the poop ladder, quickly mounting which, he stood beside us.

“Sure, an’ it’s proud I am to say yez, sorr,” exclaimed the boatswain, touching the peak of his dilapidated cheese-cutter in salute, and with a smile of welcome on his genial face; “though it’s lucky, bedad, ye didn’t come afore, Misther Mackay, or faix ye’d have bin in toime to be too soon.”

“How’s that, Rooney?” inquired the other with a pleasant laugh, showing his nice white teeth. “Instead of being too early, I’m afraid I am a little late.”

“The divil a bit, sorr,” replied Rooney. “We’ve only jist this viry minnit struck down the last av the cargo; an’ if ye’d come afore, why, it’s ruckshions there’d a bin about our skulkin’, I know.”

“No, no,” laughingly said the young officer; who, I suppose, was older than he looked, for Tim Rooney told me in a loud whisper while he was speaking that he was the “foorst mate” of the ship. “I’m not half such a growler as you are, bosun; but, all the same, I’m glad you’ve got the job done. Who’s been looking after the dock mateys below, seeing to the stowage?”

“Misther Saunders, sorr,” promptly answered Rooney. Adding aside for my enlightenment as to who this worthy might be: “The ‘sicond mate,’ sure, mavourneen.”

“Ah, then we need have no fears about its being well done,” rejoined Mr Mackay, or the first mate, as I’d better call him. “Who is our friend here alongside of you, bosun? I don’t recollect having the pleasure of seeing him before. Another youngster from Leadenhall Street—eh?”

He looked at me inquiringly as he asked the question.

“Yes, sorr. He’s Misther Gray-ham, sorr; jist come down to jine the Silver Quane, sorr, as foorst-class apprentice,” replied the boatswain with a sly wink to the other, which I was quick enough to catch. Adding in a stage whisper, which I also could not help overhearing: “An’ it’s foorst-class he is entoirely—a raal broth av a bhoy, sure.”

“Indeed,” said Mr Mackay, smiling at the Irishman’s irony at my expense, in return no doubt for my whimsical assumption of dignity when telling him who I was. “I suppose he’s come to fill the place of young Rawlings, who, you may remember, cut and run from us at Singapore on our last voyage out?”

“I s’pose so, sorr,” rejoined Tim laconically.

“I’m very happy, I am sure, to see you on board and make your acquaintance,” said the pleasant-faced young officer, turning to me in a nice cordial way that increased the liking I had already taken to him at first sight. “Have you got your traps with you all right, Mr Graham?”

“My father sent on my sea-chest containing all my clothes and things last night by the goods train from our place, addressed to the brokers in Leadenhall Street, as they directed, sir; so I hope it will arrive in time,” I replied, quite proud of a grown-up fellow like Mr Mackay addressing me as “Mister.”

“You needn’t be alarmed about its safety, then, I suppose,” observed he jokingly. But, of course, although he might have thought so from my manner, I had really no fears respecting the fate of my chest, and of its being forthcoming when I wanted it. Indeed, until that moment, I had not thought about it at all; for I knew father had despatched it all right from Westham; and when he attended to anything no mishap ever occurred—at least that was our opinion at home!

Fancying, from the expression of my face as these thoughts and the recollection of those I had left behind at the rectory flashed through my mind, that I was perhaps worrying myself about the chest, which of course I wasn’t, Mr Mackay hastened, as he imagined, to allay my fears.

“There, there! don’t bother yourself about your belongings, my boy,” said he kindly; “your chest and other dunnage came down to the ship early this morning from the brokers along with that of the other youngsters, and you’ll find it stowed in that after-deckhouse below there, where you midshipmen or apprentices will all live together in a happy family sort of way throughout the voyage.”

“Thank you, sir,” I answered, much obliged for his courtesy and information; although, I confess, I wondered where the “house” was of which he spoke, there being nothing like even a cottage on the deck, which with everything connected with it was utterly strange to me.

My face must again have reflected my thoughts; for even Tim Rooney noticed the puzzled expression it bore, as I looked over the poop rail in the direction Mr Mackay pointed.

“I don’t think, sorr, the young gintleman altogether onderconstubbles your manin’,” he remarked to the mate in that loud whisper of his which the poor man really did not intend me to hear, as I’m sure he wouldn’t have intentionally hurt my feelings. “Sure an’ it’s a reg’ler green hand the bhoy is entoirely.”

“Never mind that now; he’ll soon learn his way to the weather earring, if I don’t mistake the cut of his jib,” retorted Mackay in a lower tone of voice than the other, although I caught the sense of what he said equally well, as he turned to me again with the evident desire of putting me at my ease. “Have you seen any of your mess-mates yet, my boy—eh?”

“No, sir,” I answered, smiling in response to his kindly look. “I have seen no one since I came on board but you and Mr Rooney, who spoke to me first; and, of course, those men working over there.”

“Sure, sorr, all av ’em are down below a-grubbin’ in the cuddy since dinner-toime,” interposed my friend the boatswain by way of explanation, on seeing the mate looked surprised at hearing that none of the other officers were about when all should have been so busy. “Ivery man Jack av ’em, sorr, barrin’ Misther Saunders; who, in coorse, as I tould you, sorr, has bin down in the hould a-sayin’ to the stowage of the cargy, more power to his elbow! An’, be the same token, I thinks I sayed him jist now coom up the main-hatchway an’ goin’ to the cuddy too, to join the others at grub.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Mr Mackay with deep meaning, swinging round on his heel, all alert in an instant; and taking hold of a short bar of iron pointed at the end, lying near, which Tim Rooney told me afterwards was what is called a “marling-spike,” he proceeded to rap with it vigorously against the side of the companion hatchway, shouting out at the same time so that he could be heard all over the ship: “Tumble up, all you idlers and stowaways and everybody! Below there—all hands on deck to warp out of dock!”

“Be jabers, that’ll fetch ’em, sorr,” cried Tim with a huge grin, much relishing this summoning of the laggards to work. “Sure, yer honour, ye’re the bhoy to make ’em show a leg when ye wants to, an’ no misthake at all, at all!”

“Aye, and I want them now,” rejoined the other with emphasis. “We have got no time to lose; for, the tide is making fast, and the tug has been outside the lock-gates waiting for the last half-hour or more to take us in tow as soon as we get out in the stream. Below there—look alive and tumble up before I come down after you!”

In obedience to this last hail of Mr Mackay, which had a sharp authoritative ring about it, a short, podgy little man with a fat neck and red whiskers, who, as I presently learned, was Mr Saunders, the second mate, came up the companion way; and as I perceived him to be wiping his mouth as he stepped over the coaming of the hatchway, this showed that the boatswain’s surmise of his being engaged “grubbing” with the others was not far wrong.

Mr Saunders was followed up from below by a couple of sturdy youths, who appeared to be between eighteen and nineteen or thereabout; and, behind them again, the last of the file, slowly stepped out on to the deck a lanky boy of about the same age as myself—which I forgot to mention before was just fifteen, although I looked older from