Bare feet, gripping the cool deck of the fo'c'sle head, still wet with the washdown, pattered in rhythmic circles to the music of the pawls, sounding over the early morning stillness of Honolulu Harbor. We were heaving up the anchor, having already taken in our quarter moorings. The pilot was aboard; Captain Nichols stumped the poop with his characteristic jerky stride, all business; second mate Tom was aloft with a half dozen hands, and the pleasant swish of falling canvas, and the rattle of blocks and running gear, sounded above as they cast off the long sea gaskets. About us in the harbor the men o' war and transports lay silent to their moorings, sleeping off the effect of a day and night of revelry ashore. Mr. Zerk stood out over the bow on the port cathead, his hand on the catfall, as he leaned far over. "Five fathom shackle at the water!" he sung out. "All right! Bring her short!" came the order from the poop. "Aye, aye, sir! Walk her up, up, boys! Walk her up, _and wake her up_." Old Smith got the tune and presently the dirge of an anchor chantey echoed across the water as we bent our weight against the capstan bars. "Paddy come back and turn in your slack, Heave round the capstan, heave a pawl, heave a pawl. We're leavin' Honolulu girls, and never will come back, Heave round the capstan, heave a pawl, heave a pawl. An' happy days all lie behind, good-bye to swipes and rum, Heave round the capstan, heave a pawl, heave a pawl." "Short stay, sir!" bawled the mate, and we stopped our song. The faint echo of a cheer wafted across the harbor; we recognized the hail from our friends on the _British Monarch_, watching to see us off. "Break her out, sir!" answered the captain, sending his voice along the length of the ship in sharp, snappy syllables. "Aye, aye, sir!" At "_short stay_," I was ordered to the wheel and as I slipped the spokes from the beckets, the crowd at the bars again put their beef to the cable, and the anchor left bottom. The tug fastened to our quarter got her signal from the pilot; we heard the jangle of bells in her engine room; we commenced to move. "Hard a port!" ordered the pilot. "Hard over, sir!" "Steady so! Steady so!" We were heading toward the old marine railway, the line of the Esplanade having swung under the jib guys with remarkable swiftness, as I turned the wheel to meet her. "Port handsomely!" I gave her wheel. "Port, I say! _Hard a port!_" "Hard a port, sir!" Again the shore shot past her bow, and then the blue water of the harbor mouth lay fair ahead. "Steady! Starb'd a point! Steady so!" We were pointing out through the narrow entrance of Honolulu Harbor. Forward they had hooked the cat and the fall was brought "_two blocks_" while the great hook hung upright, dripping the slimy harbor silt.