"The ship did go to the bottom though, didn't it, 'cause I heard the water all rush down?"--a third.

"You are quite, quite sure father isn't drownded? And you are sure no awful beasts have come up with long arms? Well, tell us some stories."

_Nolens volens_, Ransey had to. But Babs got drowsy at last, the white eyelids drooped and drooped till they finally closed; then Ransey went quietly away and turned into his hammock.

Young though he was, the heaviest sea-way could not frighten him, nor the stormiest wind that could blow. The sound of the wind as it went roaring through the rigging could only make him drowsy, and the ship herself would rock him to sleep. The barque was snug, too, and it was happiness itself to hear his father's footsteps, as he walked the quarterdeck, pausing now and then to give an order to the men at the wheel.

"Behaved like an angel all through, Halcott!" That was what Tandy told the skipper next morning at breakfast.

"I knew she would, Tandy. I'm proud of our _Sea Flower_, and, my friend, I'm just as proud of you. I'd have stopped on deck to lend a hand, but that wouldn't have done any good.

"Jane," he cried. Jane was the contraction for "Janeira."

"Iss, sah; I'se not fah off."

"Is there no toast this morning?"

"No, sah; Lord Fitzmantle he done go hab one incident dis mawnin'. He blingin' de toast along, w'en all same one big wave struckee he and down he tumble, smash de plate, and lose all de toast foh true."

"Oh, the naughty boy!" said Nelda, who was hurrying through her breakfast to go on deck to "see the sea," as she expressed it.

"No, leetle Meess Tandy, Lord Fitzmantle he good boy neahly all de time.

It was poorly an incident, meesie, for de big sea cut his legs clean off, and down he come."

"Well, I'm sorry for Fitz," said Nelda with a sigh; "I suppose it was only his sea-legs though. And I'm going to have mine to-day. I asked the carpenter, and he said he would make me some soon, and it wouldn't be a bit sore putting them on."

With varying fortunes the good ship _Sea Flower_ sailed south and away, till at last the Cape of Good Hope was reached and rounded.

Here they experienced very heavy weather indeed, with terrible storms of thunder and lightning, and bigger seas than Tandy himself had ever seen before.

But by this time little Nelda was quite a sailor, and a greater favourite fore and aft than ever.

Sea-legs had, figuratively speaking, been served out to all the green hands. Nelda had a capital pair, and could use them well. Fitz had to make his old ones do another time; but Bob had received two pairs from Neptune, when he came aboard that starry still night when crossing the line. As for the Hal, it must be confessed that there wasn't a pair in Neptune's boat long enough to fit him. However, in ordinary weather he managed to run along the deck pretty easily, his jibboom, as the sailors called his neck, held straight out in front of him, and helping himself along with his wings.

Sometimes on the quarterdeck it would suddenly occur to the 'Ral that a step or two of a Highland schottische would help to make time pa.s.s more quickly and pleasantly. The 'Ral wasn't a bird to spoil a good intention, so, with just one or two preliminary "scray--scrays" he would start.

Bother the deck though, and bother the heaving sea, for do what he would the bird could no longer dance with ease and grace; so he would soon give it up, and go and lean his chin wearily over the lee bulwark, and thus, with his drooping wings, he did cut rather a ridiculous figure as seen from behind. He looked for all the world like some scraggy-legged little old man, who had got up in the morning and put nothing on except a ragged swallow-tailed coat.

The men liked the 'Ral though. He made them laugh, and was better than an extra gla.s.s of rum to them. So, as the bird seemed always rather wretched in dirty weather, the carpenter was solicited to make him some sort of shelter.

The carpenter consulted the sailmaker. The carpenter and sailmaker put their heads together. Something was sure to come of that.

"He's sich an awkward shape, ye see," said old Canvas.

"That's true," said Chips; "and he won't truss hisself, as ye might call it."

"No; if he'd on'y jest double up his legs, Chips, and close reef that jibboom o' his, we might manage some'ow."

"A kind o' sentry-box would just be _the_ thing, old Can."

"Humph! yes. I wonder why the skipper didn't bring a grandfather's clock with 'im; that would suit the 'Ral all to pieces."

But a sort of sentry-box, with a tarpaulin in front of it, was finally rigged up for the 'Ral, and placed just abaft the main-mast, to which it was lashed.

The 'Ral didn't take to it quite kindly at first, but after studying it fore and aft he finally thought it would fit him nicely.

It would be protection from the sun on hot days, and when it blew a bit the men would draw down the tarpaulin, and he would be snug enough.

But in sunny weather it must be confessed that, solemnly standing there in his sentry-box, the Admiral did look a droll sight.

The 'Ral was a very early riser. He always turned out in time to go splashing about while the hands were washing decks, and although they often turned the hose on him he didn't mind it a bit.

One very hot day, the poor 'Ral was observed standing pensively up against the capstan. His head was out of sight, thrust into one of the holes.

This was unusual, but the bird did so many droll things that, for an hour or more, n.o.body took much notice; but Ransey came round at last, carrying Babs, who was riding on his shoulders.

"Hillo!" cried Babs, "here's the 'Ral with his head buried in a hole."

"Which he stowed hisself away there, missie, more'n an hour ago," said a seaman. "Afraid o' gettin' sunstroke, that's my opinion."

"Poor Hallie," cried Babs, sympathisingly, "does your headie ache?"

The Admiral drew out his head, and looked at the child very mournfully indeed.

"He's got some silent sorrow hevidently, I should say," remarked another of the crew.

There was quite a little circle now around the capstan.

"Cheer up," cried Ransey Tansey. "Come along and have a dance, 'Rallie."

"I don't feel like dancing to-day," the crane replied, or appeared to reply. "Fact is, I don't feel like moving at all."

No wonder, poor bird; the truth is, he was glued to the deck with melted pitch.

What a job it was getting him clear too--or "easing him off," as Chips called it.

But with the help of putty knives the 'Ral got free at last, though it took a deal of orange-peel to clean his poor feet. Then they were found to be so red and swollen that a hammock was slung for him forthwith atween decks, and the Admiral was laid at full length in it--his head on a pillow at one end, his feet away down at the other, his body covered with the carpenter's lightest jacket.

Very funny he did appear stretched like that, but he himself appreciated, not the joke, but the comfort. He lay there for days, only getting up a little in the cool of the evening, if there was any cool in it.

Ransey fed him, and attended to his feet twice a day, so he was soon on deck again, as right as a trivet.

But the Admiral had learned a lesson, and ever after this, on hot days, to have seen the bird coming along the deck, you would have sworn he was playing at hop-Scotch, so careful was he to hop over the seams where the pitch was soft, his long neck bent down, and one eye curiously examining the planks.