“I put the lead-line on her before she went into the coal-dock this trip, and I measured her again in the stream yesterday. With a cargo she just humps right up like a monkey bound for war. That's the way with these five-masters! They get such a racking they go wrong before the owners realize.” “They'll never build any more, and I don't suppose they want to spend much money on the old ones,” suggested the engineer. “Naturally not, when they ain't paying dividends as it is.” He stepped to the weather rail and sniffed. “I reckon the old man will be dropping the killick before long,” he said. Mayo knew something of the methods of schooner masters and was not surprised by the last remark. In the gallant old days, when it was the custom to thrash out a blow, the later plan of anchoring a big craft in the high seas off the Delaware coast, with Europe for a lee, would have been viewed with a certain amount of horror by a captain. But the modern skipper figures that there's less wear and tear if he anchors and rides it out. To be sure, it's no sort of a place for a squeamish person, aboard a loaded schooner whose mudhook clutches bottom while the sea flings her about, but the masters and crews of coal-luggers are not squeamish. Mayo, glancing aft, saw two men coming forward slowly, stopping at regular intervals. The light of a lantern played upon their dripping oilskins. When they arrived at the break of the main-deck, near the forward house, he recognized Captain Downs and the first mate. The second mate stepped out and replied to the captain's hail. “Bring a maul and some more wedges!” commanded the master. “_Drusilla_ is getting her back up some more,” commented the second mate, starting for the storeroom. “I don't blame her much. This is no place for an old lady, out here to-night.” He ordered Mayo to accompany him. In a few moments they reported to the captain, the mate carrying the two-headed maul and the young man bearing an armful of wedges. Captain Downs bestowed on Mayo about the same attention he would have allowed to a galley cockroach. He pointed to a gap in the rail. “There--drive one in there,” he told the mate. “Let that nigger hold the wedge.” There was rancor in his voice--baleful hostility shone in his snapping eyes; no captain tolerates disobedience at sea, and Mayo had disregarded all discipline in the cabin. The young man kneeled and performed the service and followed the party dutifully when they moved on to the next gap. The pitching schooner groaned and grunted and squalled in all her fabric. Every angle joint was working--yawing open and closing with dull grindings as the vessel rolled and plunged. “By goofer, she's gritting her teeth in good shape!” commented the first mate.