"Sometimes I wish I was to home again," announced Cooper, in an unexpected fit of despondency. "I don’ know why; ’tain’t usual with me to have such feelin’s in the outset of a v’y’ge. I grow sicker every day o’ this flat, strivin’ sea. I was raised on a good hill. I don’ know how I ever come to foller the sea, anyway!" The forecastle was a forlorn abiding-place at best, and crowded at any hour almost past endurance. The one hint of homeliness and decency was in the well-made sea chests, which had not been out of place against a steadier wall in the farmhouses whence most of them had come. They were of plain wood, with a touch of art in their rude carving; many of them were painted dull green or blue. There were others with really handsome escutcheons of wrought iron, and all were graced with fine turk’s-heads to their rope handles, and every ingenuity of sailors’ fancywork. There was a grumbling company of able seamen, their owners, who had no better place to sit than the chest tops, or to stretch at idle length with these treasuries to lean against. The cold sea was nearer to a man than when he was on deck and could reassure himself of freedom by a look at the sky. The hammocks were here and there sagging with the rounded bulk of a sleeping owner, and all jerked uneasily as the vessel pitched and rolled by turns. The air was close and heavy with dampness and tobacco smoke. At this moment the great sea boots of Simon Staples were seen descending from the deck above, and stumbling dangerously on the slippery straight ladder. "Handsomely, handsomely," urged a spectator, with deep solicitude. "She ’s goin’ large now, ain’t she? How’s she headin’ now?" asked a man named Grant. "She’s full an’ by, an’ headin’ east by south half east,—same ’s we struck out past the Isles o’ Shoals," was the mirthful answer. "She can’t keep to nothin’, an’ the cap’n ’s got to make another night on’t. But she ’s full an’ by, just now, all you lazy larbowlines," he repeated cheerfully, at last getting his head down under decks as ’his foot found the last step. "She ’s been on a good leadin’ wind this half hour back, an’ he ’s got the stu’n’sails set again; ’tis all luff an’ touch her, this v’y’ge." There was a loud groan from the listeners. The captain insisted upon spreading every rag the ship could stagger under, and while they admired his persistent daring, it was sometimes too much for flesh and blood. Staples was looking ruefully at his yarn mittens. They were far beyond the possibility of repair, and he took off first one and then the other of these cherished reminders of much logging experience, and, sitting on his sea chest, began to ravel what broken gray yarn was left and to wind it into a ball. "Goin’ to knit you another pair?" inquired Hanscom. "That’s clever; empl’y your idle moments." "Mend up his stockin’s, you fool!" explained Grant, who was evidently gifted with some sympathetic imagination.