out--for Bankok. At the end of a week we were back again. The crew said
they weren't going to Bankok--a hundred and fifty days' passage--in a
something hooker that wanted pumping eight hours out of the twenty-four;
and the nautical papers inserted again the little paragraph: _'Judea_.
Barque. Tyne to Bankok; coals; put back to Falmouth leaky and with crew
refusing duty.'

"There were more delays--more tinkering. The owner came down for a day,
and said she was as right as a little fiddle. Poor old Captain Beard
looked like the ghost of a Geordie skipper--through the worry and
humiliation of it. Remember he was sixty, and it was his first command.
Mahon said it was a foolish business, and would end badly. I loved the
ship more than ever, and wanted awfully to get to Bankok. To Bankok!
Magic name, blessed name. Mesopotamia wasn't a patch on it. Remember I
was twenty, and it was my first second mate's billet, and the East was
waiting for me.

"We went out and anchored in the outer roads with a fresh crew--the
third. She leaked worse than ever. It was as if those confounded
shipwrights had actually made a hole in her. This time we did not even
go outside. The crew simply refused to man the windlass.

"They towed us back to the inner harbour, and we became a fixture, a
feature, an institution of the place. People pointed us out to visitors
as 'That 'ere bark that's going to Bankok--has been here six months--put
back three times.' On holidays the small boys pulling about in boats
would hail, '_Judea_, ahoy!' and if a head showed above the rail
shouted, 'Where you bound to?--Bankok?' and jeered. We were only three
on board. The poor old skipper mooned in the cabin. Mahon undertook
the cooking, and unexpectedly developed all a Frenchman's genius for