se father, he told us, was an hotel-keeper in Rotherham,
near Sheffield. This one had his fingers gaudily ornamented with rings
and diamonds. Of course there isn't much to be said of us recruits,
except, perhaps, that we were regarded as so many "raw lads."
Nevertheless we passed our time during the day very agreeably in various
ways--games, &c.--until darkness settled over the ship, and then we
retired into the cabin.

THIEVES ON BOARD

At night, I recollect, the wind was very boisterous, and the sea very
rough. All we recruits--or the majority of us--were quite ready for
Morpheus to take us in his arms when retiring-time came. The men's
sleeping apartment was one common room. Stillness and silence--save and
except, perhaps, the snoring--reigned with us until about one after
midnight, when (I remember I was thinking of "Home, Sweet Home" at the
time) I saw two men gliding stealthily about the cabin. One of the men
carried a lighted taper, which he shielded with his hand, and his
companion, I saw, was in the act of robbing the sleeping passengers;
taking anything that came in their way--provided, of course, that it was
worth taking. I overheard one of the two say, "Let's get to the other
side, them recruits'll have nothing." Then did they steal across to the
other side of the cabin. I saw them take money from the old gentleman
first. He was hard asleep. Then they took rings from the fingers of the
young masher, and next turned their attention to the young sailor lad
further on. His money was in a little bag tied round his neck, beneath
his shirt breast. The robbers cut the bag away, and took it with them; it
contained the savings of the lad and his passport. All this I saw done,
and did not dare to move or speak for fear of being "done" by the
rascals. Having stripped the cabin of all that appeared to be in their
line, they left and went up the stairs onto the deck, feeling, I suppose,
cocksure that they had had their rascality to themselves. The morn
dawned, and the first to give the alarm that they had been robbed were
those two London "prigs," who swore vengeance upon the whole of us. One
of them declared that he had been a rogue all his life--a sentiment to
which I said "aye," "aye" in my own mind,--but added that if he could
find the man who had taken 28s from his pockets he would forgive him. The
other thief said he had lost his watch, but he, too, would forgive the
man who would acknowledge and return it.