St Ebba lies over with the squalls off shore as we get into the wind again, but she doesn’t roll much and we feel increasing belief in her as a sailing-ship.
CHAPTER XIII
For like the Duke of York
We have some stalwart men,
And we led them out to the High, High Sea,
And we led them back again.
New Chantey.
We began this day with a chantey—a cheerful, fine-weather chantey. There are lugubrious songs too for bad weather or unhappy crews—“Stormalong,” for instance, “Stormie,” who “heard the angels call.” I associate that slow minor air with the dreary sough and rush of wind and seas south of Cape Horn. But to-day it was the cheery
