A man with a gold band round his cap stepped forward and touched it.

“Take him to the sail-maker. He can help to patch the old fore-stay-sail on the forecastle. And you can ——”

The rest of the order was in a low voice, but Mr. Waters saluted again and replied, “Yes, sir.”

The captain saluted Mr. Waters, and then as Alister moved off, he said, “You’re not sick, I see. Have you sailed before?”

“From Scotland, sir.”

Whether, being a Scotchman himself, the tones of Alister’s voice, as it lingered on the word “Scotland,” touched a soft corner in the captain’s soul, or whether the blue eyes met with an involuntary feeling of kinship, or whether the captain was merely struck by Alister’s powerful-looking frame, and thought he might be very useful when he was better fed, I do not know; but I feel sure that as he returned my new comrade’s salute, he did so in a softened humour. Perhaps this made him doubly rough to me, and I have no doubt I looked as miserable an object as one could (not) wish to see.

“You’re sick enough,” he said; “stand straight, sir! we don’t nurse invalids here, and if you stop you’ll have to work for your food, whether you can eat it or not.”

“I will, sir,” said I.

“Put out your hands.”

I did, and he looked keenly, first at them, and then, from head to foot, at me. And then to my horror, he asked the question I had been asked by the man who robbed me of my shilling.

“Where did you steal your slops?”

I hastened to explain. “A working-man, sir, in Liverpool, who was kind enough to advise me, said that I should have no chance of getting work on board ship in the clothes I had on. So I exchanged them, and got these, in a shop he took me to,” and being anxious to prove the truth of my tale, and also to speak with the utmost respect of everybody in this critical state of my affairs, I added: “I don’t remember the name of the street, sir, but the shop was kept by a—by a Mr. Moses Cohen.”

“By Mister—who?”

“Mr. Moses Cohen, sir.”

When I first uttered the name, I fancied I heard some sniggering among the sailors who still kept guard over me, and this time the captain’s face

wrinkled, and he turned to another officer standing near him and repeated,

“Mister Moses Cohen!” and they both burst into a fit of laughter, which became a roar among the subordinates, till the captain cried—“Silence there!” and still chuckling sardonically, added, “Your suit must have been a very spic and span one, young gentleman, if Mister Moses Cohen accepted it in lieu of that rig out.”

“I paid ten shillings as well,” said I.

The laughter recommenced, but the captain looked wrathful. “Oh, you paid ten shillings as well, did you? And what the thunder and lightning have you tried to steal a passage for when you’d money to pay for one?”

“I didn’t mean to steal a passage, sir,” said I, “and I don’t mean it now. I tried to get taken as a sailor-lad, but they seemed to expect me to have been to sea before, and to have some papers to show it. So I stowed away, and I’m very sorry if you think it dishonest, sir, but I meant to work for my passage, and I will work hard.”

“And what do you suppose an ignorant land-lubber like you can do, as we don’t happen to be short of public speakers?”

“I thought I could clean things, and carry coals, and do rough work till I learnt my trade, sir.”

“Can you climb?” said the captain, looking at the rigging.

“I’ve never climbed on board ship, sir, but I was good at athletics when I was at school, and I believe I could.”

“We’ll see,” said the captain significantly. “And supposing you’re of no use, and we kick ye overboard, can ye swim?”

“Yes, sir, and dive. I’m at home in the water.”

“It’s more than you are on it. Bo’sun!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take this accomplished young gentleman of fortune, and give him something to do. Give him an oil-rag and let him rub some of our brass, and stow his own. And, bo’sun!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take him first to Mr. Johnson, and say that I request Mr. Johnson to ascertain how much change Mister Moses Cohen has left him, and to take charge of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain’s witticisms raised renewed chuckling among the crew, as I followed the boatswain, duly saluting my new master as I passed him, and desperately trying to walk easily and steadily in my ordinary boots upon the heaving deck.

Mr. Johnson was the third mate, and I may as well say at once that his shrewdness and kindness, his untiring energy and constant cheerfulness, make his memory very pleasant to me and to all who served with him, and whose reasons for being grateful to him belong to all hours of the day and night, and to every department of our work and our play.

I was far too giddy to hear what the boatswain said to Mr. Johnson, but I was conscious that the third mate’s eyes were scanning me closely as he listened. Then he said, “Have you got any money, youngster?”

“Here, sir,” said I; and after some struggles I got the leather bag from my neck, and Mr. Johnson pocketed it.

“Ran away from school, I suppose?”

I tried to reply, and could not. Excitement had kept me up before the captain, but the stress of it was subsiding, and putting my arms up to get my purse had aggravated the intense nausea that was beginning to overpower me. I managed to shake my head instead of speaking, after which I thought I must have died then and there of the agony across my brow. It seemed probable that I should go far to pay for my passage by the amusement I afforded the crew. Even Mr. Johnson laughed, as he said, “He seems pretty bad. Look after him, and then let him

try his hand on those stanchions—they’re disgraceful. Show him how, and see that he lays on ——”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And, bo’sun! don’t be too rough on him just yet. We’ve all of us made our first voyage.”

“Very true, sir.”

I could have fallen at the man’s feet for those few kind words, but his alert step had carried him far away; and the boatswain had gripped me by the arm, and landed me on a seat, before I could think of how to express my thanks.

“Stay where ye are, young stowaway,” said he, “and I’ll fetch the oil and things. But don’t fall overboard; for we can’t afford to send a hexpedition on a voyage of discovery harter ye.”

Off went the boatswain, and by the time he came back with a bundle of brass rods under his arm, and an old sardine-tin full of a mixture of oil, vinegar, and sand, and a saturated fragment of a worn-out worsted sock, I had more or less recovered from a violent attack of sickness, and was trying to keep my teeth from being chattered out of my aching head in the fit of shivering that succeeded it.

“Now, my pea-green beauty!” said he, “pull yourself together, and bear a hand with this tackle. I’ll carry the stanchions for you.” I jumped up, thanked him, and took the oil-tin and etceteras, feel

ing very grateful that he did carry the heavy brass rods for me on to the poop, where I scrambled after him, and after a short lesson in an art the secret of which appeared to be to rub hard enough and long enough, he left me with the pointed hint that the more I did within the next hour or two, the better it would be for me. “And wicee the worser—hif ye learnt what that means when ye wos at school,” he added.

Fully determined to do my best, I rubbed for the dear life, my bones and teeth still shuddering as I did so; but whatever virtue there was in my efforts was soon its own reward, for the vigorous use of my arms began to warm me, so greatly to the relief of my headache and general