“How you vass, Cabtin Burke?” said Schenke, an enormous fair-headed Teuton, powerful-looking, but run sadly to fat in his elder years.  “You t’ink you get a chanst now, hein? . . .  Now de Yankee is goin’ avay!” He pointed over to the Presidio, where the Flint lay at anchor.  We followed the line of his fat forefinger.  At anchor, yes, but the anchor nearly a-weigh.  Her flags were hoisted, the blue peter fluttering at the fore, and the Active tug was passing a hawser aboard, getting ready to tow her out.  The smoke from the tugboat’s funnel was whirling and blowing over the low forts that guard the Golden Gates.  Good luck!  A fine nor’-west breeze had come that would lift our dreaded rival far to the south’ard on her way round Cape Horn!

Schenke saw the pleased look with which old Burke regarded the Yankee’s preparations for departure.

“Goot bizness, eh?” he said.  “You t’ink you fly de flack on de Hilda nex’ Sonndag, Cabtin?  Veil!  Ah wish you goot look, but you dond’t got it all de same!”

“Oh, well, Captain Schenke, we can but thry,” said the old man.  “We can but thry, sorr! . . .  Shure, she’s a foine boat—­that o’ yours. . . .  An’ likely-looking lads, too!” No one could but admire the well-set figures of the German crew as they stroked easily beside us.

“Schweinehunden,” said Schenke brutally.  We noticed more than one stolid face darkling as they glanced aside.  Schenke had the name of a “hard case.” “Schweinehunden,” he said again.  “Dey dond’t like de hard vork, Cabtin. . . .  Dey dond’t like it—­but ve takes der Coop, all de same!  Dey pulls goot und strong, oder”—­he rasped a short sentence in rapid Low German—­“Shermans dond’t be beat by no durn lime-juicer, nein!”

Old Burke grinned.  “Cocky as ever, Captain Schenke!  Bedad now, since ye had the luck of ye’re last passage there’s no limit to ye!”

“Luck!  Luck!  Alvays de luck mit you, Cabtin!”

“An’ whatt ilse? . . .  Sure, if I hadn’t struck a bilt of calms an’ had more than me share of head winds off the Horn, I’d have given ye a day or two mesilf!”

“Ho!  Ho!  Ho! Das ist gut!” The green boat rocked with Schenke’s merriment.  He laughed from his feet up—­every inch of him shook with emotion.  “Ho!  Ho!  Hoo! Das ist ganz gut.  You t’ink you beat de Hedwig Rickmers too, Cabtin?  You beat ’m mit dot putty leetle barque?  You beat ’m mit de Hilda, nichtwahr?”

“Well, no,” said our old man.  “I don’t exactly say I beat the Rickmers, but if I had the luck o’ winds that ye had, bedad, I’d crack th’ Hilda out in a hundred an’ five days too!”

“Now, dot is not drue, Cabtin! Aber ganz und gar nicht!  You know you haf bedder look von de vind as Ah got.  Ah sail mein sheep!  Ah dond’t vait for de fair winds nor not’ings!”