The chase was virtually where it had begun. The Italians were
rowing up the starboard side of the ship, and we were hauled close
on the wind and slowly edging out from the ship as we worked to
windward. Then they darted around her bow and began the row down
her port side, and we tacked about, crossed her bow, and went
plunging down the wind hot after them. And again, just as I was
reaching for the skiff, it ducked under the ship's stern and out of
danger. And so it went, around and around, the skiff each time
just barely ducking into safety.

By this time the ship's crew had become aware of what was taking
place, and we could see their heads in a long row as they looked at
us over the bulwarks. Each time we missed the skiff at the stern,
they set up a wild cheer and dashed across to the other side of the
Lancashire Queen to see the chase to wind-ward. They showered us
and the Italians with jokes and advice, and made our Greek so angry
that at least once on each circuit he raised his fist and shook it
at them in a rage. They came to look for this, and at each display
greeted it with uproarious mirth.

"Wot a circus!" cried one.

"Tork about yer marine hippodromes,--if this ain't one, I'd like to
know!" affirmed another.

"Six-days-go-as-yer-please," announced a third. "Who says the
dagoes won't win?"

On the next tack to windward the Greek offered to change places