The pointer by old Bo'sun Dreilick, of the _St. Mary's_, and now of the _Newport_, that ancient mariner of many, many voyages, filled with the accumulated wisdom of the seven seas, stood me in good stead. "When at the wheel, work the ship in your mind as if you had charge of the watch," was his advice. Doing this aboard the _Fuller_ with such a consummate sailor as Mr. Zerk in charge was an instructive exercise. During daytime tricks I could see where sails needed trimming, or where a shift of canvas would help her, and would often have everything settled in my mind before the mate would notice things. At night it was different. The least shift of wind or the slightest change of weather always found him on the alert. To an ambitious lad, anxious to master the hoary art of conducting a ship across the surface--decidedly, surface--of the many wrinkled ocean, this practice can be recommended; the only trouble is that such ambitious lads are now scarce, and the ships are scarcer still. Captain Nichols had a pleasant way of coming up, especially during the second dog watch, after the mellowing influence of a Chow dinner, cabin style, and conversing for a minute or two. He would let drop a hint as to where we were and sometimes give me sights to work out. While we were making such heavy weather of it and the wheel was hard to manage, he told a story calculated to make me anything but cheerful. The ship had yawed and the slap of the rudder sent the wheel over against all the "beef" I could bring to bear. Then suddenly, when the pressure shifted to the other side, the wheel came back with the kick of a stubborn mule, and I was bodily lifted off my feet, saving my head by doubling about the spindle. "Look out, son!" shouted the Old Man. "I had a sailor thrown up against the top of the wheelhouse once and his skull bashed in. That was his last trick at the wheel. You better be careful." CHAPTER XXVII MAN LOST OVERBOARD