way." He had hardly said this when the tug gave two blasts of the whistle. "That means she's going to starboard her helm and pass on our right," exclaimed Charley, at the same moment heading the Ghost a little more toward the Brooklyn shore.

"I thought," said Harry, as the steamboat passed between the Ghost and the New York shore, "that 'starboard' meant right, and 'port' left."

"So it does."

"Then how did that tug turn to the left when you said she was going to starboard her helm?"

"If I push the tiller over to the left-hand side of the boat, I port my helm; but the boat turns to the right, doesn't she? Well, the tiller is really the helm, and every vessel, whether she is steered with a wheel or not, has a tiller, though it may not be in sight. Now when the helm is pushed or pulled toward the port side, the vessel turns her head to starboard, and when it's pushed toward the starboard side, she turns her head to port. You've got to remember this, for some day if one of you is steering, and I sing out 'port,' you mustn't make any mistake about it."

"I understand," said Joe. "The boat is always to do the opposite of what you tell me to do if I'm steering. When you tell me to 'port,' the boat will turn to the starboard, and when you tell me to 'starboard,' she'll turn to port. It's very scientific, but it is what I call awfully contrary."

"The easiest rule for understanding a steamer's whistle is this," continued Charley. "If she blows one whistle, she means to pass on the port side of you; and if she blows two, she means to pass on your starboard side. Now there are two syllables in starboard, and one in port, and if you imagine that the two whistles spell 'starboard' and the one whistle spells 'port,'you won't ever make any mistake."

After this explanation the boys amused themselves listening to the steam-whistles, and translating them into "starboard" and "port." They soon saw that the steamers, which could tell what they wanted to do, were not half so troublesome as the sailing vessels, and that Charley watched the latter with much greater care than he did the former.

"There ought to be steam-whistles or something of the kind on those schooners," said Harry, presently. "I suppose they do just as they please about running people down."

"Oh no," replied Charley. "There's a set of rules for them too. The captain of that big fellow over there knows that he has the right of way over the schooner with the torn mainsail, and that he must keep out of the way of the one with the three masts, close over there by the shore. It all depends on the course each one is steering; but I'm too busy to explain it just now. If they obeyed the rules, it would be all right, but the trouble is they don't consider that a small sail-boat has any rights, and if we don't want to get run down, we've got to look out for ourselves and keep out of the way. The steamboats would be just as bad, only when a steamboat runs anybody down, somebody is sure to say something about it, and get the captain into a scrape; so they have to be more careful."

The boys were glad when they passed out of the East River, and by way of Buttermilk Channel reached the bay, where by skirting the Long Island shore they were out of the track of steamers and other craft. They had a delightful sail through the Narrows and down the broad outer bay, where there was a long gentle swell that gave the boat a just perceptible roll. About four o'clock they reached the mouth of the little creek which separates Coney Island from Long Island, and found it so narrow and shallow that they began to think it was not navigable for anything larger than a row-boat. Charley allowed the boat to run her bow gently against the shore, and told Joe to keep her from drifting off while he climbed up the mast hoops to see how the land and water lay.

He came down in a moment or two, and ordering Joe to shove off, steered up the creek. "The tide's out, boys," he explained, "and we can't get through till it comes in again. We'll just run up to a bridge that's close by, and get the mast down, so that we can be ready to pass under it to-morrow morning."

They reached the bridge in a few moments; the sails were lowered, and the Ghost made fast to the timbers of the bridge; and then they began to wonder how in the world they were going to be able to get the mast out. They all stood on the bridge and tried to lift the mast, but it was so heavy that they could not stir it. Had the bridge been a few feet higher, they could have taken the throat-halyard blocks and rigged a tackle with which to hoist the mast out, but the bridge was so low that this could not be done. After they had tried their best to lift the heavy mast, Charley told them it was of no use, and that they must have a pair of shears.

"I've got a small pair of scissors," said Tom, "but I don't see how they will help you any."

"A pair of shears," replied Charley, "is two timbers with the upper ends fastened together so that they look like a letter A. If we had a pair of shears ten feet high, we could stand it on this bridge, lash a tackle to it, and hoist that mast right out. That's the way to hoist a lower mast out of a ship."

"I can tell you what's better than a pair of shears, though it mayn't be quite so stylish," said Joe.

"What's that?"

"Why, a pair of darkies," answered Joe. "I see two colored gentlemen coming down the road who can lift as much as any shears, and we'd better get them to help us."

The colored men were strong and amiable, and they lifted out the mast with perfect ease, and refused any payment. Laying the mast along the deck, the boys went on board the Ghost, and getting out the oars, rowed her a little way up the creek, and made her fast for the night by carrying the anchor ashore and planting it in a field.

"Now, boys, we'll have supper," exclaimed Charley.

"Who's going to cook?" asked Tom. "On the last cruise we took turns cooking, just as we did about going for the milk and getting fire-wood."

"By-the-bye, I don't see any fire-wood around here," said Joe, "and I don't see any chance of getting any milk."

"If the Captain's willing, I'll do the cooking to-night, and get my own fire-wood," said Harry. "We've got some condensed milk, and we can get along well enough with that."

"When anybody volunteers to do a really noble act, he ought to be allowed to do it," said the Captain. "Harry shall get the supper to-night, but after this we'll take our regular turns. I'll read the list of assignments every morning, and to-morrow morning I'll get the breakfast myself."

While this conversation was in progress, Harry was down on his knees hunting for something under the forward deck. Presently he dragged out a package wrapped in brown paper, and about the size of a small butter tub. Then he made a second search, and brought out two bottles, the coffee-pot, and the cups, plates, and other dishes.

The boys watched him with much interest while he unwrapped the mysterious bundle. It proved to be a small kerosene stove. Standing it on the deck out of the way of the boom, Harry filled it with oil from one of the bottles, and lighted the wick. When it was burning nicely, the coffee-pot, full of water, was placed on the stove, where it boiled in a very few minutes. Then, putting the coffee-pot aside, so that the grounds might have time to settle, Harry put a little frying-pan on the stove, laid half a dozen sausages in it, and told the boys to pour out their coffee, for the sausages would be ready for them by the time the last cup of coffee would be ready. He was as good as his word, and the sausages were cooked better—so everybody agreed—than sausages had ever been cooked before.

"Where in the world did you get that stove from?" Tom demanded, as his last bit of sausage disappeared.

"It is a present to us," replied Harry. "Jim's mother sent it to me this morning, but she showed me how to