Their master went on accumulating roubles, which, under Russian law, Tom could not invest in his own name, and perhaps he had personal reasons for secrecy. He did not allow the amount of his wealth to be known to gentlemen who might have relieved him of the anxiety of watching over it. But, alas! there came a period of great trial to Tom. That portion of the "Bran" Wharf where the roubles were concealed took fire. The occupants had to fly for their lives, and soon the whole fabric was burnt to the water's edge. Another pontoon was erected in its place, and Tom put in command; but before he had time to replace the fortune he had lost, he was superseded by a naval officer, and his roubles were taken from him. I believe his dismissal was brought about by one of the countrymen to whom he had such a strong aversion making a complaint to the Governor about his partiality to Englishmen. Great sympathy was secretly extended to poor Tom by his English friends, but the loss of his position and his wealth broke his heart, and he only survived the blow for a few weeks.

In addition to controlling the berthing of vessels, and keeping the harbour free from confusion, it was Tom's duty to see that no fires or lights were allowed either by day or night, and, as these rigid rules were frequently broken, his "hush money" very largely contributed to his already affluent income. Nor did his removal affect the acquisitiveness of his successor, who loyally followed in his footsteps. As soon as a sailing-vessel arrived in the Roads, the galley fire had to be put out before she was allowed to come into the Mole. All cooking was done ashore at a cookhouse that was loathsomely dirty. A heavy charge was made for the use of the place, and also for the hire of the cook's lurky, a flat-bottomed kind of boat constructed of rough planks. These boats were invariably so leaky that on the passage to and from the shore they became half-foil of water, and the food was frequently spoiled in consequence. But, even if all went right, the crews often had to partake of badly cooked, cold rations. Many a meal was lost altogether, and once or twice a poor cook who could not swim was drowned by the boat filling and capsizing. The frail craft of this kind were of curious shape, and only a person who had the knack could row them. No more comical sport could be witnessed than the lurky race which was held every season. Many of the cooks never acquired the art of rowing straight, and whenever they put a spurt on the lurky would run amuck in consequence of being flat-bottomed and having no keel. Then the carnival of collisions, capsizing of boats, and rescuing of their occupants began. Some disdained assistance, and heroically tried to right their erratic "dug-outs." It would be impossible to draw a true picture of these screamingly funny incidents, but be it remembered they were all sailor-cooks who took part in the sport, and the riotous joy they derived therefrom was always a pleasant memory, and kept them for days in good temper for carrying out the pilgrimage to and from the cookhouse.

The popular English idea is that there are only two classes in Russia—viz., the upper and lower; but this is quite a mistake. There has always been a thrifty shopkeeping and artisan class, which may be called their middle lower class. Then there is a class that comes between them and the common labourer. Nearly all the shopkeepers that carry on business at Cronstadt, Riga, and other Northern Russian ports during the summer have their real homes in Moscow, and mostly all speak a little English. There are also the boatmen, who are a well-behaved, well-dressed lot of men, whose homes are in Archangel. They, as well as the tradesmen, come every spring, and leave when the port closes in the autumn. In the sailing-ship days each of the greengrocers—as they were called, though they sold all kinds of stores besides—had their connection. Every afternoon, between four and six, batches of captains were to be found seated in a greengrocer's shop having a glass of tea with a piece of lemon in it. It was then they spun their yarns in detail about their passages, their owners, their mates, their crews, and their loading and discharging. If their vessels were unchartered they discussed that too, but whenever they got authority from their owners to charter on the best possible terms they became reticent and sly with each other. To exchange views as to the rate that should be accepted would have been regarded as a decided token of business incapacity. Supposing two captains had their vessels unchartered, each would give instructions to be called early in the morning, that they might go in the first boat to St. Petersburg, and neither would know what the other intended. When they met aboard the passenger boat they would lie to each other grotesquely about what was taking them to town. If they were unsuccessful in fixing, they rarely disclosed what had been offered; and this would go on for days, until they had to fix; then they would draw closer to each other, and relate in the most minute fashion the history of all the negotiations, and how cleverly they had gained this or that advantage over the charterers; whereas, in truth, their agents or brokers had great trouble in getting some of them to understand the precise nature of the business that was being negotiated. The following is an instance.

Mr. James Young, of South Shields, whose many vessels were distinguished by having a frying-pan at the foretopgallant or royal mast-head, had a brig at Cronstadt which had been waiting unloaded for some days. Her master was one of the old illiterate class. His peace of mind was much disturbed at Mr. Young's indifference. At last he got a telegram asking him to wire the best freights offering. He proceeded to St. Petersburg, bounced into Mr. Charles Maynard's office, and introduced himself as Mark Gaze, one of Jimmy Young's skippers.

"Well," said Mr. Maynard, in his polite way, "and what can I do for you, Captain Gaze?"

"Dee for me, sorr? Wire the aad villain that she's been lyin' a week discharged."

"Yes," said the broker, writing down something very different. "And what else?"

"Tell him," said Mark, "te fetch the aad keel back te the Gut, and let hor lie and rot wheor he can see hor!"

"Very good," said Maynard, still waiting; "and what else?"

"Whaat else? Oh, tell him to gan to h——, and say Mark Gaze says see. Ask him whaat the blazes he means be runnin' the risk of gettin' hor frozzen in. Say aa'll seun be at Shields owerland, if he dizzen't mind whaat he's aboot."

"Well, now," said the agent, "I think we have got to the bottom of things. We'll send this telegram off; but before it goes, would you like me to read it to you?"

"For God's sake send the d—— thing away!" said Mark. "And tell him te come and tyek the aad beast hyem hissel; or, if he likes, aa'll run hor on te Hogland for him."

"Well, you do seem to understand your owner and speak plainly to him. I should think he knows he has got an excellent master who looks after his interest."

"Interest! What diz he knaa aboot interest? He knaas mair aboot the West Docks. Understand him, d'ye say? If aa divvent, thor's neebody in his employ diz. Aa've been forty-five years wiv him and his fethor tegithor. Aa sarved me time wiv him. He dorsent say a word, or aa'd tell him to take his ship to h—— wiv him."

"That is really capital," said the much amused agent. "Now, what do you say, captain, if we have some light refreshment and a cigar?"

"Ay, that's what aa caal business. But aa nivvor tyek leet refreshment. Ma drink is brandy or whisky neat," said Captain Gaze, his face beaming with good-nature.

They proceeded to a restaurant, and when they got nicely settled down with their drinks and smokes, the skipper remarked—

"Aa wonder what Jimmie waad say if he could see Mark Gaze sittin' in a hotel hevvin' his whisky and smokin' a cigar?"

"I should think," said Mr. Maynard, "he would raise your wages, or give you command of a larger ship." And then there was hearty laughter.

Captain Gaze had a profound dislike to Russians, and more than once narrowly escaped severe punishment for showing it. I have often heard him swearing frightfully at the men passing deals from the lighters into the bow ports of his vessel, and declaring that God Almighty must have had little on hand when he put them on earth. Certainly he would have considered it an act of gross injustice if, having killed or drowned any of them, he had been punished for it.

Mark did not know anything about history that was written in books. He only knew that which had occurred in his own time, and the crude bits he had heard talked of amongst his own class. He, and those who were his shipmates and contemporaries during the Russian War, believed that a great act of cowardice and bad treatment had been committed in not allowing Charlie Napier to blow the forts down and take possession of Cronstadt.[2] They knew nothing of the circumstances that led to the withdrawal of the fleet, but their inherent belief was that a dirty trick had been served on Charlie, and Russians, irrespective of class, were told whenever an opportunity occurred, that they should never neglect to thank Heaven that the British Government was so generous as to refrain from blowing them into space.

At Cronstadt, after the introduction of steam, it became a custom for stevedores' runners, and representatives and vendors of other commodities, to have their boats outside the Mole at three and four o'clock in the morning during the summer. The captain of each vessel, as soon as she was slowed down or anchored, was canvassed vigorously by each of the competitors. One morning, the representative of Deal Yard No. 6, who was an ex-English captain, came into sharp conflict with a Russian competitor. The latter rudely interrupted the ex-captain while he was complimenting a friend who had just arrived on having made a smart passage. All captains like to be told they have made a smart passage, but the ardent advocate of Deal Yard No. 6 kept welcoming his friend at great length, obviously to prevent the other runners from getting a word at the new arrival. There arose a revolt against him, headed by a person who was always supposed to be a Russian, but who spoke English more correctly than his English competitor. The ex-captain was somewhat corpulent. He was short, and had a plump, good-natured face which suggested that he was not a bigoted teetotaler; he had a suit of clothes on that did not convey the idea of a West-end tailor; his dialect was broad Yorkshire, and his conversational capacity interminable. The representative of No. 10 Deal Yard undertook to stop his flow of rhetoric by calling out, "Stop it, old baggy breeches! Give other people a chance!" But he paid no heed, and did not even break the thread of his talk until the captain of the steamer began to walk towards the companion-way, when he stopped short and said, "Well, I suppose I'm to book you for No. 6?" and then there was a clamour. The whole of the runners wished to get their word in before the captain definitely promised, but they were too late. No. 6 had got it; but instead of accepting his success modestly, he was so elated at having taken away an order from another yard, that he stood up in his boat and congratulated himself on being an Englishman.

"No use you fellows coming off here when I'm awake; and, you bet, I'm always awake when there's any Muscovite backstairs gentlemen about."

As the boats were being rowed into the Mole again, some one asked who had got the ship. The Russian competitor, who was angry at the work being taken from his master, called out, "Bags has got her, the drunken old sneak!"

Bags lost no time in letting fly an oar at him, the yoke and rudder quickly following. His vengeance was let loose, and he poured forth a stream of quarter-deck language at the top of his voice. His phrases were dazzling in ingenuity, and amid much laughter and applause he urged his hearers to keep at a distance from the fellow who had dared to insult an English shipmaster.

"Or you will get some passengers that will keep you busy. They—he—calls them peoches, but we English call them lice!"

This sally caused immense amusement, not so much for what was said as for his dramatic style of saying it. His antagonist retorted that he had been turned out of England for bad language and bad behaviour, and he would have him turned out of Russia also. This nearly choked the old mariner with rage. He roared out—

"Did I, an English shipmaster, ever think that I would come to this, to be insulted by a Russian serf? I will let the Government know that an Englishman has been insulted. I will lay the iniquities of this Russian system of rascality before Benjamin Disraeli. I knows him; and if he is the man I takes him for, he won't stand any nonsense when it comes to insulting English subjects. He has brought the Indian troops from India for that purpose, and when the honour of England is at stake he will send the fleet into the Baltic, and neither your ships nor your forts will prevent his orders to blow Cronstadt down about your blooming ears being carried out. I know where your torpedoes and mines are, and Disraeli has confidence in me showing them the road to victory. The British Lion never draws back!"

The Russian deal-yard man, to whom this harangue was particularly directed, went to the Governor on landing, and stated what the rough, weather-beaten old sailor had been saying. The Governor communicated with the authorities at St. Petersburg, and an order came to have the old Englishman banished from Cronstadt and Russia for ever within twenty-four hours. The poor creature had made a home for himself in Cronstadt, his wife and four children being with him. The blow was so sharp and unexpected, it stupefied him. His first thought was his family, but there was little or no time for thought or preparation. He had either to be got away or concealed. A liberal distribution of roubles at the instigation of many sympathizers made it possible for him to be put aboard an English steamer, and a week after his banishment was supposed to have taken effect he sailed from Cronstadt, a ruined and broken-hearted man. The old sailor's grief for the harm his wayward conduct had done to his wife and family was quite pathetic, and so far as kindness could appease the mental anguish he was having to endure it was ungrudgingly extended to him, and when he left Cronstadt he left behind him a host of sympathizers who regarded the punishment as odious.

The fact of any public official listening to a miscreant who told the story of a stevedores' row, to which he himself had been a party, and seriously believing that the threats, however extravagant and bellicose, of a verbose old sailor could be a national danger, is, on the face of it, so ludicrous that the English reader may easily doubt the accuracy of such an incident; and yet it is true.

* * * * *

In other days I used occasionally to meet members of the Russian revolutionary party at my brother's home in London. They were all men and women of education and refinement. The first time I met them the late Robert Louis Stevenson (who generally used the window as a means of exit instead of the door), William Henley, George Collins (editor of the Schoolmaster), and, I think, Mr. Wright (author of the Journeyman Engineer) were there. The talk was very brilliant. My brother, who was a charming conversationalist, kept his visitors fascinated with anecdotes about Carlyle and John Ruskin, whom he knew well. They spoke, too, about the unsigned articles which they were each contributing to a paper called the London, and their criticism of each other's work was very lively. But to me the most touching incident of the afternoon was the story told by one of the revolutionary party about Sophie Peroffsky, who mounted the scaffold with four of her friends, kissed and encouraged them with cheering words until the time came that they should be executed. He related also a touching and detailed story of little Marie Soubitine, who refused to purchase her own safety by uttering a word to betray her friends, and was kept lingering in an underground dungeon for three years, at the end of which she was sent off to Siberia, and died on the road. No amount of torture could make her betray her friends. They spoke of Antonoff, who was subjected to the thumbscrew, had red-hot wires thrust under his nails, and when his torturers gave him a little respite he would scratch on his plate cipher signals to his comrades.

The account of the cause and origin of the revolutionary movement and its subsequent history, which sparkled with heroic deeds, was told in a quiet, unostentatious manner. I had just come from Russia. I had been much in that country, and thought I knew a great deal about it and the sinister system of government that breeds revolutionaries; but the tales of cruel, senseless despotism told by these people made me shudder with horror. I had been accustomed to abhor and look upon Nihilists as a scoundrelly gang of lawless butchers, but I found them the most cultured of patriots, loving their country, though detesting the barbarous system of government which had driven them and thousands of their compatriots from the land and friends they loved, and from the estates they owned, into resigned and determined agitation for popular government and the amelioration of their people. The upholders of this despotic system of government are now engaged in a life-and-death struggle, and all civilized nations are looking forward to the time when, for the first time in its history, Right and not Might shall prevail in Russia. It has been said, "Happy is the nation that has no history." Russia knows this to her cost, for her history is being made every day, with all the horrible accompaniments of massacres, injustice, and tyranny. Only it should be remembered that the fight must be between tyranny and liberty, and that the Russian peasant must work out his own salvation. This may be—nay, must be—the work of years, but England's sympathy will be with the workers for freedom. English feeling on the matter was well expressed by the statesman who had the courage to say publicly, "Long live the Duma!" and every Englishman will in his heart of hearts applaud any efforts made to secure constitutional government.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: Napier was a great favourite with his sailors, notwithstanding his apparent harshness to them at times. Whenever he wanted a dash made on a strong position, he inspired them with a fury of enthusiasm by giving the word of command incisively, and then adding as an addendum, "Now, off you go, you damned rascals, and exterminate them." This was a form of endearment, and they knew it.]



"Dutchy" and his Chief

A handsome barque lay at the quay of a South Wales port, ready to sail, and waiting only for the flood tide. Her name was the Pacific, and she was commanded by a person of laborious dignity. His officers were selected to meet the tastes and ambitions of their captain, whose name was John Kickem. I have said before it was customary in those days for crowds of people to congregate on the quays or dock sides to watch the departure of vessels. Some came out of curiosity, but many were the relatives and friends of different members of the crew who wished to say their adieux, and to listen to the sombre singing of the chanties as the men mastheaded the topsail yards, or catted and fished the anchors. These vessels were known as copper-ore-men. They were usually manned with picked able seamen and three apprentices. In this instance they were all fine specimens of English manhood. It was no ordinary sight to witness the display of bunting as it stretched from royal truck to rail, and the grotesque love-making of the seafarers as they hugged and kissed their wives and sweethearts over and over again with amazing rapidity. One of the favourite songs which they delighted to sing on such auspicious occasions was rendered with touching pathos—

"Sing good-bye to Sal, and good-bye to Sue; Away Rio! And you that are list'ning, good-bye to you; For we're bound to Rio Grande! And away Rio, aye Rio! Sing fare ye well, my bonny young girl, We're bound to Rio Grande."

It didn't matter, of course, where they were bound to, this ditty was the farewell song; and it always had the desired effect of melting the bystanders, especially the females, though Jack himself showed no really soft emotion. Not that they were not sentimental, but theirs seemed always to be a frolicsome sentimentality.

The eldest apprentice of the Pacific was in his eighteenth year. He was a fine, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, medium-sized youth. He had been dividing his attentions amongst a number of girl admirers, and was told to come aboard to unmoor and give the tug the tow-rope. While these orders were being carried out the lad caught sight of a young girl who had just arrived in a great state of excitement. She was dressed in dazzling finery, and carrying something in a basket. The boy sprang on to the dock wall, and created much merriment with his elephantine caresses. They shouted to him from the vessel to jump aboard or he would lose his passage. He made a running spring for the main rigging as she was being towed from her berth. A wild cheer went up from the crowd when they saw the smart thing that had been done, and that he was safe. The devoted female who had caused him to dare so much, in the luxuriance of grief, shouted to him—

"Good-bye, Jim! You've always been a rare good pal to a girl. Take care of yourself; and mind, no sweethearts at every port!" The latter communication was made almost inarticulate with sobbing. Her last words were, "Don't forget, Jim!" To which he replied, "You bet, I won't!"

Soon the attractive craft, and her equally attractive crew were lost sight of amidst the haze of the gathering night. A quiet, easterly air was fitfully blowing in the Channel, and when full sail was set, the pilot and tug left. All night she trailed sinuously over the peaceful sea, and as the cold dawn was breaking she slid past the south end of Lundy Island with a freshening breeze at her stern. In a few days the north-east trade winds which blow gently over the bosom of the ocean were reached, and every stitch of canvas was hung up. The sailors had got over their monotony, and began to entertain themselves during the dog-watches from six to eight. The imperious commander was never happy himself, and was angry at the sight of mirth in anybody. He forthwith commenced a system that was well calculated to breed revolt, and which did ultimately do so. Orders were given that there were to be no afternoon watches below, and all hands were to be kept at work until 6 p.m. In addition to this petty tyranny, the crew were put on their bare whack of everything, including water; and so the dreary days and nights passed on until Cape Horn was reached. They had long realized that the burden of their song should be "Good-day, bad day, God send Sunday." The weather was stormy off the Horn, and nearly a month was spent in fruitless attempts to get round. The spirit had been knocked out of the officers and crew by senseless bullying and wicked persecution. They had no heart left to put into their work, otherwise the vessel would have got past this boisterous region in half the time. At last she arrived at Iquique, and, like all ill-conditioned creatures who have been born wrong and have polecat natures, the captain blamed the hapless officers and crew for the long passage, and in order to punish the poor innocent fellows, he refused to them both money and liberty to go ashore. Treatment of such a character could only have one ending—and that was mutiny, if not murder; and yet this senseless fellow, in defiance of all human law, kept on goading them to it. He was warned by a catspaw (whom even despised bullies can have in their pay) that the forecastle was a hotbed of murderous intent, and that for his own safety he should give the men liberty to go ashore, and advance them what money they required.

"Let them revolt!" said he. "I will soon have them where they deserve to be, the rascals. Let them, if they dare, disturb me in my cabin, and I'll riddle them with lead. If they want to go ashore, let them go without liberty; but if they do, their wages will be forfeited, and I will have them put in prison."

A policy of this kind was the more remarkable, as even if the men were driven to desertion it was impossible to fill their places at anything like the same wages, or with the same material. The available hands were either not sailors at all, or if they were, they belonged to the criminal class that feared neither God nor man, and knew no law or pity except that which was unto themselves. On the other hand, this vessel was manned with the cream of British seamen, who would have dared anything for their captain and owners had they been treated as was their right. He had run the length of human forbearance. The crew struck. They demanded to see the British Consul, and submit their grievances to him. Sometimes this authority is but a poor tribunal to appeal to when real discrimination is to be determined. On this occasion the seamen were fortunate in getting a sympathetic verdict, and the captain got what he deserved—a good trouncing for his treatment of them. They were willing to sign off the articles, and he was plainly told that they must either be paid their wages in full, or he undertake to carry out the conditions of engagement in a proper manner. "And I must warn you," said the irate official of the British Government, "if you drive these men out of your ship, you may expect no assistance from me in collecting another crew. The men are right, and you are wrong."

The captain was in a state of sullen passion at the turn things had taken against him. He said that he would decide the following day whether the proper course for him to take, now that his authority had been broken, was to pay the men off or not. On the morrow he intimated his decision to pay them off. Poor creature, it would have been well for him and all connected with this doomed vessel had he swallowed his pride and resolved to behave in a rational way to his crew. The places of respectable men were filled with human reptiles of various nationalities—criminals, every one of them. He must have persuaded himself that his despotism would have fuller play with these foreigners, whose savage vengeance was destined to shock the whole civilized world with their awful butchery. The apprentices and officers did not take kindly to the changed condition of things. They instinctively felt that they were to become associated with a gang of -, and hoped that something would transpire to prevent this happening. An opportunity was given the oldest apprentice in an unexpected way. The captain had ordered his gig to be ashore to take him aboard at a certain time at night. The boat was there before the captain, and as he was so long in coming the boat's crew went for a walk ashore. The great man came down and had to wait a few minutes for his men. This caused him to become abusive, which the oldest apprentice, James Leigh, resented by using some longshore adjectives. The master seized the foothold of the stroke oar and threw it at the lad, and when they got aboard the captain again attempted to strike him, but the lad let fly, and did considerable damage in a rough and tumble way to the bully, who was now like a wild beast. James was ultimately overpowered and got a bad beating. He thereupon determined to run away, and he laid his plans accordingly. In a few days he was far away from the sea in a safe, hospitable hiding-place, with some friends who knew his family at home, and the Pacific had sailed long before he reached the coast again.

After a few months' travelling about, picking up jobs here and there, he was brought in contact with a rich old Spaniard who owned a leaky old barque which was employed in the coasting trade. The captain of her was a Dutchman who spoke English very imperfectly, and what he did know was spoken with a nasal Yankee twang. It was a habit, as well as being thought an accomplishment in those days, as it is in these, to affect American dialect and adopt their slang and mannerisms in order to convey an impression of importance. Even a brief visit to the country, or a single passage in a Yankee ship was sufficient to turn a hitherto humble fellow into an insufferable imitator. It was obvious the skipper had been a good deal on the Spanish Main, as he spoke their language with a fluency that left no doubt as to what he had been doing for many years. He was discovered at a time when the owner was in much need of some one to take charge of his vessel, as she did not attract the highest order of captain. The Dutchman had no Board of Trade master or mate certificate; he was merely a sailor. James Leigh was discovered in pretty much the same way as the captain, and the owner took a strong liking to him at the outset. He was good to look at, and gifted with a bright intelligence which made him attractive, besides having the advantage of knowing something about navigation. The chief mate's berth was offered to him and accepted. Furthermore, it was suggested that he should visit and stay at the owner's house, whenever the vessel was in port and his services were not required aboard, and seeing that he was not yet eighteen, he felt flattered at the distinction that had been thrust upon him. Perhaps he accepted the invitation all the more readily as he was informed by his employer that he had two daughters that would like to make his acquaintance.

The first voyage was to Coronel and back with coal to Iquique. Mr. Leigh, as he was now addressed by everybody, on the ship or ashore, had intimated to his commander that he liked his berth for the prospects that might open up to him, but he didn't relish the thought of having to pump so continuously; whereupon Captain Vandertallen winked hard at him, and strongly urged that it should be put up with, and to keep his eye on the girls who were to inherit their father's fortune.

"I tink," said he, "I vill marry de one and you vill have de other."

"I don't know about that," retorted James Leigh. "You see I've a girl at home, and somehow I thinks a lot about her. But a bit of money makes a difference; I must think it over."

Quarterdeck etiquette was not observed between the two men. The captain addressed his first officer as Jim, and Jim addressed his captain as "Dutchy." This familiarity was arrived at soon after they came together, owing to a strong difference of opinion on some point of seamanship which had to do with the way a topgallant sail ought to be taken in without running any risk of splitting it. The quarrel was furious. Jim had called his commander "a blithering, fat-headed Dutchman, not fit to have charge of a dung barge, much less a square-rigged ship. Captain Kickem of the Pacific would not have carried you as ballast."

Vandertallen was almost inarticulate. He frothed out—

"Yes, an' you he vould not carry at all; you too much chick. Remember I the captain, and I vill discharge you at first port."

"Oh, you go to h——!"

"No, I vill not go to h——. I'll just stay here, and you can go to ——. You jist a boy."

"All right, Dutchy," replied the refractory mate; "you'll want me before I want you."

And this was a correct prediction, as, a few days later, Dutchy lost himself, and was obliged to come to his mate and ask the true position of the vessel.

"I am not captain," said he. "Do it yourself; you are a very clever fellow."

"No, no," said Vandertallen; "you know better dan me. Let us be friends, Jim. I call you Jim; you call me Dutchy, or vat you like."

"All right, then," said James Leigh. "If that is to be the way, I'll tell you where you are, and if you had run in the same direction other four hours you would have been ashore on the Island of Mocha."

"Vair is dat?" said Vandertallen, nervously.

"For Heaven's sake don't ask such silly questions," said the mate. "You are miles out of your reckoning."

"Vell, I'm d——!" said the amazed skipper. "Den you must do de reckonin' now, Jim."

"That's all very well, Dutchy, but if I have to do the navigation I am entitled to share the pay."

"Vary vell," replied his captain, "dat agree."

So henceforth they were co-partners in everything—wages, perquisites, and position; and they never again got out of their reckoning. It was obvious James was first favourite with the crew, and after the first voyage the veteran owner showed his marked approval. Jim was allowed to do just as he pleased. The daughters were charmed with him, and frequently visited the vessel with their father when the officers could not get conveniently to their home. A strong and growing attachment was quite apparent so far as the girls were concerned. There seemed to be a preference with both of them for the first mate, who, in turn, fixed his affections on the youngest. His comrade was not quite satisfied with being so frequently ignored, so remonstrated with Jim to stick to one, and he would stick to the other; but the ladies having to be taken into account, it did not work at all smoothly, as each desired to have Mr. Leigh, and before it was settled the sisters had a violent tiff, which brought about the climax and made it possible for negotiations to be carried on in favour of a settlement. The father selected the elder girl for Vandertallen, and the younger was fixed on Leigh, who threw himself into the vortex of flirtation with youthful ardour. He thought at one time of marrying and settling down in Chili, and undoubtedly the owner and daughter gave encouragement to this idea.

But letters began to arrive from home, which had an unsettling effect on him. He was afraid to give his confidence to the captain lest he might break faith with him, but in truth his mind and heart were centred on a picturesque spot on the side of a Welsh hill, and in that little home there was one who longed to have him back. Indeed, she had written to say that if he did not come soon to her she would come to him. These communications revived all the old feelings of affection in his breast, and he resolved to tear himself away from the environment which had gripped him like a vice. The old Spaniard kept hinting marriage to him each time he paid a visit to the superb villa, but he refused to be drawn into anything definite. As he said—

"The place is getting too hot for me. I must face it sooner or later if I am not to permanently settle in Chili. Once married it is all over with me. I will have loads of money, but am I sure it will bring happiness? I think I must say that I lean towards a daughter of my native land, who may not have wealth, but who has all the attributes that appeal to me. In a few days I must decide."

These were some of the thoughts occupying Jim's mind as the leaky old ark lounged her way along the coast. The captain, on the other hand, talked freely to his mate as to his own thoughts, prompted no doubt by close companionship and the idea of becoming brothers-in-law. He told Leigh that both of them would be very wealthy some day, but Jim kept his counsel. He had resolved that if the subject was mentioned by the Spaniard again he would make himself scarce.

On their arrival at Iquique, Leigh received more letters from home. He went to the owner's house, and in the course of the evening the old gentleman asked him right out to marry his daughter. Mr. Leigh was confused, and said he would like to save a little more money.

"Never mind the money. You will have plenty of that," said the father.

It was duly arranged that the wedding should take place at the end of the next trip, and on the strength of that there was much rejoicing at the villa, in which James Leigh heartily joined. He was pressed to stay all night with the happy family, but he said that he could not do so, owing to pressing official duties; so he bade his usual adieux, and slipped out into the balmy night and made his way aboard the vessel. He packed his belongings in a bag, woke the captain, who was asleep in his berth, shook hands with him, and said—

"Good-bye, Dutchy. You can do what you blessed well like, but I am off."

And before the captain had recovered from his sleepy amazement his mate had slipped over the side into a boat. That was the last Dutchy ever saw of his prospective brother-in-law.

James Leigh stowed himself away aboard a Yankee full-rigged packet-ship which had to sail the following morning, and when the coast was clear he made his appearance. He was subjected for a time to that brutal treatment which at one time disgraced the American mercantile marine,[3] but being a smart young fellow who could do the work of a competent seaman, and handle his "dukes" with aptitude, the officers began to show partiality towards him, and before many days he became quite a favourite with them and with the captain. To his surprise, when the vessel had been at Philadelphia a few days, he was asked to qualify for the second officer's berth. He received the compliment with modest reserve, but his inward pride gave him trouble to control. This was a position of no mean order even to men far beyond his years, but the thought of serving as an officer under the magic Stars and Stripes was more fascinating than any pride he had in the size of the vessel. A life of slash and dash was just the kind of experience that appealed to a full-blooded rip like Jim Leigh, so that he needed no persuading to take the offer, and adapt himself with fervour to the new conditions, which invested him with the knuckle-duster, the belaying pin, and the six-shooter. The Betty Sharp was chartered for London instead of the Far East, as was expected, and twenty days after passing Cape Henry she entered the Thames; but even in that short time the sprightly officer had made quite a name for himself, by his methods of training and taming a heterogeneous team of packet rats.

As the vessel was being hauled into the Millwall Docks, spectators were attracted by the disfigured condition of many of the crew. A gentleman came aboard to solicit business, and after a few preliminary remarks he said—

"Pardon me, captain, but I cannot help noticing that some of your sailors look as though there had been fighting. Did they mutiny?"

"Well, no; it was not exactly mutiny, but it was getting near to it."

"It must have been an anxious time for you, sir," continued the visitor.

"Well, no; I guess I was not anxious at all, for my officers went about their rough work with some muscular vigour. The war-paint was soon put on and the rebellion squashed out of them. The chief officer, understand, is an old hand at the game; and that there young fellow, the second officer, takes to the business kindly. So we'll get along right away."

When the vessel was moored and the decks cleared up, the second officer and the boatswain asked the captain's permission to go ashore for the evening. This was granted, with a strong admonition to keep straight and return aboard sober. The boatswain was a short, thick-set man, with no education, but a sailor all over in his habits, manner, and conversation, and was just the kind of person to have as a companion if there was any trouble about. The two sailors were like schoolboys on a holiday. They were well received by their friends, male and female. In the West of London both were objects of interest, and told their tales with unfailing exaggeration. The boatswain was especially attractive, owing to his rugged personality and his unaffected manner. His sanguinary tales of American packet-ship life were much canvassed for, and being a good story-teller, he embellished them with incidents that gave them a fine finishing touch. He was asked by some young ladies if he had ever done any courting.

"Oh yes," said he; "I have mixed a lot of that up with other things. The very last time I was stranded in Chili I got on courting a girl whose mother kept a bit of an hotel, and I was getting on famously, when one day the old lady told me I wasn't to come about her house after her daughter; but I kept on going in a sort of secret way, and one night I was sitting in what you would call the kitchen, and the old girl sneaked in with a great big stick. I saw the fury in her eye. She made a go for me. I couldn't get out, so I bobbed under a four-legged wooden table, picked it up on my shoulders, and tried to protect my legs as much as I could. The girl screamed, and rushed to open the door, and then called out for me to run. I didn't need any telling. I rushed out, the old witch laying on the table with all her might until I got out of her reach. And that is the way I am here, because I shipped at once aboard the Betty Sharp, for fear I might be copped and put in choky by the old fiend."

"Have you heard from your sweetheart since?" asked one of the ladies.

"No," said Jack the boatswain; "nor I don't want to. I'll soon get another where they knows how to treat genuine sweetheartin'."

Jim Leigh at this point said—

"Now then 'Shortlegs,' we must be going. I've heard that yarn fifty times."

"Yes, you have; but these here ladies haven't."

"Quite right," said the ladies. "And we would like you to continue telling some more of your love experiences on the Spanish Main."

Jack, however, said—

"Well, not to-night. Jim wants to get away. I'll come some other time."

The two sailors then left and made their way back to the docks, and as they approached the East End a fog which had been hanging over became so dense that they could not see where they were, and after groping about for a couple of hours they ran against a house which had a light in the window. Jim rapped at the door, and a man presented himself. He was only partially clad. His voice and dialect left no doubt as to the locality they were in.

"Wot yer doin' of 'ere this time o' night? 'Ave yer come to rob some o' these yere 'ouses, or wot's yer gime?"

Mr. Leigh was a talkative person, and hastened to explain where they were going, and that they could not find their way. The man asked the two officers in, and presented them to a woman who sat by the fire with a shawl over her shoulders. She was young, and seemed to be of the gipsy type; tall, handsome features, jet black hair, sparkling eyes and eyebrows; and when she asked them to be seated, her voice and accent gave the impression of a lady. She chatted quite freely to the sailors about their profession and the countries they had visited, which led them to suppose that the lady was a great traveller. She, however, told them that her knowledge was derived from books. Shortlegs was mute. While the others talked he was closely scrutinizing the surroundings. Their host was a tall, well-set man, with shifty, evil-looking eyes that were kept busy, as was his tongue. After they had been in the house some time, he asked them if they wished to stay all night.

"We don't want ter press yer, but if yer like we've got a comfortable room. But ye'll both 'ave to sleep in one bed."

"We don't mind that," said James Leigh. "Show us where it is."

They bade the lady good morning, as it was 2 a.m., and they were escorted upstairs to a moderately-furnished room with an iron bed, wooden washstand, wardrobe, two chairs, and canvased floor.

"Well, do you think it'll do?" asked the host.

"Yes," replied James, in a jaunty way. "We've slept in many a worse place than this, Shorty, haven't we? See that we're called at six in the morning, gov'nor."

"That's all right," said the shifty-eyed host; "we're early birds, we are, in this 'ere 'ouse. We goes to bed early too. Wot'll ye 'ave for breakfast?"

"Never mind breakfast; we'll get that when we get aboard," replied Leigh. "Good-night; it's very good of you to put us up."

The host remarked that he was pleased to do a kindness to anybody, but especially to sailors, and then he slid out of the room. Shortlegs watched him downstairs, then closed the door. When he looked round his second officer was half undressed. He whispered to him not to undress, and that if he knew as much about bugs as he did he would need no telling.

"Oh! d—— the bugs and everything else. I'm in for a good nap."

"Well," said Shortlegs, "you may do as you like, but I'm a-going to keep my clothes on."

Jim, however, did not heed his companion's advice; he undressed, jumped into bed, and was soon asleep. Shortlegs sat smoking his pipe for a while, then rose and commenced a survey of the room. He looked under the bed, into a cupboard, behind the curtains, and then sat down and pondered over their strange experience. At last he pulled his boots and coat off, and was preparing to get into bed, when it occurred to him that he had not examined the wardrobe; so he jumped up, opened the door, stood gazing at the inside, closed the door, went to the bed, shook his mate into consciousness, and speaking in a loud whisper, he said—

"Jim, for God's sake get up!"

"What for?" said Jim.

"Because there's a dead 'un in the wardrobe," replied Shortlegs.

"A what?" asked Mr. Leigh.

"A corpse," responded his companion.

"Go on, don't talk such rot!"

"Very well, look for yourself," said the boatswain, who again opened the door, and exposed the dead body to view. James Leigh turned pallid and almost inarticulate. He could only touch his friend on the shoulder, and utter—

"My God, where are we? What shall we do with the corpse?"

Visions of being had up for murder had seized him. But he was quickly pulled up by his more discreet shipmate, who told him to cease speaking, allow the dead 'un to remain where he was, keep their boots off, open the window quietly, see how far it was to drop or to lower themselves down with the bedclothes. This being done, they found the plan of escape impracticable without being "nabbed," so they took the bold resolve of going out as they had come in, with their boots on. Before they had got half-way down the stairs they heard suppressed conversation. It was evident they were detected.

"Use your knuckle-duster, Jim, if necessary, and charge them with murder," whispered Shortlegs.

"You leave that to me, Shorty; I'm going to get out of this."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the room door, which was ajar, opened, and the man who showed them upstairs stood before them. He was in his sleeping clothes. They requested him to open the outer door and let them out, as they did not desire to remain any longer in the house. He asked why they were leaving comfortable lodgings on such a night. Jim being the spokesman, said they didn't like sleeping with corpses, and raising his voice with nervous courage, declared that if the door was not immediately opened he would stand a good chance of being put in the wardrobe where the other poor devil was. The wretched bully, shivering with passion and sudden fear, made a grab at Jim, and in an instant he was lying on the floor, and the two sailors opened the door and stepped out into the cold fog.

"My God, what an experience!" said Shorty. "What a lucky thing I looked in the wardrobe. We might have been given up to the police as the murderers; and that lady, as we thought, what a demon she must be to be connected with such."

"My dear fellow," said the second mate, "don't say anything wrong against the lady. How do we know but she is a prisoner, or in some way beholden to the rascal. What a strange thing she never appeared. I wonder if she was there. She must have been, as we heard voices."

"That's right enough," said the boatswain; "but was it her voice?"

"I never thought of that, Shorty. What d'ye say if we go back and try and learn more about this mysterious affair?"

"Not me," said Shorty; "I've had enough of this kind of experience."

"But," remonstrated the officer, "suppose the lady is in captivity?"

"Never mind that, boss. I don't care if there were twenty blessed women in captivity. I'm not going back, because I thinks the lady is in the swim."

"Nonsense, Shorts. She is an educated woman!"

"Yes; and I've heard, boss, of educated women doin' funny things. How d'ye know but it's her husband that's in the wardrobe, gov'nor? No, no; I knows some of these 'ere ladies, and I'm not a-going to mix myself up with them. And if you takes my advice you'll stick to me and get aboard as soon as we can. And keep this 'ere affair mum, or we may have a visit from some of her Majesty's detectives."

"Well," ejaculated James Leigh, "it is a mystery, and must remain such so far as we are concerned. But I am tempted to tell the police, as I feel certain that woman cannot be there of her own free will."

"Woman be d——d, boss! How do you know, as I said before, that she's not at the bottom of it? You never knew an affair like this that a woman had not her hand in it; and if you are going to give information, don't introduce your humble servant, who has his own ideas of this 'ere person."

The young fellows had talked on ever since they left the tomb of the dead, unheeding the direction in which they were going. When the fog cleared they found themselves amidst the East End slums, environed by all that was villainous. They were not long in winding their way aboard the Betty Sharp. The night's exploits made a deep impression on James Leigh; it caused him to review the Bohemian career he had lived ever since he ran away from the Pacific in Chili. He resolved to pay a visit to his home in Wales, as he was so near, and in spite of strong protestations on the part of the captain he resigned his post. There was great rejoicing in the little village when he unexpectedly made his appearance. The news of the mutiny aboard the Pacific, and the tragic end of the captain, officers, and part of the crew preceded him. His family had blamed him for leaving at Iquique. They now said he had been guided by a strange but merciful Providence to his old home. He told the eager listeners of the family circle many tales of daring adventure as they sat in the cosy room by the fire, but whenever the gruesome figure of the dead man in the wardrobe crossed his mind he became reticent and pensive. These lapses did not go unnoticed, and he was often pressed for the cause of so sudden a change from mirth to sullen silence.

"I will tell you what it is," said he; "a corpse is the cause."

And then he told them all about it. James Leigh's change of life, manner, and habits dated from the dreaded night when he saw with his own eyes the ghastly figure of what he believed to be a murdered man. From being a roving, reckless, devil-may-care sailor, he settled into a steady, ambitious, capable man. He married a Welsh girl after his own heart, and forgot all about the daughter of the old Spaniard, who, if subsequent accounts were correct, pined for his return to Chili. Mrs. Leigh resented any allusion to the Spanish maiden. She always reminded her husband that people should marry their own countrywomen, and that instead of thinking of her he should be using his mind in attaining that knowledge that would enable him to reach the height of his profession. He was not long in satisfying the lady's ambition and his own. In less than five years from leaving the Yankee ship he was in command of a smart, up-to-date English steamer, trading between Mozambique and Zanzibar, trafficking in slaves and other merchandise. He made heaps of money for his owners, and was gifted with an aptitude for never neglecting himself in matters of finance. In due course the trade collapsed, and he was ordered to bring his vessel home. By this time his savings from several sources had accumulated to a decent little fortune, and with it he resolved to start business on his own account. He sought the aid of a few friends, and was enabled to purchase a small steamer. It was while he was on a visit to this much-boasted-of craft that he came across Shorty at a fair outside Cardiff. The rugged ex-boatswain had a machine for trying strength, and asked him to have a go. Captain Leigh recognized his old shipmate by a defect in his speech, and made himself known. Shorty was filled with delight, and would have given him the whole show. He rushed off, called out to a lady who was attending to the machine, and brought her to be introduced.

"This is my bit o' cracklen, Jim. She's a good 'un, she is. Now, don't ye be a-fallin' in love with her, James, as you used to with the other girls out in Chili, ancetera, ancetera. Don't ye reckonize her? Don't ye remember that fine hotel we landed in, and the wardrobe and one or two other incidents?"

"I do," said Captain James Leigh; "but surely this is not?"

"Yes, it is," said the proud husband. "It's she, isn't it, chubby?"

The lady merely nodded her head and smiled.

"Then what have you been doing, Shorty, all these years?"

"This," said he, pointing to the show. "I never got over the 'orror of that night, so I made my mind up not to go a rovin' agen; and this 'ere girl, that I thought so badly of, 'as helped me to make a livin' ever since I came across her. Very queer, you was right; she was sort o' confined to the 'ouse, but had nothin' to do with the corpse. She didn't know of it until I told her."

"My God! don't talk of it, Shorts. I cannot bear to think of it even now. But how did you pick her up?"

"At the docks," said John Shorts. "She came to look for us, and I took on with her and got married."

"You must have had a strong belief in her."

"Yes; and so would you if you knew her as I do. I'd trust my money, and my life, and everything with her. D'ye see that waggon of mats and baskets? That's her department; started on her own 'ook. My word, she's a daisy."

"Well, Shorty, I'm delighted to see you. And now I must be going. You seem quite happy."

"Happy," said the boatswain, "that's not a name for it. It's 'eaven on earth this 'ere thing," looking and pointing at his wife. Breaking off quickly, he said, "'Ave ye ever heard from Chili, Jim?"

"Oh yes," said he; "I had a letter only the other day from Dutchy. The old owner died, and left all his money to his two daughters and Dutchy, who married the eldest."

"That's a bit thick, isn't it, Jim—for that fat Dutchman to go wandering about the Spanish Main doin' all sorts of things, and then fall on his feet like this?"

"Well," said Jim, "you have fallen on your feet, so you say; and I'm sure I have."

"That's right," said Shorts. "I wasn't thinken' that the wife was standin' by."

The lady quietly smiled, shook hands with her husband's late chum, and walked off towards her caravan. Captain Leigh endeavoured to draw Shorty to tell him about his wife, but the old sailor evaded all his questions.

"Well," said Leigh, "this has been a joyful meeting to me, and if we never met again, God bless you!"

"The same to you, Jim," said Shorts. "Good-bye, old chap."

The two men never did meet again. James Leigh is now a prosperous merchant, and may be seen any day in a smart-cut "frocker" and silk hat, having his lunch at a bar, surrounded with kindred spirits, telling his wonderful tales—some truthful, others well padded, but all interesting.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: It may be said in passing that America at that period, and for some years later, supplied Great Britain and other nations with the finest and fastest ships afloat, large and small. The Americans have always had a reputation of doing things on a large scale. Unmistakably their vessels were bad to beat. Their crews were well paid and well fed. They had the best cooks and stewards in the world; but the inadequacy of their manning, and the cruel treatment of the poor wretches who composed the crew, was a national disgrace. An American vessel with a mediocre crew aboard was nothing short of a hell afloat, and even with an average lot of men it was little better, unless they had the courage and the capacity to straighten the officers out, which was sometimes done with salutary effect.]

THE END