The Captain walked slowly aft and looked down into the galley lying at the quarter-boom. Few men could have resisted the appeal of that long slim boat with the water lapping invitingly against her clinker-built sides. The brasswork in her gleamed in the sun like jewels set in ivory, for the woodwork was as near the whiteness of ivory as holystone and sharkskin could make it. She had little white mats with blue borders on the thwarts and in the sternsheets, and her yoke, of curious Chinese design, had a history as mysterious and legendary as the diamonds of Marie Antoinette. "Get her alongside," said the Captain. "I want to try that mainsail." Five minutes later the galley was spinning across the sparkling waters of the harbour. Once the Captain spoke, and the bowman moved his weight six inches forward. Then she sailed to his light touch on the helm as a violin gives out sound under the bow of a master. Casey, sitting motionless on the bottom boards with the mainsheet in his hands, gazed rapturously at the new mainsail, and thence into the stolid countenance of the second stroke. "Ain't she a _witch_?" he whispered. For half an hour the galley skimmed to and fro among the anchored fleet, now running free like a white-winged gull, anon close-hauled, the razor bows cleaving a path through the dancing water in a little sickle of creaming foam. The Captain brought her alongside the gangway with faultless judgment and stood up. Like Saul, he had taken the cares of high command to a witch, and lo! his brow was clear and his eyes twinkled. "Yes," he said in even tones as he stepped out of the boat, "that mainsail sets all right," and ran briskly up the ladder two steps at a time. Casey thumbed the lacing on the yard. "Perfection is finality, and finality is death." "I don't know but what I wouldn't shift the strop '_arf_ an inch aft--mebbe a quarter . . ." Inboard the ship's bell struck eight times, and the boatswain's mate began shrilly piping the hands to dinner. [1] Anchor. The distinctive badge of a leading rating. IV THE SEVEN-BELL BOAT The last answering pendant from the Fleet shot up above the bridge rails, and the impatient semaphore on the Flagship's bridge commenced waving its arms. The Yeoman of the Watch in the second ship of the line steadied his glass against an angle of the chart house. "'Ere y'are! Write down, one 'and." A Signal-boy stepped to his elbow with a pad and pencil in readiness. "Flag--general: Leave may be granted to officers from 8.30 to 7 p.m. Officers are not to leave the vicinity of the town, and are to be prepared for immediate recall." He lowered the glass sharply. "Finish. Down Answer!"