CHAPTER XI 
UNDAY .... A day of loafing and yarns. Wc 
^ had yarns at breakfast, pawky stories about Scotch 
Sabbatarian hypocrisy, yarns at dinner and tea, and, 
between meals, sketches and yarns. No wonder sailors 
can tell stories so well. Our first mate, Mr. Adams, is 
master at the art of spinning yarns. The descendant 
of generations of sea-captains, he has inherited an in- 
exhaustible supply suited to all audiences. It fairly takes 
one's breath away to hear him drop from the broad Dun- 
donian accent to that of a Cockney jarvie, then change 
to soft Inverness, pigeon-English or Glasgie sing-song, 
always winding up with the harsh Dundee accent for 
company's sake, I suppose. It is ^ positively dangerous 
accent this last, or rather manner of speech I should call 
it. A stranger in Dundee on hearing it for the first time 
instinctively stands on guard — left hand in advance, right 
fore-arm over the mark. 'Edinburric' is comparatively 
pleasant and soothing. We have representatives of all our 
Scotch accents on board and some English. Curiously 
our professor of Cockney is a Campbell. This afternoon 
I listened to pure Peterhead accent, it is melancholy, 
the notes are those of the yellow-hammer several octaves 
lower, a sustained note in the minor dropping a semi- 
tone at the end of the sentence. The speaker made 
my teeth water with his descriptions of the sport in 
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