Some of the other men came on deck, among them Mike, who drew near and looked in the direction of Scholar's gaze; and just then Scholar saw what it was that came like a low cloud through the many foam-topped, spray-topped waves—a blue-grey warship, lying low, with four short funnels, a very short mast; and he experienced a thrill. He had met Englishmen who were less moved than Frenchmen by such lines as those that tell of how "the coastwise lights of England watch the ships of England go." If they had objected to the same poet's: "Lord of our far-flung battle line," to the Hebraic self-righteousness in that, he could have been at one with them; that was a different matter. He appreciated Kipling's song of the "coastwise lights of England." He also appreciated Arnold's reminder to Victorian Englishmen that England could be improved; but he loved the England that Arnold, in his love, made to bloom and flower in such poems as his "Scholar Gipsy," that England that coloured the same poet's "Resignation." It struck him that the Englishman who could not tolerate a song simply because the name of England was in it would be highly repulsive and irksome even to Arnold, who so often lectured Englishmen upon their self-satisfaction. They could not understand, these people; the moment they were left alone they strayed. The road was pointed out to them time and again, and off they went, but the moment they were alone they deviated into paths that led otherwise, without knowing.
Scholar felt a thrill at sight of this long, low vessel that came with tremendous speed, wasp-like, sweeping out from the haze beyond which lay home. It might be a slightly tarnished home, the house not all in order, but, by God, it was home, and worth loving and setting in order. He had a feeling as of: "How they do watch!" There was nobody on her decks. She was a thing of beauty, although of steel. She was nearly abreast now, but far off. Then suddenly, hammering along between the sheep-pens (the tarpaulins off them now) came a man in haste the bo'sun—and as he ran this way sternwards upon the deck of the Glory, there appeared, as out of a hole in the deck of that long, low wasp of a thing, a small black spot that ran sternwards upon it. The bo'sun was already at the flagpole, loosening the flag halyard, the flag was dipping, and a little square of cloth, away off there on that other ship, was dipping too, down and up. She slid past, rushing through the sea; the spot went forward on her and disappeared again; she was hidden in the smoke reeking from her four short stacks.
Mike, behind Scholar, expelled a gust of air from his nostrils and drew erect.
"Bedad!" he said. "I guess she can smell us that far."
It had not occurred to Scholar before; and thereafter, when more ships began to appear, where the sea-trails of the world converged, he imagined the people on their decks all holding their noses.
CHAPTER XVIII
A callous-looking grey morning was breaking in the Mersey. Now and then, when a bell-buoy heaved, the bell tolled. It was just like that—tolling, tolling them home. Another steamer, swathed in mist, surged along, behind and a little to the side, but rapidly drawing level. Captain Williamson, coming to the bridge and gazing astern at that steamer that was but half vapour, turned away with some agility after his scrutiny, for she was another cattleboat, and he wanted to be berthed first. Those members of the "Push," the morning's feeding being over, who strolled as far forward as to the bridge, heard him speaking down the tube to the engine room. Sounds of energetic shovelling came up from the stoke-hole; the Glory put on the pace a little more as the other ship came level. The Glory led again. Captain Williamson, pacing the bridge, stirring up the morning haze, looked pleased. Again the other ship forged level, and he was heard chanting: "Shake her up! Shake her up!" The cattlemen took up the refrain, and addressed the deck on which they walked and double-shuffled, with "Shake her up! Shake her up!"
