CHAPTER V.
"Yet more! The billows and the depths have more: High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! * * * * * * * Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave! Give back the true and brave!"-- FELICIA HEMANS.
"To them their duty was clear, and they did it successfully; and the history of the island is written briefly in that little formula!"-- _Daily Telegraph_, Dec.

5, 1878.
I did not feel as if I had been asleep five minutes, when I was rudely awakened, of course by noise, whistling, and inarticulate roaring, and I found that it was morning, and that the boatswain's mate was "turning the hands up" to wash decks.

Alister was ready, and I found that my toilet was, if possible, shorter than at Snuffy's in winter.
"We puts hon our togs fust, and takes our shower-baths harterwards," the boatswain humorously explained, as he saw me trying to get the very awkward collar of my "slops" tidy as I followed with the crowd.
The boatswain was a curious old fellow.

He was born in London, "within sound of Bow bells," as he told me; but though a Cockney by birth, he could hardly be called a native of anywhere but the world at large.

He had sailed in all seas, and seemed to have tried his hand at most trades.