As soon as she had cleared the Irish coast, a sullen, grey-headed
old wave of the Atlantic climbed leisurely over her straight
bows, and sat down on the steam-capstan used for hauling up the
anchor. Now the capstan and the engine that drove it had been
newly painted red and green; besides which, nobody likes being
ducked.

"Don't you do that again," the capstan sputtered through the
teeth of his cogs. "Hi! Where's the fellow gone?"

The wave had slouched overside with a plop and a chuckle; but
"Plenty more where he came from," said a brother-wave, and went
through and over the capstan, who was bolted firmly to an iron
plate on the iron deck-beams below.

"Can't you keep still up there?" said the deckbeams. "What's the
matter with you? One minute you weigh twice as much as you
ought to, and the next you don't!"

"It isn't my fault," said the capstan. "There's a green brute
outside that comes and hits me on the head."

"Tell that to the shipwrights. You've been in position for months
and you've never wriggled like this before. If you aren't
careful you'll strain us."

"Talking of strain," said a low, rasping, unpleasant voice, are
any of you fellows - you deck-beams, we mean - aware that those
exceedingly ugly knees of yours happen to be riveted into our