In the Yellow Sea. Frith Henry

in dread suspense, half dead, I fancied. Then we increased our distance. The Osprey lifted and fell, appeared again, disappeared; rose again, and just when one expected to see it once more the sea hid it and bore it out of sight for ever.

      I think I shouted; I know I leaped up in haste, but a firm hand was placed upon my collar, and I sank back unconscious of all around me save the darkness of sea and sky. My senses left me!

      So Murry had gained a sailor's grave. "There in the lone, lone sea – in a spot unmarked but holy," he lies at rest until the last call for "all hands" is piped.

      CHAPTER III

      THE STEAMER FÊNG-SHUI, FOR CHINA – CAPTAIN

      GOLDHEUGH – DISCIPLINE AND A ROPE'S END!

      When I again recovered consciousness I found myself in a comfortable berth, in what appeared an airy cabin on the deck of a vessel. The distant churning noise which attracted my rather wandering attention, and the shaking of the furniture, told me that I was on board a screw steamer. From the cabin windows I perceived a dim light upon the sea. The steamer rolled and plunged and shook herself with great energy, and at times the lamp hung, apparently, quite sideways across the room. As I continued to gaze rather listlessly about me, my eyes fastened themselves upon two words, of which I could make no sense nor meaning. These were painted upon a locker in golden characters, above some peculiar characters, and read —

FÊNG-SHUI

      What was Fêng-Shui? I had never heard of it. I puzzled over it. Was it a name, a motto, or a spell of some kind? It seemed to my still obscured brain "neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring," and the painted characters beneath the words looked even funnier than those upon a tea-chest. FÊNG-SHUI!

      The letters burned into my brain; they kept recurring in a kind of sing-song refrain, and finally adapted themselves to the "Tit-Willow" song in the Mikado. Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui! As I lay staring at the locker my mind turned the song anew —

      A poor little sailor-boy lay in a berth,

          Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui!

      And never could tell what was meant on this earth

        By Shui, Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui!

      And so on, ad infinitum, till my senses reeled again. At length, being almost desperate, I rose, and was in the act of quitting the horrible cabin, when a man in uniform – merchant service – came in.

      "Hallo!" he exclaimed, "what are you up to? Sleep-walking? Get back directly, d'ye hear? Smart now!"

      He aimed a blow at my back, and literally ran me into the swinging cot which I had just vacated.

      "Are ye mad?" he inquired, with a touch of the brogue of northern Ireland – a most amusing accent to my mind – which gave a comic turn to his most serious remarks.

      I made no reply immediately, only by staring.

      "Ah! the boy's off his head! D'ye hear me? Are ye deaf and mad?"

      "No," I replied; "neither, I think."

      "Ye think! Ye're not sure! Then bedad I think ye're mad. What made ye jump out o' bed, then, like a lunatic?"

      "I was wondering where I was, and thinking of those queer letters. I am better now. I was confused when I woke up."

      "Oh, that's better! Sure it was a miracle ye woke at all; we all thought ye dead as Kerry mutton. What's ailing ye?"

      "Nothing, except those queer letters."

      "What! The ship's name, is it? That's nothing but Fêng-Shui, and it's written in Chinese besides."

      "Oh, thank you, I see. I couldn't make it out. What does it mean?"

      "Wind and Weather, and a lot more, in China. Ye'll see in time. Be easy now, I tell ye."

      "In time! What do you mean?" I asked, starting up.

      "What I say. In time! By and by, – when ye get there."

      "Get where? To China?"

      "That's it," replied my new acquaintance. "Ye've hit it plumb."

      "But I am not going to China!"

      "Aren't ye, bedad! Well, we'll agree to differ on that."

      "What rot!" I exclaimed rudely. "Surely you're going to London?"

      "Not till I get back, round the East. Then, maybe I will."

      "Do you mean to say that this vessel is bound to China?"

      "I do; and ye're bound to go with it."

      "Then I won't! I want to go home to Beachmouth. Can't you put me ashore anywhere? – I don't care where it is."

      "Can ye swim?" he asked, looking at me with a funny wink.

      "I can, of course. Well?"

      "Then ye must swim home. We're away in the Channel, and France is on the port-beam, if ye know what that is."

      "Of course I do. Do you think me an idiot?"

      "I did – a while ago. If ye're not a fool ye'll stay where ye are. Of course, ye're a bit mad now, but by the mornin' ye'll be well. Lie quiet now, and I'll send ye some food."

      "No, thank you, I am not hungry. I am thirsty and chilly, though. Why can't I go home?"

      "Because, unless I stop to put ye aboard some ship, ye can't. I can't stop now till daylight, anyway; and then we shall be about in the Bay. By that time I expect ye'll want to stay where ye are. Lie quiet now, I'll send the steward to ye with a lemon drink. Maybe in the morning ye'll feel better. Anyhow, ye must remain here – for the present, and keep yer claws in, like Tim Connor's cat."

      "Are you the captain?" I asked, with some deference.

      "So they tell me," was the quaint reply, as he left the cabin.

      The captain of the Wind and Weather! Perhaps I had been too "cheeky." What would he do to me, I wondered. He seemed a nice man. Then I began to wonder what had become of Tim. He had not been given a cabin. Why had the captain taken such care of me? he had never heard of me, I was sure.

      While thus groping in my mind for assistance and ideas, the steward appeared with a warm drink, which smelt of lemon juice, and some spirit – I think whisky. I had never tasted spirits, and declined the draught then.

      "If you don't drink it the doc will come and fix you," said the steward. "Better this than him. He's a 'nailer' at nastiness. Take my advice, drink this, and you'll sleep like a top."

      "On one leg, do you mean?" I asked, taking the glass and smiling.

      "Anyhow, after that. There, you've some sense in you, I see. You came up pretty limp from the boat. Now lie down, and sleep till mornin', I'll come and see after you."

      "I say, steward, wait a second. What's the captain's name?"

      "Goldheugh – Martin Goldheugh – and a first-rate captain, too, I can tell you. But you must do as you're bid, mind; no skulking. Now shut your eyes and keep quiet. Good-night."

      I murmured something. The drink I had imbibed was mounting to my head; I felt warm and comfortable. Then I began to count the distant throbs of the engine, and just as I had reached three hundred and sixty-two I – woke.

      It was broad daylight. I rubbed my eyes in surprise. Daylight! Had I slept (like Scrooge in the "Christmas Carol") through a whole night in a few minutes. It could not be daylight, surely? I had only counted three hundred and odd beats of the engine at supper-time, and already morning had come. My first glance fell upon "Wind and Weather" – the Fêng-Shui sign; and then my heart beat fast. I flushed hotly. What would my parents think? what would they do?

      I confess I was miserable and greatly upset. I was at sea, and for the first time very unhappy. My thoughts rushed to my mother, then to my indulgent stepfather, and I compared them with other fellows' parents who were so strict and stiff and severe. Neither my own father nor mother, not even Mr. Bentham, had been really severe