The two boys, still so called, were Obed B. and Kelly; no longer boys, but broad-chested, muscular young men, worthy representatives of the ocean chivalry of their native island, and still as inseparable as ever, the very Pythias and Damon of our little circle. We got a slant of wind the next day after this incident, and worked up near the headlands of Port Jackson, so that we took a pilot. But having the wind light, it was late in the day before we passed inside the heads, and from there we had seven miles to work up, to the anchorage before the town. The whole British navy might find ample room to moor in this beautiful bay, and might all ride in safety, under any ordinary circumstances. It was a fine moonlight evening when we went in, and as we shot handsomely into our berth among the fleet of vessels, it was difficult to realize that we had actually arrived among civilized white men. The whole thing seemed like enchantment, coming, as we did, from recent contact with howling savages, the echo of whose infernal gibberish had hardly ceased ringing in our ears. Our anchor rattled merrily to the bottom for the first time in eight months, and we furled our sails leisurely, lingering on the yards to look wonderingly on the numerous lights in the town, and to listen to the pealing of a sweet chime of bells, for it was Sunday evening on shore, though Saturday by our reckoning. As the reality of it all came home to our minds, as we gradually became assured that the unwonted sounds and sights were no dream, but tangible truth, a good influence was exerted upon all. No noisy demonstrations hailed the event so ardently looked forward to, but a feeling of tranquil happiness and gratitude seemed to pervade the whole ship's company. No night of the voyage was spent more quietly on board the Arethusa, certainly none more happily, than the first night after her canvas was furled in the last Pacific port. CHAPTER XXII. SYDNEY.--UP ANCHOR FOR HOME.--"GALWAY MIKE." What a change in their bill of fair awaited our crew the morning after our anchor went down in this beautiful harbor; the change from the eternal salt junk and yams, and unrelenting hard-tack, to the luxuries of a Sydney bumboat! The sailor, to be sure, is no great _connoisseur_ in matters of this sort; nevertheless, as our observant cook pithily expressed it, "he likes good grub better than he does poor." A very small sum of money was sufficient to spread a table (or a sea-chest, either,) with baker's loaves, fresh butter and cheese, new milk, eggs, and various other "manavelins," as Jack terms them. I write the word as it is pronounced, but my researches in etymology, are, thus far, all at fault. Neither Noah Webster nor Nat Bowditch throws any light on the matter.