The skipper, restraining himself by a mighty effort, went on deck again, and, taking the wheel, addressed the crew.  He spoke feelingly of the obedience men owed their superior officers, and the moral obligation they were under to lend them their trousers when they required them.  He dwelt on the awful punishments awarded for mutiny, and proved clearly, that to allow the master of a ship to enter port in petticoats was mutiny of the worst type.  He then sent them below for their clothing.  They were gone such a long time that it was palpable to the meanest intellect that they did not intend to bring it.  Meantime the harbour widened out before him.

There were two or three people on the quay as the Sarah Jane came within hailing distance.  By the time she had passed the lantern at the end of it there were two or three dozen, and the numbers were steadily increasing at the rate of three persons for every five yards she made.  Kind-hearted, humane men, anxious that their friends should not lose so great and cheap a treat, bribed small and reluctant boys with pennies to go in search of them, and by the time the schooner reached her berth, a large proportion of the population of the port was looking over each other’s shoulders and shouting foolish and hilarious inquiries to the skipper.  The news reached the owner, and he came hurrying down to the ship, just as the skipper, regardless of the heated remonstrances of the sightseers, was preparing to go below.

Mr. Pearson was a stout man, and he came down exploding with wrath.  Then he saw the apparition, and mirth overcame him.  It became necessary for three stout fellows to act as buttresses, and the more indignant the skipper looked the harder their work became.  Finally he was assisted, in a weak state, and laughing hysterically, to the deck of the schooner, where he followed the skipper below, and in a voice broken with emotion demanded an explanation.

“It’s the finest sight I ever saw in my life, Bross,” he said when the other had finished.  “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.  I’ve been feeling very low this last week, and it’s done me good.  Don’t talk nonsense about leaving the ship.  I wouldn’t lose you for anything after this, but if you like to ship a fresh mate and crew you can please yourself.  If you’ll only come up to the house and let Mrs. Pearson see you—­she’s been ailing—­I’ll give you a couple of pounds.  Now, get your bonnet and come.”

THE BOATSWAIN’S WATCH

Captain Polson sat in his comfortable parlour smiling benignly upon his daughter and sister.  His ship, after an absence of eighteen months, was once more berthed in the small harbour of Barborough, and the captain was sitting in that state of good-natured affability which invariably characterised his first appearance after a long absence.

“No news this end, I suppose,” he inquired, after a lengthy recital of most extraordinarily uninteresting adventures.