"Down sank the gallant ship, driving her crew to the spar-deck." Page 96.

TERRY'S TRIALS

AND

TRIUMPHS

BY

J. MACDONALD OXLEY

Author of "In the Wilds of the West Coast," "Diamond Rock,"
"Up Among the Ice-Floes," "My Strange Rescue,"
&c., &c.

T. NELSON AND SONS
London, Edinburgh, and New York
1900

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS

"Down sank the gallant ship, driving her crew to the spar-deck."

"On being lifted carefully in, Miss Drummond fainted for the moment."

"Terry, attired as never before, set out for Long Wharf."

"The whole ship had the appearance of being in readiness for an expected foe."

"He succeeded in ingratiating himself with the driver of the train."

TERRY'S TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS.

CHAPTER I.

A POOR START.

"Give it to him, Terry—that's the style!" "Punch his head!" "Hit him in the face, Mike!" "Good for you, Terry—that was a daisy!" "Stick to him, me hearty; ye'll lick him yet!"

The shouts came from a ring of ragged, dirty youngsters, who were watching with intense excitement a hand-to-hand and foot-to-foot fight between two of their own kind—a rough-and-tumble affair of the most disorderly sort.

They were not well-matched combatants, the one called Terry being much inferior in size and weight to the other; but he evidently had the sympathy of the majority of the spectators, and he displayed an amount of vigour and agility that went far to make up for his deficiencies in other respects.

In point of fact, he was not fighting his own battle, but that of little Patsy Connors, whose paltry, yet to him precious, plaything had been brutally snatched away from him by Mike Hoolihan, and who had appealed to Terry to obtain its return.

The contest had waged but a few minutes, and the issue was still uncertain, when a shrill cry of, "The peelers! the peelers! they're comin' up the street!" caused a dispersion of the crowd, so speedy and so complete that the boys composing it seemed to vanish like spirits; and when the big blue-coated, silver-buttoned policemen reached the spot, there was nothing to arrest but a woebegone puppy, who regarded them with an expression that meant as plainly as possible,—

"Please, sirs, it wasn't me; and I don't know where they've gone to."

So the guardians of the peace were fain, after giving an indignant glance around, to retire in good order, but with empty hands.

*****

A life divided between Blind Alley and the Long Wharf could hardly have had a hopeful outlook. Blind Alley was the most miserable collection of tumble-down tenements in Halifax. It led off from the narrowest portion of Water Street, in between two forbidding rows of filthy, four-storied houses, nearly every window of which represented a family, and brought up suddenly against the grim and grimy walls of a brewery, whence