"'I will keep these on,' he said to the shopkeeper.""'I will keep these on,' he said to the shopkeeper."
The first two men who came ashore had friends waiting for them, so that Charlie had no opportunity of speaking to them. The third man to come ashore had no one waiting for him. He was a short, bow-legged little man, with a goatee beard and a small brass ring in the lobe of each ear. Charlie spoke to him.
'Thank you, sir,' the man answered, as he took the tobacco which Charlie offered. 'Smoking is not allowed here, so I will save it till I get outside the gates.'
'Are you a Grimsby man?' Charlie asked.
'No fear. I come from Gorleston. If this was Yarmouth I should be able to enjoy myself at home, but as it's Grimsby I don't expect to have much of an evening.'
Charlie felt that he had come across the very man he wanted.
'Come to my hotel and have a chat,' he suggested. 'I want some information about North Sea fishermen.'
'Certainly, sir. Are you a journalist?'
The bow-legged fisherman had a great respect for journalists, having on one occasion received from a newspaper representative a good big 'tip' for describing how a trawler worked.
Charlie could not, however, by the greatest stretch of imagination, call himself a journalist, and so he ignored the question put to him. The fisherman put his silence down to modesty.
The hotel at which Charlie had taken a room was close to the docks, and, therefore, the manager and waiters were not horrified, as they would have been at a London hotel, at seeing a rough fisherman brought into the building.
After Charlie had seen that the man had some food, they went to his sitting-room.
'I'm happy now, sir,' the fisherman declared, having lighted a pipe and thrown himself back into a roomy chair.
For a few minutes there was silence. Then Charlie said, 'I should very much like to make a trip to the North Sea on a steam trawler.'
'I should not advise you to do so, sir. A trawler is no place for a gentleman.'
'Nevertheless, I mean to go out in one.'
'Ah! I see your game, sir. You have heard what a rough time we fellows have in the North Sea, and you have come down here to get information, and then put it in a London newspaper. But it's no good, sir. There's no skipper in the North Sea who wouldn't guess what you were up to, and make some excuse for not taking you aboard his ship. You must give up the idea, sir.'
'I mean to get a job on a trawler, and go to sea as an ordinary fisherman. Then I shall be able to obtain, from personal observation, all the information I want.'
The bow-legged fisherman sat up in his chair deeply interested.
'That's a splendid idea, sir,' he declared, 'and I only wish you could get a job on theSparrow-hawk, for you would see enough on that trawler to make you write till you wore out your pen. The skipper is an old villain, and that crafty too——'
The bow-legged fisherman did not finish his speech, but nodded his head, and raised his hands in horror, as if words were too weak to express the real character of the skipper. Naturally, Charlie became more anxious than ever to make a trip on theSparrow-hawk.
'Can't I get a job on her?' he asked.
'No, sir. All the same hands are taken on for the next trip.'
'Couldn't I bribe one of them to stay away, and let me go aboard in his place?'
'Pretending that you are he?'
'Yes.'
''Course you could. Take my place, sir.'
'I am afraid that is not possible,' Charlie remarked, thinking of the fisherman's bow legs and goatee beard.
'Why not? It isn't hard to pretend you are bandy-legged. Lots of boys pretend they are bandy-legged when they see me coming.'
'It would be rather tiring to have to continue the pretence for two or three weeks. Moreover, I haven't a beard.'
'You could say you had shaved it off.'
'That would mean that I should have to shave nothing every morning, just to keep up the deception. If I didn't, the crew would wonder why my beard didn't grow. But, joking apart, I am very anxious to make a trip in theSparrow-hawk, and if you, at the last moment, will pretend that you are too ill to go aboard, and will send me as a substitute, I will pay you your wages, and give you a present as well.'
'I agree, sir,' the fisherman declared, promptly.
'When does theSparrow-hawksail?' Charlie asked.
'In two days' time.'
'Then I must buy my outfit to-morrow. Where shall I meet you to-morrow afternoon?'
'At the Fishermen's Home, sir.'
'Very well. I will be there at four o'clock, and here is half-a-sovereign for you, to show that I am in earnest.'
'Thank you, sir,' the fisherman exclaimed, and departed, more than ever convinced that journalists were the most generous fellows in the world.
(Continued on page 198.)
T
hough the English people, on the whole, disbelieved the tales they heard of the French balloonists, they became very interested when a certain young Italian, named Vincent Lunardi (Secretary to the Naples Ambassador), gave out that he was willing to build a balloon and make a voyage in it. Those devoted to science contributed willingly to the expenses, and large crowds paid to be allowed to see the balloon while it was being made. When nearly complete, it was exhibited in the Lyceum, and the arrangements made with the proprietor of that building very nearly led to disaster. He proved to be a greedy, dishonest man, and when Lunardi wished to move the balloon to where the ascent was to be made, he refused to let it go unless he was paid half of all Lunardi secured by the venture, and a large share in any profits that might be made on future occasions. Here was adifficulty Lunardi had not expected, and it came with many others equally unlooked for. When Lunardi first made the proposal, he had got leave from the Governors of Chelsea Hospital to ascend from their spacious grounds; but, while the balloon was being made, a certain Frenchman had set up in opposition, and announced that he would give a display immediately. This promise he failed to keep, and the disappointed sightseers paid him back by breaking up his machinery. The idea of such a thing being repeated terrified the Governors of Chelsea Hospital, and they requested Lunardi to go elsewhere. He had just got over this trouble by being promised the ground of the Honourable Artillery Company, when the proprietor of the Lyceum refused to release the balloon. The Artillery Company, thinking themselves the victims of a fraud, ordered the apparatus, which had been sent to them, to to be thrown off the ground unless Lunardi found securities in five hundred pounds to cover any injuries their premises might suffer at the hands of the mob. But the proprietor of the Lyceum had overreached himself, and when the matter was explained he was compelled to give up the balloon, which was forthwith taken to the artillery grounds under a special guard.
Two days later the scene of action was thronged by a noisy crowd, and Lunardi has spoken of the dread he felt lest anything should happen to delay the ascent. While the balloon was being filled, he viewed the assembly from the upper storey of the Artillery House. Windows, roofs, and scaffoldings were crammed, while in the large square below, the people were so closely packed that it 'looked like a pavement of human heads.' And they were by no means orderly, for most had come with the idea that they were to be deceived. The arrival of the Prince of Wales, however, put them in a better humour, and in less than two hours after the appointed time, Vincent Lunardi carried out his promise. He would not risk a longer delay. Though the balloon was only two-thirds full of gas, and he had to disappoint a friend who had arranged to sail with him, he gave the signal and weighed anchor.
The grumblings of the fickle crowd turned to roars of applause, as the balloon rose slowly over the house-tops. The noisiest and the roughest there forgot the jests they had made at Lunardi's expense. And Vincent Lunardi forgot them, too, for his worry was over, and his long labour rewarded.
He had made his balloon without any valve at the top, and in order to descend, had fitted it with long oars, shaped like lacrosse sticks. These he now began to work in order that the vast crowds, who had not been near enough to see him embark, might know that he was in the car. But scarcely had he placed his hands upon them, when one of the oars snapped off, and returned to the earth. It was instantly broken into fragments by the crowd, the pieces being kept as relics by those who were fortunate enough to secure them.
Lunardi then gave himself up to the enjoyment of his voyage, and watched the great city spread beneath him till it became no more than a doll's town.
Over the common of North Mimms Lunardi again plied his oars, and landed, with the assistance of some country folk, in a field called Etna. Here he released a cat which he had brought from London. It had felt the coldness of the upper air considerably. A dog and some pigeons had also accompanied him, and with these he continued his journey, finally landing at Ware. A stone erected on the spot tells, to this day, the story of his adventure.
As regards his mention of the oars, it has been pointed out that, since Lunardi had to throw out ballast when rising the second time from Etna field, it is hardly likely that his descent was due alone to the working of the oars. It must have been through loss of gas, and he deceived himself in thinking otherwise.
London was delighted at the news of his voyage. George III., who had broken off an important state conference to peep through his telescope at the wonderful balloon, afterwards allowed the young Italian to kiss his hand at a brilliant levée. Military honours were bestowed upon him, and with fewer obstacles in his way he now made fresh flights.
But perhaps his greatest triumphs were in Spain, the king of which country gave him a residence in the royal palace at Madrid. Here, on January 8th, 1793, he made a grand ascent, taking with him a number of carrier pigeons. In the car of his balloon he wrote particulars of all he saw, with as much ease as he would have done in his study. Carefully folding the manuscript, he sent it on by one of the pigeons to the governor of Madrid. It was the first time that the world had ever known of a post-office in the sky, but, for all that, the letter was delivered as promptly as any one could wish.
Lunardi's cruises in the clouds were sometimes attended by great danger, particularly one he made in Portugal, on August 24th, 1794. It was a windy day, and when, on nearing the earth, he threw out the anchor, the rope snapped as it caught against a tree. The balloon rose to a height of three miles, and fearing that he would be blown out to sea, Lunardi pulled the valve-rope. Unfortunately this broke too, but enough gas escaped to cause the balloon to descend rapidly. A quarter of an hour later the car struck the ground with great violence, and a sack, weighing twenty pounds, was jolted out. Relieved of this weight it rose again, but less powerfully, and Lunardi found himself, a little later, being dragged and bumped along the ground at a great pace. Some ignorant peasants, terrified by the balloon, ran for their guns, and the poor aeronaut was treated to a shower of bullets. Fortunately, the speed soon carried him out of range; then, seizing an opportunity, he leapt from the car, among a tumbling mass of ballast and scientific instruments. When he found his feet, it was to see the balloon sailing at a great height towards the sea, and a few minutes later it disappeared from his sight for ever.
John Lea.
The First Post-office in the Sky.The First Post-office in the Sky.
ALL HANDS TO THE PUMP.ALL HANDS TO THE PUMP.
"We were driven away from that truly hospitable house.""We were driven away from that truly hospitable house."
'T
here was nothing more to be done,' continued Captain Knowlton, 'till I reached England. Of course I had no idea that Mr. Turton had taken Mr. Windlesham's place at Ascot House. I reached Southampton yesterday, travelled direct from there to Castlemore without touching London, and saw Mr. Turton. It appears that he opened my telegram the day after you ran away, Everard. By-the-bye,' demanded Captain Knowlton, 'I should like to hear just why you did run away?'
'When they thought you were dead,' I answered, 'and that my school bill would not be paid, and I should be left on their hands, they began to treat me as if I were a servant. I did not believe I should ever see you again; I knew I wasn't wanted there; I—I couldn't stand it, and I ran away.'
'Well,' continued Captain Knowlton, 'Mr. Turton didn't seem to know exactly what to say for himself. He explained, however, that he had paid Mr. Windlesham a long price for the goodwill of the school, and that he reckoned you as one of the most profitable pupils. He could ill afford the loss of your account, to say nothing of your being left on his hands to lodge and feed. Yet he assured me he had no intention to turn you out, although he saw no harm, in all the circumstances, in making you useful.'
'Still,' I exclaimed, 'he need not have made me black Augustus's boots.'
'That,' said Mr. Westlake, 'was evidently the last straw.'
I noticed that Jacintha watched Captain Knowlton's face with some anxiety, thinking, perhaps, that he would show signs of displeasure at my flight.
'Mr. Turton admits,' he continued, 'that since you had taken the law into your own hands, he made no effort to overtake you until the arrival of my telegram. Then, imagining you had turned towards London, he took the train to various towns on the way, and no doubt did his utmost to find you.'
'Oh!' cried Jacintha, abruptly.
'Well,' asked Mr. Westlake, 'what is it?'
'If I had told Mr. Turton where Everard was hiding,' she said, 'he would have explained that Captain Knowlton was alive, and everything would have been all right!'
'All's well that ends well!' remarked Captain Knowlton.
'Everard did not think it would end well the day before yesterday,' cried Jacintha.
'The night is often the darkest just before dawn,' said her mother; but for my own part I kept silent, for, looking back only a few days, and recollecting what had been the outlook, I felt afraid of making an idiot of myself if I ventured to open my lips.
'I gave Mr. Turton a cheque,' said Captain Knowlton, 'and I am afraid I lost my temper. I saw the real state of affairs, and reckoned him up so candidly that we did not part very good friends.'
'You certainly made an impression on him,' cried Mr. Westlake. 'He began a long rigmarole when I explained my business this morning, but the main point of it was that you had turned up and addressed him in language which he really could not describe as polite.'
'No,' admitted Captain Knowlton, gazing at the tip of his cigar, 'I am afraid he really couldn't.'
'He gave me the name of your hotel,' Mr. Westlake continued, 'and, taking the next train to London, I was driven at once to Northumberland Avenue, where luckily I found you at home.'
'I had just come back from an interview with my lawyer,' said Captain Knowlton. 'Of course, I was very anxious to discover what had become of this youngster, and, in fact,' he added, 'a private detective is already looking for him, and to-morrow morning he will see himself advertised for in every London newspaper.'
'A day after the fair!' cried Mrs. Westlake.
'And that,' said her husband, 'is about the end of the tale.'
'Not quite,' answered Captain Knowlton, rising from his arm-chair. 'The most important thing remains to be done, and the most difficult.'
'That is all right, Knowlton,' said Mr. Westlake.
But Captain Knowlton paid no attention. 'I should very much like to know,' he said, 'how to thank you kind people for all you have done.'
'Remember,' suggested Mrs. Westlake, 'that if Jacintha had acted properly, the worst troubles would have been avoided.'
'In my opinion,' said Captain Knowlton, 'Jacintha is a brick. I understand,' he continued, 'that you would rather not be thanked. All the same I shall never forget your kindness, and I hope Everard will not either.'
'No—no fear,' I muttered as I rose, trying to smile, and failing in the most lamentable manner. But there seemed to be a general desire to treat the affair lightly; we shook hands all round, the butler whistled for a hansom, and appeared pleased with the tip which Captain Knowlton pressed into his hand. So we were driven away from that truly hospitable house, and that night I slept in a comfortable room at a great hotel in Northumberland Avenue; the next morning being given up to various visits to the tailor's, the hatter's, the hosier's, and so forth. After luncheon, Captain Knowlton took me to his room and insisted that I should once more relate my adventures from beginning to end; and, when this was reached, we set out for New Scotland Yard, where in a private room I was called upon to tell all I knew about Mr. Parsons and his companions in the presence of an officer in plain clothes.
When I had finished, Captain Knowlton begged the police officer, if possible, to dispense with my appearance as a witness. A few days later we heard that Parsons, Loveridge, and another man had been arrested, although I believe not at the house where I had passed so many miserable hours. On investigation, it proved that there was evidence toconvict them without my aid, and although the trial did not take place for some time, the three men were eventually sentenced to terms of imprisonment which would prevent them from preying upon the public for many years to come.
Captain Knowlton consulted Mr. Westlake about the choice of my next school, with the result that a few weeks later found me settled at Richmond with the 'crammer' who was expected to do great things for Dick. Dick and I soon became the best of chums, and, later on, it happened that we entered Sandhurst together, and were in due course gazetted to our respective regiments the same month.
Shortly afterwards, we sailed for South Africa within a few days of each other, and there, at Paardeberg, I received an unwelcome Mauser bullet in my left thigh. While on sick leave at Capetown, waiting until it is possible to rejoin my regiment at the front, I have passed the time by writing this account of my adventures; and, now it is finished, it will shortly be on its way to England, whither, if all go well, I hope, before very many months have passed, to follow it.
The End.
These are the names of two famous soldiers, sailors, poets, novelists, and two queens.
[Answers on page 230.]
8.—
'Hiplay! lu—lu—lu—lu!'[3]some coal-black natives shouted joyously as they stood by the shore of Lake Nyasa, and saw across the blue waters what a European would have taken for water-spouts, or pillars of smoke.
But the natives knew better! Those great pillars darkening the air were dense masses of that African delicacy, the Nkungu fly.
The men hurriedly seized the saucer-shaped baskets which they had with them, and waved them round their heads till they were full of flies.
The next thing to do was to crush the flies in their hands, roll them in leaves, and lay them to roast in the ashes of a wood fire.
When finished the mass looked rather like coffee-grounds, and tasted like liquorice.
This is the only cake a Central African ever makes for himself. English people would hardly want to rob him of it, but to him it is delicious.
FOOTNOTES:[3]This is the Central African way of shouting 'Hurrah!'
[3]This is the Central African way of shouting 'Hurrah!'
[3]This is the Central African way of shouting 'Hurrah!'
The Weather Sprites in slumber lie,'Tis plain as plain can be,For clouds have hidden all the sky—A mist is on the sea,They laid the brooms of wind awayBefore the day was done,And left a curtain, dull and grey,To hide the setting sun.'Wake, Weather Sprites! oh, wake again!You slumber all too soon,And, look you, drawn by imps of rainA ring is round the moon.With all your might rub out the ring,Mop all this rain away,For such a night can only bringAn even duller day.'
The Weather Sprites in slumber lie,'Tis plain as plain can be,For clouds have hidden all the sky—A mist is on the sea,They laid the brooms of wind awayBefore the day was done,And left a curtain, dull and grey,To hide the setting sun.
'Wake, Weather Sprites! oh, wake again!You slumber all too soon,And, look you, drawn by imps of rainA ring is round the moon.With all your might rub out the ring,Mop all this rain away,For such a night can only bringAn even duller day.'
Then through the darkness, ere I slept,I heard them passing by;Across the roof their brushes swept,Then cleared the misty sky.They mopped away with all their might,And dried the garden soon;While busy dusters rubbed from sightThe ring around the moon.And as I throw the shutter wide,And look out at the dawn,The garden paths are neatly dried,And all the clouds are gone.But hark, where in the morning lightYon chestnut lifts its dome,I hear the last, last Weather SpriteDragging her broomstick home.
Then through the darkness, ere I slept,I heard them passing by;Across the roof their brushes swept,Then cleared the misty sky.They mopped away with all their might,And dried the garden soon;While busy dusters rubbed from sightThe ring around the moon.
And as I throw the shutter wide,And look out at the dawn,The garden paths are neatly dried,And all the clouds are gone.But hark, where in the morning lightYon chestnut lifts its dome,I hear the last, last Weather SpriteDragging her broomstick home.
On one of India's loneliest glens, called Ajunta, travellers come upon a perfect settlement of buildings and temples, cut in the face of a semicircle of cliffs about two hundred and fifty feet high. Over the cliff leaps a brawling river, making seven distinct falls before reaching the valley below.
From a distance only pillared fronts appear, but on a closer view the real grandeur and beauty of the temples come to light. The inside walls are covered with paintings, well drawn, and fairly well preserved. The pictures chiefly illustrate the life of Buddha, and the sacred tree beneath which he used to sit often appears in them, hung with rich gifts from his followers. The good works which he did for the poor and suffering are constantly painted. Other paintings show hunting scenes and battles, drawn with great vigour and of huge size; others have pictures of peacocks, elephants, apes, and other animals.
The architecture of these caves is very fine. We can hardly imagine the enormous labour of cuttingout the deep ribs of the roof, the light twisted pillars, and elaborate framework for pictures which adorn the galleries. The marvel is how human hands could have done such work, especially when we remember that the natives of India, like those of Egypt, who did great feats in rock architecture, had the smallest and most delicately-shaped hands of all human races.
The Rock Temple of Kailus at Ellora.The Rock Temple of Kailus at Ellora.
There are thirty-four distinct rock-temples at Ellora, near Aurangabad, in India. Most of them are of the usual pattern of cave-temples, some the work of Buddhists, others of a sect called Jains, who are famous for kindness to animals. The more modern ones are built by Brahmins, and these are the true marvels of Ellora, though they can hardly be accounted as cave-temples, being cut bodily out of the rock outside as well as inside. The way in which these monuments of industry were probably built was as follows:—The builders first marked off a large square of the cliff, and outside this square dug a wide deep trench, leaving an immense mass of stone standing in the centre. Out of this mass, which may or may not have contained natural caverns, they cut a magnificent temple, standing on a raised platform, and adorned with domes, galleries, colossal statues of animals and the richest forms of ornament. Fancy the patient toil, lasting year after year, even when the outside was finished, of scooping out the interior, with its great halls and passages!
The most wonderful of these temples is called 'Kailus,' and is dedicated to Siva the Destroyer. It has a great court, in which are ponds, obelisks, figures of the Sphinx, and other ornaments, whilst in the middle stands an immense group of elephants. Above these huge creatures, rows of stately columns, in four tiers, one above the other, support the actual temple, and the effect is so light that the building seems to be hung in the air.
Kailus is the sacred mountain in Thibet, from which flow the four great rivers of India, and every year thousands of pilgrims toil in solemn procession round its ice-covered rocks, to bathe in the waters of the sacred Lake Manseroeur, which lies below.
Helena Heath.
An Eastern Snake Charmer.An Eastern Snake Charmer.
Eastern kings and princes are careful, like those of Western countries, that those visitors who come to them should have amusements. There is no difficulty, at any time, in obtaining performers with snakes, for serpent charmers and trainers are well-known and popular. The fearlessness these men show is amazing; it has been said, indeed, that they operate only with harmless snakes, or those deprived of their fangs, but there seems to be evidence they can manage poisonous reptiles in good condition for stinging. The charmers probably influence thesnakes in three ways—by music, by fumes arising from substances they burn in a dish, and also by certain movements of their own bodies. Sometimes they practise a sort of fortune-telling by snakes, the motion of the reptile's head towards some object being supposed to give an answer to a question.
A show of wild animals, too, often furnishes an entertainment, and sometimes, after the animals have performed various tricks, or have had mock fights, there is a second part consisting of conjuring and feats of agility. A traveller in the East, describing one of these entertainments, tells us of one Hindoo whom he saw, with very stout arms but rather thin legs. He was bare to the waist, wearing white trousers and a smart skull-cap of blue and yellow silk. A slight yet firm ladder was placed upright; across the top was a strong pole, and at each end of the pole a stout cord hung down. The ends of the cords were staked to the ground, so that the apparatus could not give way. Having made a salaam to the spectators, the Hindoo began his operations.
Rubbing his hands together, the juggler went to the ladder, and grasping the first bar above his head, mounted with surprising activity, keeping his feet motionless about six inches from the frame. Having reached the top by the help of his hands only, he threw his feet upward, and was seen resting upon his head with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs closed. Thus he remained motionless for over a minute. Next, a cord being flung to him from below, he caught it and drew up an iron ball about six pounds in weight, enclosed in a netting of twine. Still remaining upon his head, the Hindoo raised the ball to about three yards from his hand, and then swung it circularly; after a few whirls he launched it through the air, sending it a long distance over the heads of the spectators. His next performance was even more startling. First, he dexterously laid himself upon his back along the pole on top of the ladder. Thus balanced, he had six native daggers, with broad, double-edged blades, thrown to him, and caught each one in turn. Having got them all, he threw them one by one several yards above his head, catching them as they fell, and having always four in the air at the same moment. After a few minutes he let all the daggers drop upon his body, with the blades uppermost.
His next feat was, if possible, still more remarkable. An iron rod about three feet long was stood upright on the pole; upon the top of it he rested a large, shallow, wooden bowl, holding the rod balanced so exactly that it kept quite perpendicular. With a sudden jump, the performer seated himself in this bowl and caught twelve brass balls thrown up to him. Projecting the whole lot into the air, he kept them constantly in motion for several minutes, then sprang to his feet andstoodin the bowl with the balls spinning round him. After a few minutes he jumped upon the pole, letting the balls, the rod, and the bowl drop to the ground. As a finish, the little man descended the ladder upon his hands, going head first, and amid shouts of applause bowed and retired.
J. R. S. C.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(Continued from page 190.)
From the clothes shop Charlie went to the Fishermen's Home, where he found his bow-legged friend.
'Well,' Charlie said, when they were alone, 'what do you think of my rig-out?'
'No good at all, sir,' the fisherman declared.
'Why not?' Charlie asked, somewhat astonished.
'Because, when you are cooking, the fewer things you have on the better you work. When you have a oven each side of you——'
'Are you a cook, then?' Charlie interrupted.
'Yes, sir.'
'Then why did you not tell me so? I can't go aboard theSparrow-hawkas a cook, for I have never cooked anything but chestnuts in my life.'
'That doesn't matter, sir. North Sea fishermen are not very particular. The great thing to remember is always to serve up a meal at the proper time. If it isn't done, don't keep them waiting, but let them have it underdone. Never let your fire go out day or night, and always keep your kettle boiling.'
'Do the fellows ever want pudding?'
'Plum duff three times a week.'
'I shall have to give up the job, then, for I couldn't make plum duff to save my life.'
'That's just what I used to say when I first went as cook aboard ship, but I had a shot at it, and a nice mess I made of it. But when I came home from that trip I gave another cook a shilling to teach me how to make a few fancy things, and now I'm thought as good a cook as any in the North Sea.'
'But you know how to make plum duff. I don't.'
'I will tell you. When I discovered how to make anything, I put the particulars down in writing in a little book. I will lend you the book.'
The bow-legged cook put his hand in his pocket and drew out a grimy, paper-covered note-book.
'Plum duff comes first,' he said, as he handed the book to Charlie. 'Can you read it?'
'There are a few words which I can't quite understand,' Charlie replied, for the cookery-book was an extraordinary work. The writing was bad, the spelling was worse, and the abbreviations were confusing. But the cook went right through the book with him then and there.
'Now you'll be able to cook anything,' he declared, when they had got to the end.
'I'm not so sure of that,' Charlie answered; 'but anyhow, I shall have some idea of how to set to work. What time to-morrow shall I have to be aboard?'
'At six in the morning.'
'Won't the skipper discover me before we get out of the river?'
'No. He doesn't often pop his head into the galley. Anyhow, he cannot do without a cook, and if he does see you, he won't turn you off when he finds that I am not aboard. I will write a letter to the mate for you to give him, and perhaps he won'tsay a word to the skipper about you. Don't you worry yourself, you will be all right.'
Charlie slept that night at the Fishermen's Home. He had a clean and comfortable bed for ninepence, and a good breakfast for a few coppers. The bow-legged cook met him in the morning outside the Home, and gave him a letter to the mate.
'It took me two hours to write,' he declared, 'and when I finished it I didn't think it was worth while going to sleep. But that doesn't matter; I shall get plenty of sleep during the next few weeks. I'm going to live like a gentleman for a time.'
Charlie smiled, and drew his purse out of his pocket. 'Here is three pounds,' he said. 'The other three I will give you when I return.'
'Suppose you don't return, sir? Accidents happen at sea as well as on land. If you got washed overboard, should I lose my three pounds?'
'Oh, no. I have written to my father, telling him the agreement I have made with you, and if I should not return he will pay you the money. Here is his address.'
'Thank you, sir, very much,' the cook answered. 'And now, as it's a quarter to six, you had better hurry off to theSparrow-hawk. Light the fire and put the kettle on it directly you get aboard. The chaps will want some tea long before they have their breakfast.'
'I'll remember,' Charlie promised; 'good-bye.' And with his bundle of belongings on his shoulder, he hurried off to where theSparrow-hawklay.
'Where is the mate?' Charlie inquired of a boy who looked at him sharply as he went aboard theSparrow-hawk.
'For'ard,' the boy answered.
Charlie went for'ard, and seeing a man standing with his arms folded, watching three men who were working hard, concluded rightly that he was the mate, and handed him the cook's letter.
'Who is it from?' the mate asked.
'The cook, sir,' Charlie answered.
The mate tore open the envelope and glanced at the letter. 'He wrote it with a toasting-fork, I should think,' the mate declared, after looking at it for a few moments. 'He says he is ill. At any rate, he has not turned up. So you're his substitute? Well, take your things below and get into the galley sharp. I want a mug of tea as soon as possible.'
Charlie went down into the foc's'le—a small, dark, stifling place where eight men slept. The thought of having to spend his nights in that dirty, close den made him half-inclined to jump ashore before the boat started. Quickly overcoming the thought, he set to work to discover which was his bunk, and while he was searching for some sign that would help him to settle the matter, a Chinaman came below. He was dressed in ordinary North Sea fishermen's clothes, and his pigtail was wound tightly round the top of his head. Charlie mistook his natural expression for a friendly smile, and therefore smiled in return.
'Which is the cook's bunk?' he asked immediately, and the Chinaman pointed it out to him.
The Chinaman watched Charlie as he stowed his things away and donned his cook's apron. Then he exclaimed suddenly, 'You no sailor-man!'
Charlie looked at the Chinaman in surprise. 'How can you tell?' he asked.
'Never mind,' the Chinaman answered, now smiling in reality; 'me no tellee any one. Me likee you first chop.'
Charlie's knowledge of 'pidgin' English was slight, but he concluded that 'first chop' meant 'very much,' and was pleased to find that he had made one friend so quickly.
'My name Ping Wang,' the Chinaman continued, 'but sailor men callee me Chinee. Skipper Dlummond welly bad man. Callee me tellible bad names. Good morning; no can stop.'
Ping Wang went on deck, and a few moments later Charlie followed and hurried to the galley, where his difficulties commenced. In spite of all his efforts he could not light the fire, and, remembering the bow-leg cook's injunction to keep the kettle always boiling, he began to think that he was making a very bad start. He left the galley in order to ask one of the men to show him how to make the fire burn, and met Ping Wang.
'Can tellee me how lightee fire?' Charlie asked.
Ping Wang nodded his head, popped into the galley, and pointed out to Charlie that he had omitted to pull out the damper. Then he relaid the fire, and, when he lighted it, it burned up quickly.
'You no sailor-man; you no cook!' Ping Wang whispered merrily, and then hurried away.
'Ping Wang and I will get on very well together,' Charlie said to himself as he filled the huge kettle with water. The kettle boiled quickly, and almost immediately after the ship had left the dock the mate's mug of tea was ready.
'Have you given the skipper any?' the mate asked; and when Charlie replied 'No,' he exclaimed, 'You had better be quick and take him some, then.'
Charlie filled another mug with tea and took it up on the bridge, but, just as he reached the top step of the ladder, he stumbled, and, to prevent himself from falling, dropped the mug. It fell with a crash on the bridge, and the tea splashed the skipper's shore trousers, which he had not yet changed.
Skipper Drummond, a short, stout, ill-tempered fellow, was thoroughly disliked by every one who knew him. He glared at Charlie for a moment as if he had committed some terrible offence, and then shouted fiercely 'What did you do that for, you idiot?'
'It was an accident,' Charlie answered bluntly, indignant at being abused.
'Saying it was an accident won't mend the mug.'
'I will pay for a new one,' Charlie rather unwisely replied.
'Pay for it, will you? So we have got a millionaire aboard, I suppose. I wonder you ever came to sea. Why did you? Do the police want you?'
Feeling that if he remained on the bridge he might speak his mind too freely, Charlie turned to go, but the skipper called him back.
'Come here, you ape!' he shouted. 'Do you think I am going to pick up these pieces? Gather them up and throw them overboard.'
(Continued on page 202.)