CHAPTER I

Produced by Charles Franks, Michelle Shephard, and the

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IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES

A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN COLORADO

BY G. A. HENTY

[Illustration: HUNTING DOG SAVES JERRY FROM THE RAPIDS.]

PREFACE

MY DEAR LADS,

Until comparatively lately that portion of the United States in which I

have laid this story was wholly unexplored. The marvellous cañons of the

Colorado River extend through a country absolutely bare and waterless,

and save the tales told by a few hunters or gold-seekers who, pressed by

Indians, made the descent of some of them, but little was known

regarding this region. It was not until 1869 that a thorough exploration

of the cañons was made by a government expedition under the command of

Major Powell. This expedition passed through the whole of the cañons,

from those high up on the Green River to the point where the Colorado

issues out on to the plains. Four years were occupied by the party in

making a detailed survey of the course of the main river and its

tributaries. These explorations took place some eight or nine years

after the date of my story. The country in which the Big Wind River has

its source, and the mountain chains contained in it, were almost unknown

until, after the completion of the railway to California, the United

States government was forced to send an expedition into it to punish the

Indians for their raids upon settlers in the plains. For details of the

geography and scenery I have relied upon the narrative of Mr.

Baillie-Grohman, who paid several visits to the country in 1878 and the

following years in quest of sport, and was the first white man to

penetrate the recesses of the higher mountains. At that time the Indians

had almost entirely deserted the country. For the details of the dangers

and difficulties of the passage through the cañons I am indebted to the

official report of Major Powell, published by the United States

government.

Yours sincerely,

G. A. HENTY.

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. TOM'S CHOICE

II. FINDING FRIENDS

III. ON THE PLAINS

IV. LEAPING HORSE

V. IN DANGER

VI. UNITED

VII. CHASED

VIII. IN SAFETY

IX. A BAD TIME

X. AN AVALANCHE

XI. WINTER

XII. THE SNOW FORT

XIII. A FRESH START

XIV. AN INDIAN ATTACK

XV. THE COLORADO

XVI. AFLOAT IN CANOES

XVII. THE GRAND CANON

XVIII. BACK TO DENVER

XIX. A FORTUNE

ILLUSTRATIONS

Hunting Dog Saves Jerry From The Rapids

Carry Reads Uncle Harry's Letter

Jerry Gives Tom A Lesson In Shooting

Leaping Horse Mounted, And Rode Across The Stream

A Moment Later The Indian Fell Forward On His Face

"There Is Another Avalanche, Keep Your Backs To The Wall, Boys"

They Went Out To Look At The Indian The Chief Had Shot

"No Good Fight Here," Said Leaping Horse.

CHAPTER I

TOM'S CHOICE

"I can be of no use here, Carry. What am I good for? Why, I could not

earn money enough to pay for my own food, even if we knew anyone who

would help me to get a clerkship. I am too young for it yet. I would

rather go before the mast than take a place in a shop. I am too young

even to enlist. I know just about as much as other boys at school, and I

certainly have no talent anyway, as far as I can see at present. I can

sail a boat, and I won the swimming prize a month ago, and the sergeant

who gives us lessons in single-stick and boxing says that he considers

me his best pupil with the gloves, but all these things put together

would not bring me in sixpence a week. I don't want to go away, and

nothing would induce me to do so if I could be of the slightest use to

you here. But can I be of any use? What is there for me to look forward

to if I stay? I am sure that you would be always worrying over me if I

did get some sort of situation that you would know father and mother

would not have liked to see me in, and would seem to offer no chance for

the future, whereas if I went out there it would not matter what I did,

and anything I earned I could send home to you."

The speaker was a lad of sixteen. He and his sister, who was two years

his senior, were both dressed in deep mourning, and were sitting on a

bench near Southsea Castle looking across to Spithead, and the Isle of

Wight stretching away behind. They had three days before followed their

mother to the grave, and laid her beside their father, a lieutenant of

the navy, who had died two years before. This was the first time they

had left the house, where remained their four sisters--Janet, who came

between Carry and Tom; Blanche, who was fourteen; Lucie, twelve; and

Harriet, eight. Tom had proposed the walk.

"Come out for some fresh air, Carry," he had said. "You have been shut

up for a month. Let us two go together;" and Carry had understood that

he wanted a talk alone with her. There was need, indeed, that they

should look the future in the face. Since Lieutenant Wade's death their

means had been very straitened. Their mother had received a small

pension as his widow, and on this, eked out by drafts reluctantly drawn

upon the thousand pounds she had brought him on her marriage, which had

been left untouched during his lifetime, they had lived since his death.

Two hundred pounds had been drawn from their little capital, and the

balance was all that now remained. It had long been arranged that Carry

and Janet should go out as governesses as soon as they each reached the

age of eighteen, but it was now clear that Carry must remain at home in

charge of the young ones.

That morning the two girls had had a talk together, and had settled

that, as Janet was too young to take even the humblest place as a

governess, they would endeavour to open a little school, and so, for the

present at any rate, keep the home together. Carry could give music

lessons, for she was already an excellent pianist, having been well

taught by her mother, who was an accomplished performer, and Janet was

sufficiently advanced to teach young girls. She had communicated their

decision to Tom, who had heartily agreed with it.

"The rent is only twenty pounds a year," he said, "and, as you say, the

eight hundred pounds bring in thirty-two pounds a year, which will pay

the rent and leave something over. If you don't get many pupils at first

it will help, and you can draw a little from the capital till the school

gets big enough to pay all your expenses. It is horrible to me that I

don't seem to be able to help, but at any rate I don't intend to remain

a drag upon you. If mother had only allowed me to go to sea after

father's death I should be off your hands now, and I might even have

been able to help a little. As it is, what is there for me to do here?"

And then he pointed out how hopeless the prospect seemed at Portsmouth.

Carry was silent for a minute or two when he ceased speaking, and sat

looking out over the sea.

"Certainly, we should not wish you to go into a shop, Tom, and what you

say about going into an office is also right enough. We have no sort of

interest, and the sort of clerkship you would be likely to get here

would not lead to anything. I know what you are thinking about--that

letter of Uncle Harry's; but you know that mother could not bear the

thought of it, and it would be dreadful for us if you were to go away."

"I would not think of going, Carry, if I could see any chance of helping

you here, and I don't want to go as I did when the letter first came. It

seems such a cowardly thing to run away and leave all the burden upon

your shoulders, yours and Janet's, though I know it will be principally

on yours; but what else is there to do? It was not for my own sake that

I wanted before to go, but I did not see what there was for me to do

here even when I grew up. Still, as mother said it would break her heart

if I went away, of course there was an end of it for the time, though I

have always thought it would be something to fall back upon if, when I

got to eighteen or nineteen, nothing else turned up, which seemed to me

very likely would be the case. Certainly, if it came to a choice between

that and enlisting, I should choose that: and now it seems to me the

only thing to be done."

"It is such a long way off, Tom," the girl said in a tone of deep pain;

"and you know when people get away so far they seem to forget those at

home and give up writing. We had not heard from uncle for ten years when

that letter came."

"There would be no fear of my forgetting you, Carry. I would write to

you whenever I got a chance."

"But even going out there does not seem to lead to anything, Tom. Uncle

has been away twenty-five years, and he does not seem to have made any

money at all."

"Oh, but then he owned in his letter, Carry, that it was principally his

own fault. He said he had made a good sum several times at mining, and

chucked it away; but that next time he strikes a good thing he was

determined to keep what he made and to come home to live upon it. I

sha'n't chuck it away if I make it, but shall send every penny home that

I can spare."

"But uncle will not expect you, Tom, mother refused so positively to let

you go. Perhaps he has gone away from the part of the country he wrote

from, and you may not be able to find him."

"I shall be able to find him," Tom said confidently. "When that letter

went, I sent one of my own to him, and said that though mother would not

hear of my going now, I might come out to him when I got older if I

could get nothing to do here, and asked him to send me a few words

directed to the post-office telling me how I might find him. He wrote

back saying that if I called at the Empire Saloon at a small town called

Denver, in Colorado, I should be likely to hear whereabouts he was, and

that he would sometimes send a line there with instructions if he should

be long away."

"I see you have set your mind on going, Tom," Carry said sadly.

"No, I have not set my mind on it, Carry. I am perfectly ready to stop

here if you can see any way for me to earn money, but I cannot stop here

idle, eating and drinking, while you girls are working for us all."

"If you were but three or four years older, Tom, I should not so much

mind, and though it would be a terrible blow to part with you, I do not

see that you could do anything better; but you are only sixteen."

"Yes, but I am strong and big for my age; I am quite as strong as a good

many men. Of course I don't mean the boatmen and the dockyard maties,

but men who don't do hard work. Anyhow, there are lots of men who go out

to America who are no stronger than I am, and of course I shall get

stronger every month. I can walk thirty miles a day easy, and I have

never had a day's illness."

"It is not your strength, Tom; I shall have no fears about your breaking

down; on the contrary, I should say that a life such as uncle wrote

about, must be wonderfully healthy. But you seem so young to make such a

long journey, and you may have to travel about in such rough places and

among such rough men before you can find Uncle Harry."

"I expect that I shall get on a great deal easier than a man would," Tom

said confidently. "Fellows might play tricks with a grown-up fellow who

they see is a stranger and not up to things, and might get into quarrels

with him, but no one is likely to interfere with a boy. No, I don't

think that there is anything in that, Carry,--the only real difficulty

is in going away so far from you, and perhaps being away for a long

time."

"Well, Tom," the girl said after another pause, "it seems very terrible,

but I own that I can see nothing better for you. There is no way that

you can earn money here, and I am sure we would rather think of you as

mining and hunting with uncle, than as sitting as a sort of boy-clerk in

some dark little office in London or Portsmouth. It is no worse than

going to sea anyhow, and after all you may, as uncle says, hit on a rich

mine and come back with a fortune. Let us be going home. I can hardly

bear to think of it now, but I will tell Janet, and will talk about it

again this evening after the little ones have gone to bed."

Tom had the good sense to avoid any expression of satisfaction. He gave

Carry's hand a silent squeeze, and as they walked across the common

talked over their plans for setting to work to get pupils, and said no

word that would give her a hint of the excitement he felt at the thought

of the life of adventure in a wild country that lay before him. He had

in his blood a large share of the restless spirit of enterprise that has

been the main factor in making the Anglo-Saxons the dominant race of the

world. His father and his grandfather had both been officers in the

royal navy, and a great-uncle had commanded a merchantman that traded in

the Eastern seas, and had never come back from one of its voyages; there

had been little doubt that all on board had been massacred and the ship

burned by Malay pirates. His Uncle Harry had gone away when little more

than a boy to seek a fortune in America, and had, a few years after his

landing there, crossed the plains with one of the first parties that

started out at news of the discovery of gold in California.

Tom himself had longed above all things to be a sailor. His father had

not sufficient interest to get him into the royal navy, but had intended

to obtain for him a berth as apprentice in the merchant service; but his

sudden death had cut that project short, and his mother, who had always

been opposed to it, would not hear of his going to sea. But the life

that now seemed open to him was in the boy's eyes even preferable to

that he had longed for. The excitement of voyages to India or China and

back was as nothing to that of a gold-seeker and hunter in the West,

where there were bears and Indians and all sorts of adventures to be

encountered. He soon calmed down, however, on reaching home. The empty

chair, the black dresses and pale faces of the girls, brought back in

its full force the sense of loss.

In a short time he went up to his room, and sat there thinking it all

over again, and asking himself whether it was fair of him to leave his

sisters, and whether he was not acting selfishly in thus choosing his

own life. He had gone over this ground again and again in the last few

days, and he now came to the same conclusion, namely, that he could do

no better for the girls by stopping at home, and that he had not decided

upon accepting his uncle's invitation because the life was just what he

would have chosen, but because he could see nothing that offered equal

chances of his being able permanently to aid them at home.

When he came downstairs again Carry said:

"The others have gone out, Tom; you had better go round and see some of

your school-fellows. You look fagged and worn out. You cannot help me

here, and I shall go about my work more cheerfully if I know that you

are out and about."

Tom nodded, put on his cap and went out; but he felt far too restless to

follow her advice and call on some of his friends, so he walked across

the common and lay down on the beach and went all over it again, until

at last he went off to sleep, and did not wake up until, glancing at his

watch, he found that it was time to return to tea. He felt fresher and

better for his rest, for indeed he had slept but little for the past

fortnight, and Carry nodded approvingly as she saw that his eyes were

brighter, and the lines of fatigue and sleeplessness less strongly

marked on his face.

Two hours later, when the younger girls had gone to bed, Carry said:

"Now we will have a family council. I have told Janet about our talk,

Tom, and she is altogether on your side, and only regrets that she is

not a boy and able to go out with you. We need not go over the ground

again, we are quite agreed with you that there seems no prospect here of

your obtaining work such as we should like to see you at, or that would

lead to anything. There are only two things open to you, the one is to

go to sea, the other to go out to Uncle Harry. You are old to go as an

apprentice, but not too old, and that plan could be carried out; still,

we both think that the other is better. You would be almost as much

separated from us if you went to sea as you would be if you went out to

America. But before you quite decide I will read uncle's letter, which I

have found this afternoon among some other papers."

She took out the letter and opened it.

"'My dear Jack,--I am afraid it is a very long time since I wrote last;

I don't like to think how long. I have been intending to do so a score

of times, but you know I always hated writing, and I have been waiting

to tell you that I had hit upon something good at last. Even now I can

only tell you that I have been knocking about and getting older, but so

far I cannot say I have been getting richer. As I told you when I wrote

last I have several times made good hauls and struck it rich, but

somehow the money has always slipped through my fingers. Sometimes I

have put it into things that looked well enough but turned out

worthless; sometimes I have chucked it away in the fool's manner men do

here. I have just come back from a prospecting tour in the country of

the Utes, where I found two or three things that seemed good; one of

them first-rate, the best thing, I think, I have seen since I came out

here.

"'Unfortunately I cannot do anything with them at present, for the Utes

are getting troublesome, and it would be as much as one's life is worth

to go back there with a small party; so that matter must rest for a bit,

and I must look out in another quarter until the Utes settle down again.

I am going to join a hunting party that starts for the mountains next

week. I have done pretty nearly as much hunting as mining since I came

out, and though there is no big pile to be made at it, it is a pretty

certain living. How are you all getting on? I hope some day to drop in

on your quiet quarters at Southsea with some big bags of gold-dust, and

to end my days in a nook by your fireside; which I know you will give

me, old fellow, with or without the gold bags. '"

[Illustration: CARRY READS UNCLE HARRY'S LETTER.]

"'I suppose your boy is thirteen or fourteen years old by this time.

That is too young for him to come out here, but if in two or three years

you don't see any opening for him at home, send him out to me, and I

will make a man of him; and even if he does not make a fortune in

gold-seeking, there are plenty of things a young fellow can turn his

hand to in this country with a good certainty of making his way, if he

is but steady. You may think that my example is not likely to be of much

benefit to him, but I should do for an object lesson, and seriously,

would do my very best to set him in a straight path. Anyhow, three or

four years' knocking about with me would enable him to cut his

eye-teeth, and hold his own in the world. At the end of that time he

could look round and see what line he would take up, and I need not say

that I would help him to the utmost of my power, and though I have not

done any good for myself I might do good for him.

"'In the first place, I know pretty well every one in Colorado, Montana,

and Idaho; in the next place, in my wanderings I have come across a

score of bits of land in out-of-the-way places where a young fellow

could set up a ranche and breed cattle and horses and make a good thing

of it; or if he has a turn for mechanics, I could show him places where

he could set up saw-mills for lumber, with water-power all the year

round, and with markets not far away. Of course, he is too young yet,

but unless he is going to walk in your steps and turn sailor he might do

worse than come out to me in three or four years' time. Rough as the

life is, it is a man's life, and a week of it is worth more than a

year's quill-driving in an office. It is a pity your family have run to

girls, for if one boy had made up his mind for the sea you might have

spared me another.'

"That is all. You know mother sent an answer saying that dear father had

gone, and that she should never be able to let you go so far away and

take up such a rough and dangerous life. However, Tom, as you wrote to

uncle, her refusal would not matter, and by his sending you instructions

how to find him, it is evident that he will not be surprised at your

turning up. In the first place, are you sure that you would prefer this

to the sea?"

"Quite sure, Carry; I should like it much better. But the principal

thing is that I may soon be able to help you from there, while it would

be years before I should get pay enough at sea to enable me to do so."

"Then that is settled, Tom. And now, I suppose," and her voice quivered

a little, "you will want to be off as soon as you can?"

"I think so," Tom replied. "If I am to go, it seems to me the sooner I

go the better; there is nothing that I can do here, and we shall all be

restless and unsettled until I am off."

Carry nodded. "I think you are right, Tom; we shall never be able to

settle to our work here when we are thinking of your going away. The

first thing to do will be to draw some money from the bank. There will

be your outfit to get and your passage to pay to America, and a supply

of money to take you out West, and keep you until you join uncle."

"That is what I hate," Tom said gloomily. "It seems beastly that when I

want to help you I must begin by taking some of your money."

"That can't be helped," Carry said cheerfully. "One must not grudge a

sprat to catch a whale, and besides it would cost ever so much more if

we had to apprentice you to the sea, and get your outfit. You will not

want many clothes now. You have enough for the voyage and journey, and I

should think it would be much better for you to get what you want out

there, when you will have uncle to advise what is necessary. I should

really think some flannel shirts and a rough suit for the voyage will be

the principal things."

"I should think so, certainly," Tom agreed. "The less baggage one

travels with the better, for when I leave the railway I shall only want

what I can carry with me or pack on horses. Anything else would only be

a nuisance. As to a rough suit for the voyage, the clothes I had before

I put these on" (and he glanced at his black suit) "will do capitally.

Of course I shall go steerage. I can get out for four or five pounds

that way, and I shall be quite as well off as I should be as an

apprentice. I know I must have some money, but I won't take more than is

absolutely necessary. I am all right as far as I can see for everything,

except three or four flannel shirts. I don't see that another thing will

be required except a small trunk to hold them and the clothes I have on,

which I don't suppose I shall ever wear again, and a few other things.

You know I would only allow you to have this one black suit made. I was

thinking of this, and it would have been throwing away money to have got

more. Of course, I don't know what I shall want out there. I know it is

a long way to travel by rail, and I may have to keep myself for a month

before I find uncle. I should think five-and-twenty pounds when I land

would be enough for everything."

"I shall draw fifty pounds," Carry said positively. "As you say, your

outfit will really cost nothing; ten pounds will pay for your journey to

Liverpool and your passage; that will leave you forty pounds in your

pocket when you land. That is the very least you could do with, for you

may find you will have to buy a horse, and though I believe they are

very cheap out there, I suppose you could not get one under ten pounds;

and then there would be the saddle and bridle and food for the journey,

and all sorts of things. I don't think forty pounds will be enough."

"I won't have a penny more, anyhow," Tom said. "If I find a horse too

expensive I can tramp on foot."

"And you must be sure not to get robbed," Janet said, breaking in for

the first time. "Just fancy your finding yourself without money in such

a place as that. I will make you a belt to wear under your things, with

pockets for the money."

"I hope I should not be such a fool as that, Janet, but anyhow I will be

as careful as I can. I shall be very glad of the belt. One does not know

what the fellows might be up to, and I would certainly rather not have

my money loose in my pocket; but even if I were robbed I don't think it

would be as desperate as you think. I expect a boy could always find

something to do to earn his living, and I should try and work my way

along somehow, but as that would not be pleasant at all I shall take

good care of my money, you may be sure."

For an hour they sat talking, and before the council broke up it was

agreed that they should look in the newspaper in the morning for a list

of vessels sailing for America, and should at once write and take a

passage.

There was no time lost. Carry felt that it would be best for them all

that the parting should be got over as soon as possible. Letters were

written the next morning to two steamship companies and to the owners of

two sailing vessels asking the prices of steerage passages, agreeing

that if there was not much difference it would be better to save perhaps

a fortnight by taking the passage in a steamship.

The replies showed that the difference was indeed trifling, and a week

after their receipt Tom Wade started from Portsmouth to Liverpool. Even

at the last moment he was half-inclined to change his plans, it seemed

so hard to leave his sisters alone; but Carry and Janet had both

convinced themselves that his scheme was the best, and would not hear of

his wavering now. They kept up a show of good spirits until the last,

talked confidently of the success of their own plans, and how they

should set about carrying them out as soon as they were free to act. The

younger girls, although implored by the elders not to give way to their

grief at the departure of their brother, were in a state of constant

tearfulness, and were in consequence frequently got rid of by being sent

on errands. Tom, too, took them out for hours every day, and by telling

them stories of the wild animals he should hunt, and the Indians he

should see, and of the stores of gold he should find hidden, generally

brought them home in a more cheerful state of mind.

At last the parting was over, and after making heroic efforts to be

cheerful to the end, Tom waved a last adieu with his handkerchief to the

five weeping figures on the platform, and then threw himself back in his

seat and gave free vent to his own feelings. Two girls sitting beside

him sniggered at the sight of the strong-built young fellow giving way

to tears, but a motherly-looking woman opposite presently put her hand

on his knee.

"Don't be ashamed of crying, my lad," she said. "I have got a son years

older than you, and we always have a good cry together every time he

starts on a long voyage. Are you going far? I suppose those are your

sisters? I see you are all in black. Lost someone dear to you, no doubt?

It comes to us all, my boy, sooner or later."

"I am going to America," Tom replied, "and may not be back for years.

Yes, those are my sisters, and what upsets me most is that I have to

leave them all alone, for we have lost both our parents."

"Dear, dear, that is sad indeed! No wonder you are all upset. Well,

well, America is not so very far away--only a ten days' voyage by

steamer, they tell me, and my boy is away in a sailing ship. He is in

China, I reckon, now; he sailed five months ago, and did not expect to

be home under a year. I worry about him sometimes, but I know it is of

no use doing that. The last thing he said when I bade good-bye to him

was, 'Keep up your spirits, mother'; and I try to do so."

The old lady went on talking about her son, and Tom, listening to her

kindly attempts to draw him out of his own troubles, grew interested,

and by the time they reached Winchester, where she left the train, he

had shaken off his first depression. It was a long journey with several

changes, and he did not arrive in Liverpool until six o'clock in the

evening, having been nearly twelve hours on the road. Carry's last

injunction had been, "Take a cab when you get to Liverpool, Tom, and

drive straight down to the docks. Liverpool is a large place, and you

might get directed wrong. I shall be more comfortable if I know that, at

any rate, you will go straight on board."

Tom had thought it an unnecessary expense, but as he saw that Carry

would be more comfortable about him if he followed her advice, he

promised to do so, and was not sorry for it as he drove through the

streets; for, in spite of cutting down everything that seemed

unnecessary for the voyage and subsequent journey, the portmanteau was

too heavy to carry far with comfort, and although prepared to rough it

to any extent when he had once left England, he felt that he should not

like to make his way along the crowded streets with his trunk on his

shoulder.

The cabman had no difficulty in finding the _Parthia_, which was still

in the basin. Tom was, however, only just in time to get on board, for

the men were already throwing off the warps, and ten minutes later she

passed out through the dock-gates, and soon anchored in the middle of

the river. Tom had been on board too many ships at Portsmouth to feel

any of that bewilderment common to emigrants starting on their first

voyage. He saw that at present everyone was too busy to attend to him,

and so he put his portmanteau down by the bulwark forward, and leaning

on the rail watched the process of warping the ship out of the docks.

There were a good many steerage passengers forward, but at present the

after-part of the ship was entirely deserted, as the cabin passengers

would not come on board until either late at night or early next

morning. When the anchor had been let drop he took up his trunk and

asked a sailor where he ought to go to.

"Show me your ticket. Ah! single man's quarters, right forward."

There he met a steward, who, after looking at his ticket, said: "You

will see the bunks down there, and can take any one that is unoccupied.

I should advise you to put your trunk into it, and keep the lid shut.

People come and go in the morning, and you might find that your things

had gone too. It would be just as well for you to keep it locked through

the voyage. I see that you have got a cord round it. Keep it corded; the

more things there are to unfasten to get at the contents the less chance

there is of anyone attempting it."

The place was crowded with berths, mere shallow trays, each containing a

straw mattress and pillow and two coloured blankets. They were in three

tiers, one above the other, and were arranged in lines three deep, with

a narrow passage between. He saw by the number into which bags and

packets had been thrown that the upper berths were the favourites, but

he concluded that the lower tiers were preferable. "It will be

frightfully hot and stuffy here," he said to himself, "and I should say

the lower berths will be cooler than the upper." He therefore placed his

trunk in one of those next to the central passage and near the door, and

then went up on deck.

The _Parthia_ was a Cunarder, and although not equal in size to the

great ships of the present day, was a very fine vessel. The fare had

been somewhat higher than that for which he could have had a passage in

a sailing ship, but in addition to his saving time, there was the

advantage that on board the steamers, passengers were not obliged to

provide their own bedding, as they had to do in sailing vessels, and

also the food was cooked for them in the ship's galleys.

The first meal was served soon after the anchor dropped, and consisted

of a bowl of cocoa and a large piece of bread. Half an hour later a

tender came alongside with the last batch of steerage passengers, and

Tom was interested in watching the various groups as they came on

board--men, women, and children.

"Well," he said to himself, "I do think I am better fitted to make my

way out there than most of these people are, for they look as helpless

and confused as a flock of sheep. I pity those women with children. It

will be pretty crowded in our quarters, but there is a chance of getting

a fair night's sleep, while in a place crowded with babies and children

it would be awful."

Being a kind-hearted lad he at once set to work to help as far as he

could, volunteering to carry children down below, and to help with boxes

and bundles.

In many cases his assistance was thankfully accepted, but in some it was

sharply refused, the people's manner clearly showing their suspicions of

his motive. He was not surprised at this after all the warnings Carry

had given him against putting any confidence in strangers, but was

satisfied, after an hour's hard work, that he had rendered things

somewhat easier for many a worried and anxious woman. It was getting

dusk even on deck by the time he had finished.

"Thank you, lad," a man, who went up the companion ladder with him, said

as they stepped on to the deck. "You have done my missis a good turn by

taking care of those three young ones while we straightened up a bit,

and I saw you helping others too. You are the right sort, I can see.

There ain't many young chaps as puts themselves out of the way to do a

bit of kindness like that. My name is Bill Brown; what is yours?"

"Tom Wade. I had nothing to do, and was glad to be of a little help.

People who have never been on board ship before naturally feel confused

in such a crowd."

"Have you been to sea?"

"Not on a voyage, but I have lived at Portsmouth and have often been on

board troopships and men-of-war, so it does not seem so strange to me."

"Are you by yourself, or have you friends with you?"

"I am alone," Tom replied. "I am going out to join an uncle in the

States."

"I have been across before," the man said. "I am a carpenter, and have

worked out there six months, and came home six weeks back to fetch the

others over. I have got a place, where I was working before, to go to as

soon as I land. It makes a lot of difference to a man."

"It does indeed," Tom agreed. "I know if I were going out without any

fixed object beyond taking the first work that came to hand, I should

not feel so easy and comfortable about it as I do now."

"I have got two or three of my mates on board who are going out on my

report of the place, and three families from my wife's village. She and

the youngsters have been staying with her old folk while I was away. So

we are a biggish party, and if you want anything done on the voyage you

have only got to say the word to me."