The river was brilliant and busy with vessels at anchor or passing to and fro, with boats pulling from shore to shore, with the gay sunshine deepening and brightening the colours of flags, or flashing white upon the outstretched canvas, and trembling in silver flakes upon the water. Sailors hung over the forecastle of the “Meteor,” bandying jokes full of pathos, or exchanging farewells with wives and sweethearts, or male friends in boats grouped, with outstretched oars, around the bows of the ship. Some of the hands were aloft casting off the yard-arm gaskets, ready to sheet home when the boatswain’s pipe should sound. The wind--a light breeze--was north, a soldier’s wind that would take them clear of the river, and make a fair passage for them down Channel; and now they were only waiting for the captain to come on board with the pilot to start. By eleven o’clock the ship was to be under weigh; and even as the clear chimes of the clock striking the hour floated across the river from the land, a boat pulled by three men swept alongside, and the captain, followed by the pilot, sprang up the ladder. A tall, broad-shouldered young man stood at the gangway to receive them, and touched his cap as the captain came on board. “All ready, Mr. Holdsworth?” “All ready, sir.” “Man the windlass then.” “Ay, ay, sir.” He was on the forecastle in a jiffy, and the thunder of his voice went along the deck and brought all hands to the windlass as if a line had pulled each man to his place. The boatswain’s pipe shrilled, the pilot’s face, coloured like mahogany, took an anxious expression; and then clank! clank! clank! went the windlass, followed in a moment by a hoarse song, which at regular intervals burst into a chorus:-- “And when you come to the dockyard gates, Yo, boys, yo! You’ll find that Sal for her true love waits, Heave, my bully-boys, heave! Then, heave my boys, oh, heave together! Yo, boys, yo! And get her out o’ the stormy weather! Heave, my bully-boys, heave!” Then came such cries as these:-- “Sheer off you boats there!” “Get the gangway ladder in-board.” “Loose the inner jib, one of you!” “A hand aft to the wheel!” To see young Holdsworth now was to see a sailor, with a voice like a gale of wind, the whole great ship and her thousand complications of spars, ropes, sails, packed, so to speak, like a toy in the palm of his hand. The skipper was below; the pilot was lord and master now, and Holdsworth watched his face for orders. Soon the cable was up and down, the anchor lifted, and some hands left the windlass to make sail. The tide had got the ship, and she was floating almost imperceptibly past a large American vessel that had brought-up the evening before. A few boats followed; some turned and made for Gravesend, the inmates standing up and waving their hats and handkerchiefs.