"Everybody does that when they 're
beginning. Now some men forget all about the trouble they had in
learning, and get mad when a greeny makes a mistake. I never do. Why,
I remember--"
And then he told Joe of many of the mishaps which fell to him when, as
a little lad, he first went on the water, and of some of the severe
punishments for the same which were measured out to him. He had passed
the running end of a lanyard over the tiller-neck, and as they talked
they sat side by side and close against each other in the shelter of
the cockpit.
"What place is that?" Joe asked, as they flew by a lighthouse blinking
from a rocky headland.
"Goat Island. They 've got a naval training station for boys over on
the other side, and a torpedo-magazine. There 's jolly good fishing,
too--rock-cod. We 'll pass to the lee of it, and make across, and
anchor in the shelter of Angel Island. There 's a quarantine station
there. Then when French Pete gets sober we 'll know where he wants to
go. You can turn in now and get some sleep. I can manage all right."
Joe shook his head. There had been too much excitement for him to feel
in the least like sleeping. He could not bear to think of it with the
_Dazzler_ leaping and surging along and shattering the seas into clouds
of spray on her weather bow. His clothes had half dried already, and he
preferred to stay on deck and enjoy it.
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