quickly.

And then I remembered that pot of cranberry jam, and hunted for it in my chest. I couldn't find it anywhere. Jim asked what I was looking for, and he helped too. Suddenly he stopped, his face quite white.

"Was it a white jar with the top covered with brown paper?"

"Yes, it was," I told him, and knew that something awful was going to happen.

"I emptied it," he groaned; "ate the whole lot, half-way from Aden."

I went cold all over, and just then the sentry sang out that the Captain wanted me, and I shuffled aft, knocked at the door, heard the Captain's growl "Come in!" could hardly turn the handle for fright, went in, and stood before him absolutely speechless.

He was reading a letter—we'd brought a mail with us in the Tyne—and didn't look up for a moment or two, and just in that time, jolly old Blucher stretched himself, came over, smelt me, got up on his hind legs and licked my face before I could prevent him. I could have hugged him, because that did the trick, and made me forget all about the jam and the telegram—for the moment.

"Hello, Dick! Got here at last?" and the Captain looked up, and held out his great red hand. "How's the Missus and the girls? Where's that box of things she tells me she gave you?"

"Outside, sir," I squeaked—like Dicky—and simply rushed out. Jim and Dicky had just brought it along, and I dragged it in.

"Umph! Don't spoil my carpet. Where's Willum? Willum!" the Captain shouted, "come and open this box." "Willum"—I never knew his surname—was his valet, and between us we soon had the box open, the Captain all the time asking me questions.

"I had a number of messages for you, sir, from people in Upton Overy. I've got them all—nearly all of them—down in my notebook."

"Where is it?" he growled. "Read 'em out."

But I'd left it down in my chest purposely, so that I could get a "breather", and when I ran down to get it, Jim was waiting for me.

"Anything about the telegram or the jam?" he asked anxiously.

"Not yet; things are going all right so far;" and I raced back and began reading the messages, till I came to the station master's, and then I got red and spluttered a bit and didn't read it, but went on to Ned the Poacher's about the pheasants.

"Like his darned cheek!" the Captain roared, purple in the face. "I'll shoot him the first time I catch him! He knows that, and keeps clear when I'm about. What's become of his wife and kids?"

I told him, and then—I knew it must come out sooner or later—blurted out, "and Puddock, the station master, asked me, sir, to tell you that they were both 'fair to middling', and 'his pigs have won first prize this year at Barnton'. Mrs. Puddock, sir, sent you a pot of cranberry jam, but—but——"

"Where is it, Dick? She's made me a pot every year since I went to the Britannia. Bring it out."

Well, there was nothing else to be done. I simply quaked with fear and stuttered out: "Jim ate it, sir—I mean we both ate it," and then, before he could say anything, I explained that Jim Rawlings had thought it was mine, and that it would be a good joke to eat it without my knowing.

I suppose I looked so terrified that he hadn't the heart to be angry. He gurgled and growled and got red in the face, and I waited to see whether it was going to be with amusement or anger, and oh! I was so thankful, it was only amusement.

He sent me away then. "You'll shake down all right; glad to have you in my ship;" and though I longed to ask him whether there was any chance of going for those pirates, I hadn't the pluck to do so, and bolted like a rabbit.

H.M.S. "Vigilant"

CHAPTER II

Introduces Sally Hobbs

News of the Pirates—Mr. Hobbs Tells his Story—The Chinese Captain—The Pirates—Three Cheers for Miss Hobbs!—The Skipper gets the Telegram

Written by Commander Truscott, H.M.S. Vigilant.

As I have been asked to assist in writing an account of the events which happened during the last few months of the commission of our dear old tub the Vigilant, I had better explain to you how they first arose.

We had been up to Shanghai, to be handy in case a serious effervescence of native feeling against Europeans should bubble over, and get out of the control of the local authorities. As it happened, the agitation fizzled out without our being required, and I think I can honestly say, to our great disappointment.

From there we steamed down to Tinghai Harbour in Chusan, the largest of the islands of the Chusan Archipelago, and anchored close to Joss House Hill and the tumble-down ramparts of the new town of Tinghai. All the islands of the archipelago simply abound with game. There are pheasants in every valley, and millions of duck, geese, curlew, snipe, and even wild swan are to be found on the marshes, paddy fields, and vast stretches of mud. It was for this reason that Captain Lester had obtained permission to come here, and he had chosen Tinghai because its harbour is the safest in the archipelago, as well as the most important, being the centre for a vast trade carried on with Ningpo and Shanghai on the mainland. Close inshore are always clustered a great number of fine merchant junks, loading and unloading, and anchored off the town is generally a small fleet of war junks. These are supposed to cruise round the islands and keep down piracy—as a matter of fact they don't. As an additional protection to the town and shipping, two little open batteries are built at each end of the harbour, mounting fairly modern breech-loading guns.

Half a mile inland, and only connected to the modern town by a rough causeway through the paddy fields, is the ancient town of Tinghai. It is surrounded by a deep moat and lofty mud walls, which are pierced by four gloomy archways. These are flanked by towers, closed in by heavy, iron-bound gates, and only approached over drawbridges whose rusty chains are probably not equal to the task of hauling them up.

It looks gloomy enough from the outside, but it is still more so inside, and the sullen, scarcely concealed hostility of the inhabitants of its dark, horrid-smelling streets makes one exceedingly glad to get out again into the daylight, with no more indignity than being spat at or hustled.

The natives of the seaport town have grown