9 6 HUNTING THE SEA OTTER. 



" fixed off " a tin of the fish flavoured with a jar of piccalilli 

 pickles and a bottle of Worcester sauce. How delightful 

 to call to mind those grand, healthy, sea appetites, when 

 we got up at all sorts of hours with ready appetites, and 

 when the slightest rattle of a plate or a glass was answered 

 by a voice of the watch on deck down the scuttle : 



" Hillo, there, is that you ? " 



"Yes." 



" What are you up to ? " 



" Grub." 



" Hungry?" 



" Rather." 



" So am I. Hold hard a minute while I look round; get 

 out two plates ; the grog is in the bottom locker." 



Presently the skipper's head would emerge from his bunk. 



" Ha, ha, neatly caught. What have you got there, boys?" 



Knowing his little weakness, the invariable reply was : 

 " Mixed pickles and Worcester sauce." 



"All right, I guess I'll join you. I feel just like taking a 

 square meal. Yank us over the bread." 



But, alas ! times have changed, and to look even at any- 

 thing indigestible now is sufficient to draw forth a protest : 



" If I were you, dear, I would not touch that." 



"Why not?" 



" Oh, nothing ; but you know if you do you will be as 

 cross as two sticks to-morrow." 



Too true. Like Beppo's wife, she might have inquired 

 afterwards, " How's your liver?" 



The dirge of the night wind, as it moaned through the 

 rigging, sounded less mournful, and the dismal roar of the 

 waters, as they tumbled ceaselessly too and fro, were like a 

 soothing lullaby when contrasted with our late surroundings. 

 The wind, which had been going down for some time, 

 settled into a light breeze as morning broke, but the fog 

 still held its own ; everything was wet and clammy, the 

 cabin felt cold and damp, and, as there was no stove, our 

 wet clothes added to the discomfort of ourselves and our 



