A Story of Adventure in the North Sea and in China.

By H. C. Moore, Author of 'Britons at Bay,' &c.

CHAPTER I.

'Iwant a North Sea fisherman's outfit.'

'Yes, sir,' the Grimsby shopkeeper answered cheerfully, suspecting that his young, gentlemanly-looking customer required the things for a fancy-dress entertainment or theatricals. In two or three minutes he had produced for inspection a jersey, thick trousers—commonly called 'fear-noughts'—heavy top-boots, and a set of oilskins.

'I will try them on,' the lad said, and, retiring behind a screen, changed his clothes. Then he looked round for a glass, anxious to satisfy himself that he had the appearance of a North Sea fisherman. The shopkeeper, unasked, assured him that he had, and, as there was no one else there who could be consulted, the youth purchased the outfit.

'Do my other things up in a parcel,' he said to the shopkeeper. 'I will keep these on.'

'But it's raining hard, sir,' the man exclaimed, not believing that his customer wanted the clothes for real use.

'I don't mind that at all. I want a little of the newness rubbed off. Now I come to think of it, I might just as well have had a second-hand outfit.'

The shopkeeper rustled the brown paper, and pretended that he had not heard what was said.

'May I send it home?' he asked when he had made a neat parcel of the suit, cap, and boots which the boy had taken off.

'Yes. I will write the address.'

When the bill had been paid, the lad stepped out into the dirty Grimsby street, and strode off in the direction of the docks.

The clothes were meant for use after all. Charlie Page—for that was the lad's name—was not going to a fancy-dress ball, but had purchased his fisherman's outfit because, on the following morning, he was to begin work as a deck hand on board the steam trawler, Sparrow-hawk.

How it came about that he was bound for the Dogger Bank needs explanation. His father was a prosperous Lincolnshire man who had built up a large export business, which was now about to be converted into a limited liability company. Mr. Page was to become managing director of the new company, but, unfortunately, he could find no suitable position in the concern for his son Charlie. He determined, therefore, to purchase, with a portion of the money which he would receive from the company, a new business for his son.

He had heard that there were three Grimsby steam trawlers for sale, and entered into correspondence with the respective owners. The price which they asked for the trawlers was not high if they really earned what it was asserted they did, but Mr. Page had a strong suspicion that the amount of their profits was exaggerated.

'Shall I go to Grimsby and discover the truth?' Charlie said to his father one evening rather suddenly. 'I might get a job on one of those three trawlers and keep a sharp look-out all the while I was aboard her. I could count the boxes of fish, and get all the information that I could from the crew.'

'A good idea, my boy, but do you think that you could carry it out? A North Sea fisherman's life is a terribly rough one. It would not be a pleasure trip for you.'

There was a great deal of discussion before Charlie's daring plan was finally adopted. Mr. Page was struck by his son's grit and keenness, and knew, moreover, that the experience would do him good. In his own young days, before he returned to Lincolnshire and settled down to business, Mr. Page had spent three eventful years in South America, and although he had had many decidedly unpleasant adventures, he by no means regretted them. He was glad, too, to find that his son inherited some of his love of adventure, especially as it was to be used, in this case, for a good, sensible purpose. Charlie was only sixteen, but he was big and strong for his age, and the sea air and hard life would probably do him good physically as well as morally.

'I will give you ten pounds,' he said to Charlie on the following morning, 'and as you are not likely to be away much more than a week, it will, I think, be ample for your wants.'

Charlie thanked him heartily, and an hour or two later started for Grimsby. He knew the town well, and making his way to the docks, had little difficulty in finding where the Sparrow-hawk lay. She was coaling when he discovered her, and knowing that all hands would be busy, he sat down on the black scaffold-like dock and watched from a distance as truck after truck was tilted over, sending its load of coal into the shoot, down which it ran with a rattle on to the ship's deck. The trawler's men, black as niggers, shovelled the coal quickly into the hold. Fortunately the greater portion of the load had been taken aboard before Charlie arrived, and after waiting for about half an hour, he saw the last truck-load shot down. He knew then that in about an hour's time some of the Sparrow-hawk's men would be coming ashore. He watched them with interest as, having shovelled all the coal into the hold, they turned the hose on the deck, and with brooms and swabs worked hard to remove the coal-dust which coated everything. When this task was finished, the men gathered around two buckets and washed themselves. They needed washing badly.

The first two men who came ashore had friends waiting for them, so that Charlie had no opportunity of speaking to them. The third man to come ashore had no one waiting for him. He was a short, bow-legged little man, with a goatee beard and a small brass ring in the lobe of each ear. Charlie spoke to him.

'Thank you, sir,' the man answered, as he took the tobacco which Charlie offered. 'Smoking is not allowed here, so I will save it till I get outside the gates.'

'Are you a Grimsby man?' Charlie asked.

'No fear. I come from Gorleston. If this was Yarmouth I should be able to enjoy myself at home, but as it's Grimsby I don't expect to have much of an evening.'

Charlie felt that he had come across the very man he wanted.

'Come to my hotel and have a chat,' he suggested. 'I want some information about North Sea fishermen.'

'Certainly, sir. Are you a journalist?'

The bow-legged fisherman had a great respect for journalists, having on one occasion received from a newspaper representative a good big 'tip' for describing how a trawler worked.

Charlie could not, however, by the greatest stretch of imagination, call himself a journalist, and so he ignored the question put to him. The fisherman put his silence down to modesty.

The hotel at which Charlie had taken a room was close to the docks, and, therefore, the manager and waiters were not horrified, as they would have been at a London hotel, at seeing a rough fisherman brought into the building.

After Charlie had seen that the man had some food, they went to his sitting-room.

'I'm happy now, sir,' the fisherman declared, having lighted a pipe and thrown himself back into a roomy chair.

For a few minutes there was silence. Then Charlie said, 'I should very much like to make a trip to the North Sea on a steam trawler.'

'I should not advise you to do so, sir. A trawler is no place for a gentleman.'

'Nevertheless, I mean to go out in one.'

'Ah! I see your game, sir. You have heard what a rough time we fellows have in the North Sea, and you have come down here to get information, and then put it in a London newspaper. But it's no good, sir. There's no skipper in the North Sea who wouldn't guess what you were up to, and make some excuse for not taking you aboard his ship. You must give up the idea, sir.'

'I mean to get a job on a trawler, and go to sea as an ordinary fisherman. Then I shall be able to obtain, from personal observation, all the information I want.'

The bow-legged fisherman sat up in his chair deeply interested.

'That's a splendid idea, sir,' he declared, 'and I only wish you could get a job on the Sparrow-hawk, for you would see enough on that trawler to make you write till you wore out your pen. The skipper is an old villain, and that crafty too——'

The bow-legged fisherman did not finish his speech, but nodded his head, and raised his hands in horror, as if words were too weak to express the real character of the skipper. Naturally, Charlie became more anxious than ever to make a trip on the Sparrow-hawk.

'Can't I get a job on her?' he asked.

'No, sir. All the same hands are taken on for the next trip.'

'Couldn't I bribe one of them to stay away, and let me go aboard in his place?'

'Pretending that you are he?'

'Yes.'

''Course you could. Take my place, sir.'

'I am afraid that is not possible,' Charlie remarked, thinking of the fisherman's bow legs and goatee beard.

'Why not? It isn't hard to pretend you are bandy-legged. Lots of boys pretend they are bandy-legged when they see me coming.'

'It would be rather tiring to have to continue the pretence for two or three weeks. Moreover, I haven't a beard.'

'You could say you had shaved it off.'

'That would mean that I should have to shave nothing every morning, just to keep up the deception. If I didn't, the crew would wonder why my beard didn't grow. But, joking apart, I am very anxious to make a trip in the Sparrow-hawk, and if you, at the last moment, will pretend that you are too ill to go aboard, and will send me as a substitute, I will pay you your wages, and give you a present as well.'

'I agree, sir,' the fisherman declared, promptly.

'When does the Sparrow-hawk sail?' Charlie asked.

'In two days' time.'

'Then I must buy my outfit to-morrow. Where shall I meet you to-morrow afternoon?'

'At the Fishermen's Home, sir.'

'Very well. I will be there at four o'clock, and here is half-a-sovereign for you, to show that I am in earnest.'

'Thank you, sir,' the fisherman exclaimed, and departed, more than ever convinced that journalists were the most generous fellows in the world.

(Continued on page 198.)