AT midnight on the third day after passing Ushant we had crossed the Bay, and the white flashing light on Cape Finisterre showed abeam. During the night the wind had fallen, but at daybreak a fresh off-shore breeze had sprung up, enabling us to make rapid progress under all plain sail.

Throughout the day we were in sight of the ironbound coast, which from a distance presented an uninviting aspect. Owing to the abundance of pyrites along the cliffs there is said to be a danger of great deviation of the compass, and in our case we found, by taking a series of azimuths and amplitudes, that such was the case.

Fortunately, there was no sign of mist, so that a compass course was not absolutely necessary; but that evening the wind fell almost to a dead calm, and the darkness was so intense that the "Fortuna's" head was placed a point off the recognized course to prevent possible accidents.

It was a glorious night. The air was soft and balmy, and, though there were no stars visible, there was a curious phosphorescence on the water that compensated for the inky darkness of the atmosphere. In fact, it was the first evening of the voyage that could be termed splendid, and at dinner in the saloon we had skylights and ports opened to admit the air.

Presently came the sound of stringed instruments played with decided skill and expression. We looked at one another with astonishment, for music was one of the last things we expected to hear.

"Mr. Wilkins!" called my uncle through the skylight.

"Aye, aye, sir," replied the bos'n, descending the companion.

"What's that noise?"

"The watch below have got up a small band," explained the bos'n. "Shall I pass the word for them to knock off?"

"Oh, no; far from it," said my father. "But where on earth did they get the instruments from?

"Made 'em from 'baccy-boxes and bits of wire, sir. It's an old seaman's trick."

"They play jolly well," rejoined my father. "I'll tell you what. We'll have a concert on deck to-night; it will please the men. Pass the word, Mr. Wilkins."

The bos'n retired, and presently a hoarse cheer announced that the skipper's message had been welcomed by the men; and after dinner the fo'c'sle, illuminated with several lamps, was crowded with the crew, who sat on inverted tub's, coils of rope, etc., while the officers were provided with chairs from the saloon.

It seemed really marvellous what music could be obtained from such primitive instruments as the men had constructed, and, stranger still, the almost boyish delight that the grown-up men—with one exception all over forty—took in the rough-and-ready concert.

The items were mostly from the old sea stock, chanties and Dibdin's songs predominating. The bos'n led off with "Barney Buntline," and although his version of the words varied somewhat from the original, the chorus was taken up right lustily by nearly a score of voices, till some belated peasant on the Iberian shore must have wondered at the strange noise that came from the sea.
Then often have we seamen heard
How men are killed and undone
By overturns of carriages
And fires and thieves in London.
Bow, bow, bow; rum (give it tongue, lads),
Bow, bow, bow...

The men repeated the chorus till I felt sure their throats ached; but, nothing daunted, they gave "Sally Brown" in approved chanty style, followed by a quick-step on their stringed instruments.

"The Anchor's Weighed" and "All's Well" followed in quick succession, and Dr. Conolly contributed a stump speech with a Hibernian twang that evoked such rounds of applause that he was compelled to give what the men, termed "a hancore."

Several other items also received tremendous applause, The Old Folks at Home being given with such fervour that one would imagine that every man of the crew had near relations in England, instead of which they were practically without kith or kin; and just before six bells "God Save the King" brought the concert to a close, the men standing with heels together and heads bared in an attitude of devoted and simple loyalty.

At daybreak on the twelfth day of the voyage the "Fortuna" arrived at Gibraltar, entering the harbour under power, this being the first time the motor had been utilized since leaving Fowey. We anchored to the south'ard of the Rosia Mole, but hardly was everything made snug when a naval picket-boat steamed off, informing us that we were in the Admiralty anchorage grounds. So the anchor had to be weighed and the "Fortuna" moved to a spot pointed out by the lieutenant of the naval boat, close to the neutral ground, with the Devil's Tower just showing clear of Mala Point.

Here we were immediately surrounded by a swarm of bumboatmen, who offered us all kinds of articles, from bread to copper paint, and from copper paint back to bread; but by liberal speech the bos'n and the quartermaster cleared them away. The gig was lowered and manned and we went ashore, where I made my first acquaintance with a foreign port; for though under the British flag, Gibraltar is essentially "foreign" in appearance, language, and customs.

Having obtained a clean "bill of health," the next business was to order stores and water, and for the first time I realized the value of that precious fluid, which, though excessively dear, was dirty and not particularly sweet.

Two days later the "Fortuna" left Gib, and with a light easterly breeze she passed through the Straits under sail and power.

"Why have we the motor running, as the wind is aft?" I asked my father.

"Because we want to get through the Straits before the tidal stream changes."

"But we are in the Mediterranean Sea now, are we not? I thought the Mediterranean was tideless."

"Yes, so it is; but there is a strong tidal current—which is a very dif............