Undoubtedly there was a good deal of mystery about the proceedings which closed the last chapter, but I was in those days very little concerned with causes, I had enough trouble with results. So I did not try to speculate, only feeling glad that my friend was evidently all right. And after all I had spent a very pleasant evening, my belly was nearly full, and I was threepence to the good. So why worry, more especially as it was certain that any attempt at investigation on my part could only lead to trouble for me, and I was ever anxious to avoid trouble of any kind.

In the course of the day I drifted down to the King's Arms again, but saw nothing of my friend. So towards evening, I made bold to ask Sam if he had seen him, and received the reply that he had sailed that morning in a schooner for Spain. I have never seen him since, but I have not been able to forget him.

One never-failing source of amusement I had during this long weary time, for even if hungry and cold young things will try to play, was in the Tower of London, into which I often dodged past the guards. I was often caught and driven back, but that only whetted my appetite for getting in. In my numerous visits I explored many portions of the old building that visitors never see, and I had many a good meal given me by the kind-hearted mess-cooks of the garrison. And by stealthily joining myself on to parties of visitors, I went the rounds of all the showplaces, into which entrance in those days could only be had by payment, and was mightily amused at hearing the same old story told with hardly an altered word by the "beef-eaters."

I have mentioned this particularly, because opportunities for play in that stern and dingy quarter of London were very few, and when I got out of Thames Street for a brief space into the cloister-like atmosphere of the Tower, I really did feel as if I was in another world, and I never quite got rid of that eerie feeling when I was alone in some unfrequented corner, that I was moving among a crowd of ghosts, who in the past had suffered and died within those grim walls. One night I found myself belated in the horse armoury, and as I could not find my way out, and dared not call, for that I knew I had no business there, I curled myself up in a snug corner and went to sleep, awaking in the morning with the sun streaming into my eyes, and with a firm determination to run no such risk again. I got in there by climbing over a big gate with a cheval-de-frise on the top, and I got out the same way without being observed. I suppose if I had been caught my punishment would have been something mediÆval, for the crime was, to say the least of it, unusual.

And now the grim fact began to thrust itself upon me without possibility of mistake that it was hopeless ever to expect to get a ship by doing as I was doing. The vessels that got their crews in this way were all pitifully undermanned, and consequently whoever was chosen for employment in one of them must of necessity be strong and inured to hard work. Indeed, this choice was carried so far, that the skippers invariably felt the hands of the candidates, and if they were not calloused like the skin of a yam, the defect was fatal, supposing that there was any competition. My hands were only felt once, and that more I suspect as a matter of form, for nothing came of it.

At last I asked Sam timidly if he really thought I stood any chance of getting a ship there. He looked down at me as if he had just seen me for the first time, pondered a moment (but about nothing I am sure), then suddenly remembering my question, said, "Oh no, not till you've a-growed a bit. You better stow-away." I said, "Thank you, sir," and moved off fully determined, whatever happened, not to stow-away. Going to sea, I thought, was bad enough in any case, but from what I had heard stowaways stood a good chance of getting first a good hammering, then a tremendous lot of hard work, and very little food, and prison at the journey's end. It was a programme that did not appeal to me.

Nevertheless, it was with a sinking heart that I turned away from Thames Street that night. I felt that I could not hold my own in the rough and tumble life of the streets much longer, and I craved with all my heart and soul for a master. I know that there are boys who, even in good homes, have the nomad instinct so strongly implanted that they cannot be contented anywhere, will endure, nay, embrace voluntarily all kinds of privation, so long as they may vagabondise, but I was not one of them. My early training was all against it. I longed for a home, and to have some one in authority over me, although I could not help admitting to myself that I had not made the best of my chances, such as they were.

But as the darkest hour is just before the dawn according to the adage, so when my prospects of getting to sea were at what appeared to be the lowest ebb, I suddenly bethought me of the possibility of finding my uncle, whom I have before alluded to as being master of a ship. More by accident than design, I discovered him, and although he was evidently not overjoyed to see me he agreed to take me to sea with him at the wage of five shillings per month.

Of my early experiences at sea, I have told at length in the "Log of a Sea Waif," and therefore I cannot repeat them here. I can only point out that there seemed to be a fatality about the matter, something working against my becoming a seafarer, since I was shipwrecked on my first voyage and landed in Havana, where, because of the old trouble, my puny size, I could not get a ship, and consequently I returned to one of my old employments, namely, that of billiard-marker. It was at the Hotel St Isabel in the Plaza de Armas, and here for some months I led a very happy if entirely demoralising life for one so young. I received no wages, but the best of food and lodging, and the tips given me by the frequenters of the billiard-room were so many that I always had plenty of money.

But strangely enough, although I certainly ought to have known the value of money from my previous training, now being provided liberally with all I needed, I made no attempt to save, but distributed my wealth among the sailors at the port, with whom I always forgathered when not on duty. Thus it came about that when I was one day taken charge of by the Consul again, and after he had scolded and threatened me for some time, because, as he said, I had dared to remove myself from his care without his permission, I was entirely penniless.

He put me on board a vessel bound for home via Mobile, Alabama, and when I reached Liverpool I was not merely penniless, I was almost naked, and it was winter. I had no claim upon anybody for wages, no knowledge of where to go, and I felt as if the fates had indeed been unkind to me. But I found a good Samaritan in the guise of a poor woman, who kept a small eating-house, and she took me in and allowed me to work for my keep. And thus I added one more to my smattering of trades, that of waiter; the maid-of-all-work part I was very well versed in. It was all the kinder of her, because the business was hardly substantial enough to support even the slight additional burden which I placed upon it. Our principal trade was with the poverty-stricken dock-labourers, whose orders were usually for a basin of broth at a penny and a ha'porth of bread, except when flush, they were able to treat themselves to a twopenny plate of potato-pie. Everybody seemed to be bitterly poor, and it was little wonder to me that when a sailor just paid off did happen to come in and show the gleam of gold, eyes grew wolfish and fingers involuntary crooked themselves.

I had not been there more than a couple of months, when my mistress gave me clearly to understand that I must be off, for she could not support me any longer; although God knows I did work hard for every mouthful I ate (and I was never stinted). Then chance threw in my way an opportunity of trying yet another trade, that of carver of ornamental wood work for ship decoration. The workshop was next door, and I had made the proprietor's acquaintance through running in there occasionally for chips. But I do not think I should ever have dreamed of asking him for employment, if my mistress had not one day, when in conversation with him, mentioned that she was going to start me off. In the goodness of his heart he offered me employment, and I leaped at the offer. I started work the very next morning, for my keep, though what he paid my late mistress I never knew. I was an apt pupil, and he was very kind, so that I soon became quite useful to him. I learned to sharpen the multitude of tools he used, and also to rough out with mallet and chisel the carvings that he and his brother finished off.

It was congenial and pleasant work, and I felt as if at last I had found my groove, and that I was destined to be a wood-carver. But alas my evil genius was on my track. I pleased my employer too well. So well indeed, that his brother, older than he, but a journeyman under him, became violently jealous of me, and lost no opportunity of showing his dislike. That, however, did not trouble me much, except when my boss was away, which was seldom, because under his benevolent eye I was entirely happy and stimulated to do my very best. Even at this great lapse of time I remember with a glow at my heart, how gently he reproved me for the mistakes I made, how warmly he praised me whenever I was able to do exactly what he wished me to do, and I have no recollection whatever of his ever being harsh, unjust, or even inconsiderate.

He had many odd jobs of repairing to do, the ornamental work on ship's bows and sterns was always getting knocked away when coming into or going out of dock; and generally it had to be repaired in situ, only the worst damage being worked over in the shop and then taken down and fitted on. There was something to me very delightful in sitting alongside him on a precarious-looking stage overhanging the black water in a dock, listening to his cheery remarks, his clear tenor as he sang snatches of song, or his whistle, melodious as a skylark's. He never seemed to be weary or discouraged, or ill-tempered; and I know that I rendered him all the loving homage of which I was capable.

It was often bitterly cold as we swang on our stages in those exposed positions, but it never seemed to affect him, his blows with the chisel upon the intricate design before him never seemed to vary their certitude or his patience, to falter, even when a cross-grained piece of wood did fly and spoil the pattern. And then how delightful at meal times, when we were too far from home to go thither for food, to accompany him to some cosy cook-shop, and eat with him, treated just as his son, I was going to say, only unhappily I know that he treated me far far better than many fathers treat their sons.

Unfortunately as the time went on it became increasingly evident that this present happiness of mine was drawing rapidly near its end. The brother of whom I spoke was a most morose and sullen man, a very poor workman, who could never be trusted to do a job properly, not I should say lazy, but incapable of doing good work, and fully conscious of the fact. He would not have earned his salt anywhere, but his good brother kept him on out of charity. Now my presence there annoyed him, and whenever I was left alone with him he used to give me a very bad time. And when his brother returned he always made an evil report of my behaviour, but I had the satisfaction of feeling that he was not believed, as indeed he did not deserve to be.

At last, however, the matter culminated in this way. The boss was working upon one of the African boats, and had left me with his brother to do some cross-cut sawing. Now every one should know that this is heavy work even for practised men, and when a boy of thirteen and a man of thirty are working together, the man ought to remember the disparity between their ages and strength. But this only gave my small-witted enemy his opportunity, and when I had perforce to stop from fatigue he burst into a flood of sarcastic swearing. When he paused for breath, I made some injudicious reply, and was immediately sent flying across the shop by a blow on the side of the head. Smarting with pain I snatched up a mallet, and flung it at the coward with all my strength, and I am glad to say it landed on his nose, even though my successful shot was productive of much serious trouble for me.

Then I bolted from the place, for I feared that he would kill me, as indeed I daresay he would have done had I remained. That evening my good friend came into the cook-shop, and found me sitting white and trembling, waiting for him. He was as usual very kind, though he reproved me gravely for having broken his brother's nose. But when he asked me if I wasn't sorry for having done it, I gladly remember that I truthfully told him no. A ghost of a smile gathered around his mouth, but shaking his head he went on to say, "I'm terribly sorry to part with you, Tommy, for I had got very fond of you, but I've got to choose between you and my brother, and I can't turn him off. He swears he will murder you when he sees you, so you'll have to go. Poor little boy, I do hope you'll get something else soon." And with that he pressed half a sovereign into my hand, and went away.

I need not enlarge upon the fact of its being a terrible blow to me, nor apologise for shedding a good many hot tears after he was gone, because he was the first person during my independent career who had satisfied my burning desire to be loved. I felt that he was fond of me, and knew that his lightest word of commendation was more precious to me than any treasure would have been. I glory in the knowledge that he never once had to scold me for anything but mistakes. I did try with all my heart and soul to please him, because I loved him, and now I had lost him. And the wide world before me again looked very unsympathetic and dreary.

Somehow Liverpool seemed very distasteful to me. My weary wanderings around the docks, and the continual unsuccess I had met with in looking for a ship, had made me feel as if I might possibly do better in my own big village, and I realised that I now possessed the means of getting back to it again. So the next morning I bade farewell to Mrs Dickey, my landlady, who was quite unmoved at the parting, for she was very angry with me for getting the sack, as she termed it, and toddled off to Lime Street, where I had no difficulty whatever in getting a half ticket to London, nor felt troubled because after paying for it I had only 1s. 7½d. left out of my precious half-sovereign.

I must not omit to mention that Mrs Dickey gave me a big hunk of bread and cheese when I told her that I was going to London, but she did not give me a kiss, which I should have prized far more, for I was an affectionate little chap, and was starving for love. But, poor woman, she was heavily burdened, and no doubt was heartily glad to get rid of me, although I cannot think that she had ever been out of pocket by me, for I certainly earned my keep. Still she did not want me, so there is no more to be said.

It was a glorious spring day, and the novelty of my first long train journey made me forget all my troubles. Moreover, I felt full of importance to think that I was a passenger by that great train. Every inch of that journey was full of interest to me. I had a seat by the window, and my eyes fairly ached with the intensity of my gaze out over the beautiful country of which, until then, I had seen practically nothing. I remember that I spoke to no one, and no one spoke to me, though several of my fellow-passengers must have wondered who or what was the ill-clad urchin who sat so quietly and gazed so intently at the flying landscape.

I was quite sorry when the train arrived at Euston, and I had to march out into the mean net-work of streets which surround the badly situated station, for now I began to wonder what I should do in the vast city which was my birth-place, but in which I had no friends or abiding-corner. It was all so familiar, and yet so inhospitable. Had I only known where to look, there were many places where I could have found shelter and help, but for lack of that useful knowledge, how many wanderers like myself have died?

One thing I felt certain of, which was that I could not now take my place among the ranks of my former companions, I could not compete with them for sale of papers, or the numerous odd jobs that boys can do. For one thing I had never been much of a pusher—I was always more ready to stand aside than to press forward in the race for a job, though willing enough to take one if I got the chance—and for another, I had lost the sense of familiarity with those conditions of life ashore, while the new experience I had gained was here of no use to me.

Therefore I made no effort in this direction, but after wandering aimlessly about until I was dog tired, I went down the West India Dock Road until I came to a house with the legend painted up—"Seamen's Boarding House," and knocked at its door with my heart thumping furiously. A terrible looking man with a great grizzled beard and a voice like a foghorn came to the door and looked at me in silence. I swallowed nothing once or twice, then taking out my discharge from my last ship, which I had treasured as if it were a bank-note for a hundred pounds, I said, "Please, Sir, may I stay here. I want a ship and I've got a good discharge. I'll pay you out of my advance if you'll get me a ship." He growled.

"Wher's yer dunnage (clothes)?" I answered faintly, "I've got none, I was shipwrecked." He hesitated for a moment, then rumbled, "come inside," and with my heart leaping, I went into a stuffy front parlour, where sat two or three men, obviously ill at ease, and a fat pale faced woman who was looking fixedly in the fire. Taking me by the shoulder, the boarding-master led me up to the woman saying—

"Here, mother, here's an able seaman wants to stop here. He's got no clothes and no money, but he says he'll pay me out of his advance note."

Then I saw with a wave of pity that she was blind. She turned at the voice and put out both hands, touching me and feeling me from my forehead down to my waist.

"Why, Bill," she cried, "its only a child, a poor little boy," and with a motherly movement she drew me to her, and felt me all over again. Then she asked me many questions, all of which I answered with absolute truth, for there could be no reason why I should not. And at the conclusion of her examination I was entered on the books of the house as a boarder, while the master went growling about saying that at this rate he would soon be in the workhouse. But the old lady kept me by her side and whispered that it was only Mr Jones's fun, he didn't mean anything by it, and that he would surely do his best to get me a ship soon.

This was true, for though he was always grumpy, and given to regaling his boarders at meal times with lugubrious forebodings of his speedy entrance to Poplar Workhouse, with victuals at the price they were and so many hungry outward-bounders to feed, I know he did his best for me; did it so well, that in five days from entering his house I obtained a ship as boy with a wage of twenty-five shillings per month, to my intense surprise. I received, like the rest of the crew, a note for a month's advance, which I handed over to him at once. Out of this he gave me a small supply of most necessary clothes bought second hand, so that he must have dealt with me not merely honestly but in a spirit of generosity.

And now I come to the close of my shore apprenticeship, as it may be termed, for although I had a very severe time upon my return to Liverpool from that voyage (again shipwrecked), I never again but once had a job ashore until I left the sea as a profession finally. That time I spent upon a farm in New Zealand, and although it certainly had its comic side, I was such an utterly complete failure at it that I blush now when I think of the figure I made. Fortunately it did not last long, about two months, and in spite of my colossal ineptitude I really think I earned all that I received, which was my keep and a pair of boots.

Not indeed that I could have claimed to have been a shining success in any of the various commercial paths wherein I had strayed, more or less painfully, but I must plead that I was very young, and entirely without the guidance which youngsters have a right to expect from their elders. And now I must make a jump of a great many years, to the time in fact when relentless need drove me into commercialism again. And with this what I suppose I must call the serious part of my narrative begins.