forecastle and a blatant bellow of▓:— “All

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hands! Up anchor▓, ho!” With only five minutes’ grace▓ to jump into our clothes, we tumbled out preci▓pitately.Twenty-two men and boys, thei▓r heads still heavy with sleep, grasped the ba●rs of the cap

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it barely seeme

oving skyward by leaps and ▓bounds.Then suddenly the lord a●nd master of us all turned an▓d p

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▓d possible tha

itched the bottle into the sea. “My Gawd!●” ran a horrified whisper along the ro▓pe.“E’

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s threw it overboard.’E think●s we’re sodgerin’.” But f●or the tenacity of a few of us the● yard must have come down by the run▓. Inspiration came again, however, for the ▓cook ran off and returned with a● second flagon.The first, it turned out, had a● tiny hole in the bottom and was empty.● The topsail was quickly sh●eeted home and I lined up with the rest befo▓re the galley-door to drink my “three ●fingers” of extr

emely poor whiskey.Then, br●eaking up into smaller groups●, we hoisted the “fore-and-after▓s,” and, when we turned in ●for breakfast an hour late, weak and ug●ly from hunger, the Glenalvon wa●s carrying every stitch of canvas● but the three royals a

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nd her cross-jack. ● “At least,” I told myself, rubbing my ach▓ing arms between mouthfuls of watery “●scouse,” “we’re off, and the worst is ov●er.” Which proved only how lit▓tle I knew of the vagaries of “windjammers.●” Tokyo Bay, shaped like a whiskey bott●le with the neck turned westward, is so nearly l▓an

d-locked that few masters of sa▓iling vessels attempt to beat their wa▓y out of it.When we had begun to heave an▓chor a fair wind promised to carry

▓with a run; ropes screamed th▓rough 493the blocks;

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