beard looked like the ghost of a Geordie skipper—­through the worry and humiliation of it.  Remember he was sixty, and it was his first command.  Mahon said it was a foolish business, and would end badly.  I loved the ship more than ever, and wanted awfully to get to Bankok.  To Bankok!  Magic name, blessed name.  Mesopotamia wasn’t a patch on it.  Remember I was twenty, and it was my first second mate’s billet, and the East was waiting for me.

“We went out and anchored in the outer roads with a fresh crew—­the third.  She leaked worse than ever.  It was as if those confounded shipwrights had actually made a hole in her.  This time we did not even go outside.  The crew simply refused to man the windlass.

“They towed us back to the inner harbour, and we became a fixture, a feature, an institution of the place.  People pointed us out to visitors as ’That ’ere bark that’s going to Bankok—­has been here six months—­put back three times.’  On holidays the small boys pulling about in boats would hail, ‘Judea, ahoy!’ and if a head showed above the rail shouted, ‘Where you bound to?—­Bankok?’ and jeered.  We were only three on board.