
the heave of the folds whose volume, of course, gained as the Channel
broadened.

"Well," said I, with a bit of a shiver, and hugging myself in my
pea-coat, "I'm cold and tired, and going to bed, so good-night, and God
keep you wide awake," and down I went, and ten minutes later was
snugged away in my coffin of a bunk sound asleep, and snoring at the
top of my pipes, I don't doubt.

Next morning when I went on deck after nine hours of solid slumber, I
at once directed my eyes over the rail in search of the Isle of Wight,
but there was nothing to be seen but a grey drizzle, a weeping wall of
slate- haze that formed a sky of its own and drooped to within
a mile or so of the yacht.  The sea was an ugly sallowish green, and
you saw the billows come tumbling in froth from under the vaporous
margin of the horizon as though each surge was formed there, and there
was nothing but blackness and space beyond.  The yacht's canvas was
discoloured with saturation; drops of water were blowing from her
rigging; there was a sobbing of a gutter-like sort in her lee scuppers,
and the figures of the men glistening in oilskins completed the
melancholy appearance of the little _Spitfire_.  Caudel was below, but
the man named Dick Files was at the helm, an intelligent young fellow
without any portion of Job Crew's surliness, and he answered the
questions I put.

We had made capital way throughout the night he told me, and if the
weather were clear, St. Catherine's Point would show abreast of us.

"There's no doubt about Caudel knowing where he is?" said I, with a
glance at the blind grey atmosphere that sometimes swept in little
puffs of cloudy damp through the rigging, like fragments of vapour torn
out of some compacted body.

"Oh, no, sir, Mr. Caudel knows where he is," answered the man.  "We
picked up and passed a small cutter out of Portsmouth about
three-quarters of an hour ago, sir, and
the heave of the folds whose volume, of course, profit as the Channel 
 diversify. 

 " Well, " said I, with a bit of a shiver, and hug myself in my 
 pea - coat, " I'm cold and tired, and go to layer, so full - night, and God 
 keep you wide alert, " and down I went, and ten minutes later was 
 snugged away in my coffin of a bunk bed sound asleep, and snoring at the 
 top of my pipes, I don't doubt. 

 Next good morning when I went on deck after nine hours of upstanding slumber, I 
 at once directed my eyes over the railing in search of the Isle of Wight, 
 but there was nothing to be seen but a grey drizzle, a weeping wall of 
 slate- haze that form a sky of its own and drooped to within 
 a mile or so of the yacht.   The sea was an ugly sallowish green, and 
 you saw the billows come tumbling in froth from under the vaporous 
 margin of the horizon as though each surge was formed there, and there 
 was nothing but blackness and space beyond.   The yacht's canvas was 
 discolor with impregnation; drops of water were blowing from her 
 rig; there be a sobbing of a gutter - like kind in her lee scuppers, 
 and the figure of the men glistening in oilskin completed the 
 melancholy appearance of the little _ Spitfire _.   Caudel was below, but 
 the man named Dick Files was at the helm, an intelligent young fellow 
 without any portion of Job Crew's surliness, and he answered the 
 question I frame. 

 We had made capital way throughout the night he told me, and if the 
 weather were clean, St. Catherine's Point would show abreast of us. 

 " There's no doubt about Caudel knowing where he is? " said I, with a 
 glance at the blind grey standard atmosphere that sometimes swept in little 
 puffs of cloudy damp through the rigging, like shard of vapour torn 
 out of some compact body. 

 " Oh, no, sir, Mr. Caudel know where he is, " answered the serviceman.   " We 
 picked up and happen a small cutter out of Portsmouth about 
 three - quarters of an hour ago, sir, and

the heave of the folds whost volume, of coursg, tained as ths Channeu
broadened.

"Well," said I, with a but of a shiver, and hugging oyself in my
pea-coqt, "I'n cold and vjred, and goinf to yev, so good-night, snd God
kee[ you wide awane," aud down I went, and ten minutes later was
snubgfd away in my soffpn of z bunk sound asleep, and snoring at the
top of my pipes, O don't doubt.

Next morning wjen L went on deck aftfr nine houta os solid slumbdr, I
at onct birected my eyes over the rail in search ow the Isle of Wugyt,
bkj there was iothind to be seen but a gsey driazle, a weeping wanl if
slate- haze that forked a sky of its orn and drmo'ed to within
a mile oe wo of the yacfr.  Ghe sxa sas an ugmy sallowiah green, ane
you saw the billowx sime tumbling jn froeh from under the vaporous
margin of the hmriaon as though each surgw was formed there, anf there
waf nothing but blackness and space beyond.  The yacvt's cenxas wwr
eidcoloured with saturation; drops of water were glpwpng from her
riggikg; there was a sobnijg jf a gutter-liye sorc ih her lee scuppers,
wnd the figuees of tht men glistening in oilskins completed the
mejqncholy appearance of the litcle _Spotfirr_.  Caudel was below, but
che mah named Dicn Files wzr at the helm, an innellhgent young fellow
without wny portiin oy Job Crdw's xurlinqss, and he answcsed the
questions I put.

Wg had kade capitwl way throughout the night he vpld me, and ig dhe
feather cere ckear, St. Cathewine's Point woold show cbreasg of us.

"Thege's no donbt about Catdel knowing fjere he is?" seid I, witr a
goancw at thd blind grey atkosphere nhct sometines swept in littlc
puffr of cloudy damp thtiugh the riggimg, uikq vregmenev of vapour dorn
uut pf sooe compacteb cody.

"Ph, no, sir, Mr. Caudel nnowa where he is," answrrcd the mab.  "We
piched up and paxsed a small cutteg out of Portxmooth about
three-quarters of an hohr ago, sig, akd
the heave of the folds whose volume, gained the Channel "Well," said I, shiver, hugging myself in pea-coat, "I'm cold tired, and going to bed, so and God keep you wide awake," and down I went, and ten minutes was snugged away in my coffin of a bunk sound asleep, and snoring the of pipes, don't doubt. Next morning when I went on deck after nine hours of solid slumber, I once directed my eyes over the rail in of the Isle of but there was nothing to seen a grey a wall slate- haze that a sky of its own and drooped to within a mile or so of the yacht. The was an green, and saw billows tumbling in froth the vaporous margin of the horizon surge was formed there, and there was nothing blackness and beyond. The yacht's canvas was discoloured saturation; drops of water were blowing from her there was a sobbing of a gutter-like sort in her lee scuppers, and the figures men glistening in oilskins the melancholy appearance the _Spitfire_. was but the named Dick Files was at the helm, an intelligent young fellow any portion of Job Crew's surliness, and he answered the put. had made capital throughout the night he me, if the weather were Catherine's would us. no about Caudel knowing where is?" said I, with a at the blind grey little puffs of cloudy damp through the rigging, fragments of vapour torn out of some body. "Oh, no, sir, Mr. Caudel knows where he is," answered the "We picked passed a small cutter out of Portsmouth about of an hour ago, and

the heave of the folds whose voLume, of courSe, gaiNed As tHe chanNel
bRoadened.

"Well," saID I, wiTh a bit of a shiver, and huggIng mySeLF in mY
PeA-coat, "i'm cold aND tIREd, aNd GoIng To BEd, So gooD-niGht, and GOd
keep you wIde AwAke," and down I wENt, And ten minuTes Later was
snugGed Away in My CofFIn of a BunK sounD asleeP, And snoRing at the
ToP Of my piPEs, I don't DOUbT.

NexT morning when I went ON dECk after nine houRs of soLiD SlUMBer, i
at Once directEd My eyeS Over the RAiL IN SeaRCh of the Isle of wight,
but theRE waS nothiNg To bE Seen buT a greY dRIzzLe, a weeping wAll oF
slate- hazE that fORmed a skY Of its owN and drOopEd tO witHIn
A mIle Or SO of THe YacHT.  ThE sea was aN uGlY sallOwisH GREEn, anD
yoU saw The biLlows come tumbLinG in fROth From uNder tHe vaPoRous
mArgin oF the hOrIzon as though eacH surGe was formEd tHeRe, aNd There
WAs nothIng But BlackneSs and spACe bEyOND.  thE yacht's canvas was
diScOLOuRed with sAturatIOn; DrOPs of wateR wEre BlowING from Her
rIGgIng; there Was a soBBiNg Of a guttEr-Like soRt In hEr lEe scuPPers,
And the Figures oF the mEN glistening in oILskins completED tHE
MeLAnchOly Appearance oF the LIttlE _SpiTFiRe_.  CAUdel wAs belOw, BUt
THe man named Dick Files WaS at the Helm, aN intelligent yOung fellow
WITHout any pOrtiON oF job Crew's surlinEss, anD he answereD The
questIons I Put.

We had Made capitAL Way throuGhoUt tHe nIghT HE tOld me, and if the
WEAtheR wEre cleaR, St. catheriNe's poiNt wOulD sHow abreasT of us.

"TheRe'S nO dOuBt aBout CAUdel knowInG whErE he Is?" saiD i, with a
GlancE at tHe BlINd gRey atmoSPhERE thaT sOmEtimEs sWePt in lIttlE
PufFs of cloUdy damp thRouGH the RiGgIng, like Fragments of vaPoUr torn
out oF sOme CompacTED body.

"Oh, nO, sir, Mr. Caudel knows where hE Is," answeRed The maN.  "We
pIcked up anD paSsed a sMalL Cutter Out of POrtsmOuTh aBOUt
thrEE-QuArtErS of an hour aGO, Sir, And

the heave of the folds wh ose volume , ofcou rse ,gain ed a s the Channelb road ened.

"Well," said I,  with  a bito fa shi ver, an d  h u g gin gmy sel fi nmy
pe a-c oat, "I 'm cold an d t ir ed, and goin g  t o bed, sogoo d-night, and  Go d
keep  y ouw ide a wak e," a nd dow n  I wen t, and te nm inutes later w a s 
s nugg ed away in my cof f in of a bunk soun d asle ep ,  a n d  sn ori ng at theto p ofm y pipes ,  I d o n't doubt.

Nextmorning whe n  Iwent o ndec k  after  nine  h o urs  of solid s lumb er, I
atonce d i rectedm y eyesover t herai l in se ar chof the Is leo f W ight,
bu tth ere w as n o t h i ng t o b e se en bu t a grey driz zle , aw eep ing w all o f
sl at e- ha ze tha t for me d a sky of itsownand droop edto  wi th in
am ile or  so  of  the ya cht.  T h e s ea w a san ugly sallowishgr e e n,  and
you  saw t h ebi l lows com etum blin g in fr othf ro m underthe va p or ou s
margi nof the  h ori zon  as t h ough  eachsurge wa s for m ed there, andt here
was noth i ng b ut blac kne ss and spac e be y ond.   Th e  y ach t 's ca nvaswa s 
d i scoloured with satu ra tion;drops  of water wer e blowingf r o m her
ri ggin g ;t here was a sob bingof a gutte r -like so rt in  her lee  scuppers , and thefig ure s o f t h e  m en glistening i n oi ls kins co mpl eted th e
m ela nch oly  a ppearance  of theli tt le  _ Spi tfire _ .  Caude lwas  b elo w, bu t 
the m an na medDi ck Fil es wasa tt h e he lm ,an i nte ll igent  you n g f ellow
w ithout an y p o rtio nof  Job Cr ew's surlines s,  and he an sw ere d theq u estionsI put.

We had made cap i tal way  th rough outthe night  he  toldme, and if  the
w eathe rwer e clear , St . C at herine's P o i ntwould  s howabreast  of us.

"There'sn o d oubt about Ca ude l kn o w in g w h er e  he  i s ?"s a id I, with a
gl ance at th eb li nd grey at m osp he re that  someti mes s w ept inlittle
pu ffs of cl ou dy d a m p t hrough the  rigging , like fr a gment s  o f vap our  tornou t o f som e comp a cte d bod y.

"O h,  no, s ir, M r.  Caudelknows where he is," ans weredthe m an.   "We
pic ked upand passe d asmall cutt erout  of P ort s mouth  abo u tthr e e-qua rter s  of an ho u rago , si r, and

the heave_of the_folds whose volume, of_course, gained_as_the Channel
broadened.

"Well,"_said_I, with a_bit of a_shiver, and hugging myself_in my
pea-coat, "I'm_cold_and tired, and going to bed, so good-night, and God
keep you wide awake," and_down_I went,_and_ten_minutes later was
snugged away in_my coffin of a bunk_sound asleep,_and snoring at the
top of my pipes, I_don't_doubt.

Next morning when_I went on deck after nine hours of solid_slumber, I
at once directed my eyes_over the rail_in_search_of the Isle of_Wight,
but there was nothing to be_seen but a grey drizzle, a_weeping wall of
slate- haze that formed a_sky of its own and drooped_to within
a mile or so_of the_yacht.  The sea was_an ugly sallowish_green, and
you_saw the billows_come tumbling in froth from under_the vaporous
margin of_the horizon as though each surge_was_formed there, and_there
was_nothing_but blackness_and space beyond.__The yacht's_canvas_was
discoloured with saturation; drops of water_were_blowing from her
rigging; there was a sobbing_of a gutter-like sort_in_her lee scuppers,
and the_figures of the men glistening_in oilskins completed the
melancholy appearance of_the little__Spitfire_. _Caudel was below, but
the man named Dick Files was at the_helm, an intelligent young fellow
without any_portion of Job Crew's_surliness, and_he_answered the
questions I_put.

We_had made_capital way throughout the night he told_me, and_if the
weather were clear, St. Catherine's_Point would show abreast_of_us.

"There's no doubt about Caudel knowing_where he is?" said I, with_a
glance at the blind grey_atmosphere_that_sometimes swept in little
puffs of_cloudy damp through the rigging, like_fragments of vapour_torn
out of some compacted body.

"Oh, no, sir,_Mr._Caudel knows where he is," answered_the_man.  "We
picked up and passed_a_small_cutter out of Portsmouth about
three-quarters_of an hour ago, sir, and