It
had the sense of soaking luxury.
In his cabin, with the ship's chart on the table before him, Dyck Calhoun
studied the course of the Ariadne. The wind was fair and good, the sea-
birds hovered overhead. From a distant part of the ship came the sound
of men's voices in song. They were singing "Spanish Ladies":
"We hove our ship to when the wind was sou'west, boys,
We hove our ship to for to strike soundings clear;
Then we filled our main tops'l and bore right away, boys,
And right up the Channel our course did we steer.
"We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll range and we'll roam over all the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England
From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues."
Dyck raised his head, and a smile came to his lips.
"Yes, you sing of a Channel, my lads, but it's a long way there, as
you'll find. I hope to God they give us some fighting! . . . Well,
what is it?" he asked of a marine who appeared in his doorway.
"The master of the ship begs to see you, sir," was the reply.
A moment afterwards Greenock entered. He asked Dyck several questions
concerning the possible fighting, the disposition of ammunition and all
that, and said at last:
"I think we shall be of use, sir. The ship's all right now."
"As right as anything human can be. I've got faith in my star, master.
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