“Cee-gar-ette!”
“Tomart! Tomart!”
One man recognised us as the Irish Division, and shouted—
“Irish! Irish! My father Irish—from Dundee!”
Here were diving-boys in their own tiny boats, diving for pennies. They were wonderfully lithe and graceful, with sun-tanned limbs and dripping black hair.
Here, too, was a huge old man, who was also diving for pennies and tins of bully-beef. He was fat and sun-browned, and his muscles and chest were well developed.
“Me dive for bully-beef!” he shouted. “Me dive for bully-beef!”
Never once did he fail to retrieve these tins when they were chucked overboard.
The tomatoes were very large and ripe, and the tobacco and cigarettes exceedingly cheap and good. Most of the men got a stock.
The next day we put to sea again.