It was a glorious night. The air was soft and balmy, and, though there were no stars visible, there was a curious phosphorescence on the water that compensated for the inky darkness of the atmosphere. In fact, it was the first evening of the voyage that could be termed splendid, and at dinner in the saloon we had skylights and ports opened to admit the air. Presently came the sound of stringed instruments played with decided skill and expression. We looked at one another with astonishment, for music was one of the last things we expected to hear. "Mr. Wilkins!" called my uncle through the skylight. "Aye, aye, sir," replied the bos'n, descending the companion. "What's that noise?" "The watch below have got up a small band," explained the bos'n. "Shall I pass the word for them to knock off?" "Oh, no; far from it," said my father. "But where on earth did they get the instruments from? "Made 'em from 'baccy-boxes and bits of wire, sir. It's an old seaman's trick." "They play jolly well," rejoined my father. "I'll tell you what. We'll have a concert on deck to-night; it will please the men. Pass the word, Mr. Wilkins." The bos'n retired, and presently a hoarse cheer announced that the skipper's message had been welcomed by the men; and after dinner the fo'c'sle, illuminated with several lamps, was crowded with the crew, who sat on inverted tub's, coils of rope, etc., while the officers were provided with chairs from the saloon. It seemed really marvellous what music could be obtained from such primitive instruments as the men had constructed, and, stranger still, the almost boyish delight that the grown-up men--with one exception all over forty--took in the rough-and-ready concert. The items were mostly from the old sea stock, chanties and Dibdin's songs predominating. The bos'n led off with "Barney Buntline," and although his version of the words varied somewhat from the original, the chorus was taken up right lustily by nearly a score of voices, till some belated peasant on the Iberian shore must have wondered at the strange noise that came from the sea. Then often have we seamen heard How men are killed and undone By overturns of carriages And fires and thieves in London. Bow, bow, bow; rum (give it tongue, lads), Bow, bow, bow... The men repeated the chorus till I felt sure their throats ached; but, nothing daunted, they gave "Sally Brown" in approved chanty style, followed by a quick-step on their stringed instruments. "The Anchor's Weighed" and "All's Well" followed in quick succession, and Dr. Conolly contributed a stump speech with a Hibernian twang that evoked such rounds of applause that he was compelled to give what the men, termed "a hancore."