From Ploughshare to Pulpit by Gordon Stables

The _Boo-boo-boo_ was a crack Aberdeen clipper barque, of large dimensions, and though not in the habit of carrying passengers, beautifully fitted aft, with a saloon like a marble hall, and splendid well-fitted state-rooms off it.

She was in the Australian trade. Her cargo might best be described by the American term "notions," for she carried anything and everything by which she was likely to turn an honest penny.

The barque was nearly new, having only made three voyages, and always with pecuniary success to her owners.

She lay in Aberdeen harbour, and was nearly ready for sea.

Now partings and all that are not nice things to write about. So I shall skip them, and reintroduce Sandie to you on a bright moonlit evening, as the good barque goes bounding away on the wings of a twelve-knot breeze, well to the outside of the Bay of Biscay.

Both Sandie and Willie -- yes, Willie had won his father round to let him accompany his friend on his long, long voyage. Both Sandie and Willie, I was going to say, have got over their little experience of _mal de mer_, and have also acquired their sea-legs.

So, although the ship bobs and curtsies and coquettes with each advancing wave, it does not annoy our heroes in the least.

And although Sandie is wrapped in a warm Highland plaid, and looks in the moon's pale rays somewhat of an invalid, he seems already to have regained much of his former heartiness and spirit.

The men forward are lazily leaning over the bows smoking and yarning; the midshipman of the watch paces rapidly up and down, watching sail and sky, now and then admonishing the man at the wheel to keep her full. He really seems speaking for speaking's sake, as middies sometimes do.

Presently Sandie stoops down to pat and pet a dog, who has been following up and down, close at their heels.

"Dear old Tyro! " he says; "what a happy thought it was to take you, and what a delightful sailor-dog you do make!"

And now the lid of the after companion is pushed open, and, just like a jack-in-the-box, up pop a head and shoulders.

The rest of the body follows, and next minute the captain himself approaches the spot where our heroes are standing together, holding on to the mizzen rigging.

"And how are you by this time, Sandie, man? " he says right cheerily.

Sandie answers quite as cheerily, and conversation becomes general.

The captain is a short, stoutish individual, very rosy and jolly as to face, very white as to whiskers and hair. His age might be sixty-and-five, but he has all the activity of a youth of twenty.

It seems to me, to put it parenthetically, that a life on the ocean wave really tends to keep people young. Somehow, it makes men brave, because they are always face to face with danger, till in course of time they become so inured to its presence that they can afford to despise it. The sea gives health and strength too, and these in turn give contentment and jollity; and if a man has this, he is bound to feel young, and look young also. There is some truth, therefore, in the term "A jolly tar."

"And now, boys," says the captain, "come down to supper. I promised to look after you, and faith I'm going to do my duty."

The table was already laid, with plenty of delicious cold meat and vegetables, to say nothing of pudding and sweets.

The first mate sat at one end of this table, a tall, brown-faced, swarthy individual, with shoulders of wondrous breadth, and hands as big as spades, more or less. But he had a right merry twinkle in his eye, especially when the captain asked him to join him in a glass of rosy wine. The rosy wine, I may inform you, was nothing more nor less than rum.