appointment, had been waiting longer
for a cargo than us, having been lying in the river since May, and only
starting off as we commenced discharging.

We were cheered up, though, by the hope of having a cargo of the second
season tea, which the shore folk said was expected in the town from up
country shortly; which "shortly" proved to be of the most elastic
properties, it being September before we received authoritative
information of our expected freight being at last at Shanghai and ready
for shipment.

When it came, though, we did not lose much time in getting it on board
and stowed, even Tom Jerrold and I working under hatches.

"Begorra, we'll show them poor craythurs," cried Tim Rooney, bracing
himself up for the task and baring his sinewy arms with much gusto as he
buckled to the job, setting the hands a worthy example to follow. "Aye,
we'll jist show them what we calls worruk in our counthry, me darlints.
Won't we, boys?"

"Aye, aye," roared out the men, all anxious to set sail and see Old
England again; sailors being generally the most restless mortals under
the sun, and never satisfied at being long in one place. "Aye, aye, bo,
we will!"

And they did, too, "Old Jock" rubbing his hands and snorting and
sniffing in fine glee as the tea-chests were rattled up out of the junks
alongside and lowered into the hold, where they underwent even a greater
amount of squeezing and jamming together than our original cargo out,
the process of compression being helped on by the aid of the jack-screws
and the port watch under Mr Mackay--who now superintended the stowage
of the cargo, in place of poor Mr Saunders. No one, apparently, save
the faithful Tim Rooney, gave a thought to the latter, now resting in
his quiet tomb in Happy Valley!

"Bedad, we miss our ould sickond mate, sorr," I heard him say to Mr
Mackay, who was a little strange to the job, having had nothing to do in
the stowing line for some time, his duties as first mate being more
connected with the navigation of the ship. "He wor a powerful man to
ate, sure; but he knew his way about the howld av a vissil, sorr, that
same."

"That means, I suppose, bosun," replied Mr Mackay laughing and coughing
as the tea-dust caught his breath, "that I don't--eh?"

"Be jabers, no, sorr," protested Tim; "I niver maned to say that, sorr,
aven if I thought it. But poor ould Misther Saunders samed, sorr, to
take koindly to this sort av worruk, betther nor navigatin