Your Azore should be at roost, and would have been were it a respectable bird!" I begged he would tie a rope-yarn on the rest of the song, if there was any more of it.

I was still in agony.
Great seas were boarding the _Spray_, but in my fevered brain I thought they were boats falling on deck, that careless draymen were throwing from wagons on the pier to which I imagined the _Spray_ was now moored, and without fenders to breast her off.

"You'll smash your boats!" I called out again and again, as the seas crashed on the cabin over my head.

"You'll smash your boats, but you can't hurt the _Spray_.

She is strong!" I cried.
I found, when my pains and calentura had gone, that the deck, now as white as a shark's tooth from seas washing over it, had been swept of everything movable.