"Although apparently very reluctant to do so, the sun did rise at last, and behold, as the fog melted away, not two miles off, on my starboard beam, was Alderney. I never felt such a thrill of joy in my life as when I saw the breakwaters at the entrance to Braye Harbour, extending their arms as if to receive me into their snug embrace. I was glad to get into smooth water once again, and inside a harbour to boot, for I had never expected to set foot on dry land again. The old hands could scarcely believe that I had crossed the Channel in such a gale; but there I was, and there was the 'Dewdrop' to prove my assertion, therefore they could not doubt it. I pumped her out, and repaired the little craft as well as I could, and on the third day of being in port had eaten everything eatable aboard, and as there was no chance of resuming the voyage yet I had to get some food on 'tick.' This was all very well for a day or two, but after I had been a week in Braye, with no prospect of getting away, the landlord of the tavern from which I obtained my food, told me that as I was a perfect stranger to him he could not afford, to keep me any longer on credit. What security could I give him for further food? This was a poser, but the end of it was that I left my whole kit in pawn with him, including even my watch. At length, on the twelfth morning after my arrival the sea became calm enough for me to proceed, and with a west wind I was in Guernsey Harbour four hours after leaving Braye. I think this was the most adventurous voyage I ever made, as it took me sixteen days to make two hundred and fifty miles. I think if the pay was a guinea an hour I should not care about again crossing the Channel during an equinoxial gale, especially to be skipper and crew of such a midge as the 'Dewdrop.'" "That's what I call a decent little yarn, Alec,--_multum in parvo_--one that might be drawn out into quite a long story, and if it were in the hands of some men they would so spin it out, that the telling would occupy almost as many hours as you were days on the voyage. Nothing like condensing the agony and expanding the joy in a yarn, it makes the listeners in a better mode, and more sociable with each other." "Sociability," said Alec, "among seafaring men is pretty general. It is usually 'Hail, fellow, well met!' with us, for we endeavour to get all the fun we can out of life, because we know that whenever he gets the chance, Death will have his gibe at us. A sailor must, of necessity, often face death, and therefore his motto is, 'Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die'; and death does come to him frequently when least he expects it. I'll tell you an instance of this in which I and some of my relatives were concerned.