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Copyright. 1891, by Beadle & Adams. Entered at Post Office, New York, N.Y.,as second class matter. Nov. 19, eed

 

M. J. 1VERS & CO, Publishers

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Copyright, 1891, by Beadle & Adams. Entered at Post Office, New York, N.Y., as second class matter. Noy. 19, 1899,
' ae nnn ee Se ee ee ape ee ss a =< 4
r M. J. IVERS & CO., Publishers i
Published ( a & ms “ Dy i Sis . Price 5 Cents. i
0. - Ev Week James Sullivan, Proprietor,) $2.50 a Year. Ol. 5,
ENG TY CEne 379 Pearl Street, New York. Pies

 

| - DICK, THE STOWAWAY.

BY CHARLES MORRIS.

4

i

t
S

iy
/

 

“30, YOUNG ONE,’ HE ROARED, “ YOU'RE TRYING TO STEAL A FREE PASSAGE ABOARD THIS GOOD SHIP,
HEY? DO YOU KNOW WHAT WE GENERALLY DO WITH STOWAWAYS?”

 
   

  
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
 
 
   
 
    
  
    
 
   
   
   
 
   

-

Dick, the Stowaway;

A Yankee Boy’s Strange Cruise,
a
BY CHARLES MORRIS,

AUTHOR OF ‘! WILL WILDFIRE,” “‘ TIE BOSS BOY,” ,
ETC., ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.

A MIDNIGHT SCARE.

“QOucH!”

Such wes the exclamation that suddenly
broke out in the sharp tones vf a youthful
voice,

“Cricky! What’s that? Ain’t nobody touchin’
a coal o’ firs to my big toe?”

There was a hasty scamper of light feet, and
all sunk agin into silence.

The boy, who had heen rudely wakened from
a deep slecp, rubbed his eyes, and strove to
penetrate the thick darixzness surrounding him,
while he felt his toes to see if they were all in
place.

“Hive on both feet. Two big toes fur tally.
Ain’t none on ’em absquatulated,” he continued,
in morecautious tones. ‘ Butit’slucky I waked

Diek, the Stowaway.

 
   
   
   
  
    
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  

pag to preserve them fromthe rats, Jt was’ no -
very agrevable sleeping apartment, but he was
used to roughing it, and in ten minutes was as
sound asleep as if he had been in astate bed in
a palace, ;

Leaving him to finish his slamber as far asthe
rats will permit, we must seek the upper deck
of the good ship Wildwing, and see what sort of
a night is aboard,

It was almost as dark on deck as under
hatches.) Heavy cloud masses swept across tae
upper sky. The wind came in sharp puffs, that
whistled through the rigging and strained tha
bellying sails.. The Lillows cf a rough sea beat
against the ship’s stout sides and lifted her upon
their foaming peaks, as they rolled ever onward,
The sbip’s lights touched the gleam of the
whice-capped waves, giving them aJurid, ghost-
ly effect. Hard drops of rain patt+red upon the
deck. It was decidedly a wild night,

A few figures were dimly visible on deck.
There was was no need for more than the reru-
lar night watch, for the gale was in its decline,
and the good ship nobly obeyed ber helm, plung-
ing through the foaming sea without yielding
an inch from her course. \

The captain came up the companionway and
took a hasty but shrewd observation of the
scene,

‘“How’s her head now, helmsman?” he shout-

 

 

 

  

 

up jist then, or ther moughtn’s been nothin’ left |
o’ me but my right ear. I’ve got a perspirin’ |
notion as it’s rats,
@ ounce bottle full’of daylight down here!

*Spect they’ll go fur my nose next time, ’cause | moro easting.—
it’s handy, and it’s a pretty specimen of a | out, Mr. Blake.” This was dddressed to the
chimpanzee I’d be without no nose.” | officer of the deck.

He rolled over on his rough bed, and felt |

around him in the darkness,

comfortable than so many cobble-stones. Above |
him, within easy reach of his hands.as he lay, |
were the rough timbers of some sort of a frame

ceiling, with thick cross-beains, All around | of the men? Been any ghost-seeing to-night?”

him was utter darkness, and an odor that wag }
far from agreeable. But there were two odd
peculiarities about this bed,

quake was passing beneath. And from outside |

there came a continued swishing noise, a peculiar | swered the officer, doubtfully.

sound, that is never heard upon dry land. |

The fact was that the waters of the broad’) was standing on this very spot, and— Hello
Atlantic lay beneath the boy’s couch, and the | what’s that? Look there!’

sound heard was the wash of ocean billows |

against the sides of a stout ship, that was labor- | deck at the object which had so suddenly at- ’

ing onward through a heavy sea,

‘A feller moughkt as well try to sleep on a | the gloom the outlines of a shadowy, ghostly
wood:pile, with hogs rootin’ under it, and bed- | figure, df diminutive. size, that was gliding

bugs as big 2s cocoanuts a-goin’ fur his corpora-
tion,” growed the boy, as he felt for a more |
comfortable spot. ‘‘ 1d guy a cow and a can
of buttermilk jist now to be back in old York,
a-sleepin’ on a Battery bench, or a-hikin’ dawn
Broadway with the boys. If this here craft
oes to the bottom what’s to come of me, ld
ike to know?” :

As there was nobody to answer his question,
and he could think of no satisfactory answer

himself, he turned over and tried to get to sleep Only themse’ves and the men forward wew
again, first hiding his toes under the edge of a, visible,

Don’t I wish to Moses f had | dog at the helm.

He was stretched | ing down since noon.
upon a heap of hard canvas bags, hardly more |‘as smooth as a duck-pond in another twenty-

Instead of resting | was one.
quiet, asa respectable bed should, it was con-| I’d like to swash it out of them with a few
stantly pitching and tossing, as if an earth- | buckets.of bilge water.”

|-resling across the deck, When they had re- -

ed, in a voice that pierced the storm. k
“*Hast-nor’east,” growled back the old sea-

“* Hase her a point then. She wants a trifle
‘he heart of the gale bas blown

“Yes, sir,” was thereply. “It has been go-
We'll have the Atlaniic

four hours.”
“By the way”—the ‘captain’s voice sunk
lower—‘‘ how is it with that rascaily nonsense :

“Not a whiff.” ;
‘And this isthe night for it, if there ever
Hong their superstitious foldero!}

‘“‘J don’t know about that, captain,” an-
‘Tesaw some-
thing queer myself in my last night wateb. I

He pointed with his right hand across, the

tracted his attention. There appeared through

stealthily across the leeward deck.

“Thunder and biazes! That’s your ghost,
eh?’ ejacu'ated the captain, ashe sprung hastily
toward the figure, | ,

Mr, Blake followed. But at the same instant
the ship lurched heavily upon a passing billow,
The two officers, unprepared for this, were sent

covered their equilibrium and looked again for
the object of their quest, it bad disappeare?

 

 
 

 

 

Dick, tne Stowaway. 3

Captain Hastings hastily strode forward and
accosted the men in an angry tone:

“Which of you was it that was masquerad-
ing amidsbips just now? By the Lord, Dll
make the jac anapes acquainted with the weight
of a tarred rope!”

“None on us, sir,” answered an old sailor,
touching his cap. ‘‘ We haven't stirred a ste)
from the fo’castle. What did you see, captain?”
he continued, ey

The captain looked sharply into the eager
faces of the men. It was evident that they
were all innocent. He turned shortly away.

‘Nothing, Jack,” he replied, in a careless
tone. ‘I got wakened too quickly out of my
sleep, I fancy. Keep your weather-eye open,
and if you see any thing suspicious, snap on to it.”

He turned to Mr. Blake and walked back to
the quarter-deck. :

“The men are right, Blake,” he remarked.
“There’s something on the Wildwing that’s-not
down on the ship’s books. And I’m bound to
ferret out what itis. Keep akeen lookout. It
=. show itself again.”

‘e turned and went below, leaving Mr. Blake
again in charge of the deck. The latter person
was somewhat superstitious, and it was with a
shrinking step that he approached the spot
where the figure had disappeared, hardly ex-

ecting to seea shadowy specter. Busthe faint

ight of the ship’s lamps only revealed empti-
ness and solitude.

Still the. ship reeled before the storm, the
«ind howled in gusts through the rigging, the
lee waves tossed their foam upon the
deck. All this was an old song to the sailors,
and they little heeded the darkness and the
storm. But no sailor ever got accustomed to
the idea of the supernatural, and the moment-
ary excitement of the captain had roused a
tenfold excitement in the men. They argued
that there must be something uncanny aboard
when a hard headed old water spaniel like
poet Hastings had been shaken from his sea
te; y it.

is scene had taken place at a much later
hour than that on which we saw the boy,
crouched upon his hard bed, The night was |
some four hours older, and the first rays of
morning were due in the east in a couple of
hours more.

By paying a second visit to the boy’s sleep-
ing-apartment we may gain some clearer idea
of the ghostly apparition which had so startled
the captain and the watch. .

The lad sat upright upon the hard bags, with
some object grasped in each hand, while a silent
but eager burst of merriment convulsed his
young frame.

“Cracky,butthat there wasa narrer squeak!”
ne ejaculated. ‘It’s lucky I’ve arnt how to
hide in a knot hole. 1. jist spose they’d be fur
pilin’ me overboard if they cotched me}; but
they ain’t goin’ to nab this weasebeasy. Any-
how I’ve got some grub and water, and I’m
hunky fur another day.”

He concealed his prizes in the cracks between
the bags, they consisting of a loaf of bread and
a bottle of water, which he had captured in the
cwok’s galley.

 

*“‘ Wouldn’t the Bowery boys jist go wild if

they knowed that Dusty Dick was playin’
spook aboard a big sbip, and skeerin’ the cap’n
and crew wuss nor a whale? Oh, lawsee! I
ain’t had sich fun since I sewed Bill Blank up
in a hoss blanket, avd ae him out on a meat-
hook in Fulton Market! But if I git qotched
won't they salt me? Anyhow they’ve got to
coteh me fust, and I guess I’ll have my suooze
out.

In a few minutes more be was fast asleep
again, despite the rolling of the ship, to which
he had grown pretty well accustomed during
his many days’ residence in that contracted den.
And while he slept the night passed away, and
morning dawned upon the sea.

The heavy. clouds which had Leén sending
down their pattering rains during the night,
thinned and broke soon after sunrise, and the
rays of the sun gleamed through upon the heav-
ing ocean. It was a magnificent scene as the
red light fell in a long avenue upon the foam-
ing tops of the wildly tossing waves, gilding
them with the rich glory of the sunrise.

The sea was still rough, and an occasional
sharp get of wind tore across the billows, and
swelled out the close-reefed sails. But the
storm had blown itself out, and these were but
its expiring breaths.

“Tay aloft there, and shake out those reefs,”
cried Captain Hastings, in a stentorian voice.
* Make full sail. These cat’s-paws of wind will
die out in an hour, and we'll have it as mild as
May. Put her head due east, helmsman,
We've made too much northing during the
night.”

The men sprung aloft to obey, and soon the
reef knots were loosed, the yards bauled taut,
and the ship, feeling her increased spread of
canvas, plunged her nose into the seas ahead,
and darted onward with new speed. She was
well out on her course, and the coast of Ireland
was expected to loom up into sight within a
day or two more.

‘We're good for Liverpool and a market,
Mr. Blake,” remarked the captain to bis first
officer. ‘In spite of your ghost. But there
was something confoundedly curious about the
way that thing slid out of sight. I’ve my no-
tion about it, and T’ll bet you something nice
that I nab your spook before we're two days
older.” as

The cook is growling about some of the men
being in his caboose last night,” said Mr. Blake.

“ Ahal So the ghost has been abroad on a
grub patrol. It must be a substantial phantom
that travels about on a bread and meat diet.”

During the succeeding night a sharp_lookout
was kept for the mysterious figure. But it
proved without effect. No signs of the specter
were visible. In fact Dick did not venture
abroad, He had laid in enough provisions to
last him, with economy, for two days, and con-
cluded to avoid risks. “Another day passed, and
another night succeeded. His loaf bad run out
ten hours before. He cared little for this, how-
ever, for he was not troubled about provisions,
But bis water-bottle was empty also, and it
was impossible to get along without water. It
was necessary to venture on deck again.

The night was well advanced when he woke
from a sound slumber. He looked inquiringly

me

spars, oh

 

 

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4

Dick, the Stowaway.

 

|
around hha. It was pitch dark, showing that
it was stil. night, for a faint light invaded his
hiding-pla ‘e during the day. He commenced
toslowly creep toward the stern end of the ship.

He had i0t gone far in this direction ere he
found hin self again:t a bulkhead, with the |
cargo heay ed against it almost to the deck tim-
bers. Fee ing his way he quickly discovered a
small ope.iing between this partition and the
deck, thro.igh which he squeezed himself with
seme difficulty. The place in which he now
found bimself was laden. with barrels, and
other merhandise. Still picking his way aft,
it was not long ere he reached a narrow door
that led t> the cabin, This was locked but
Dick seemcd provided with a key, for in a mo-
ment he had it open, and was cautiously sur-
yeying the cabin.

All here was still and deserted! A turned-
down lamy shed a faint light, by which the boy
carefully viewed the surroundings before mov-
ing. He tien crept onward more cautiously
than ever, stole silently up the companion stair,
and took a quiet survey of the ship’s deck, while
he drew in |ong breaths of the cool night air.

No one was near, and in an instant he glided
to the deck, and crept forward, under cover of
various articles which afforded shelter.

The voices of the men came to his ears as he
continued Lis progress, but he managed to keep
out of sight. But it was not possible to go for-
ward under cover. There was aclear space cf |
deck which must be crossed, and Dick; ‘after a |
moment’s hesitation, started to his feet, and
darted with a quick but silent step across to the
next place of shelter. It was a bold move, but
it proved a failure. Therecame a loud cry:

“Here he is! Here goes the ghost! Szatch
‘him, boys, and we’ll see what sort of shadow he
is made of.”

Dick darted back like a flash to his cover.
There came a quick rush, and the voices of
avgry and excited men.

“Where is he? Gone again! By heaven, it’s
not flesh and blood! I saw it a minute ago, and
now it has vanished!”

‘The men hung back in dismay as these words
came from Mr. Blake. They were ready to
swear that the form had faded into mist before
their very eyes.

Dick, in fact, had darted aft 2ike a rabbit be-
hind his cover. Crouching low as he ran he
made for the companionway. But what was
bis dismay to see the burly form and stern face
of Captain Hastings vaguely illuminated by the
‘glow of the cabin light! He had fallen intoa
trap from which only quickness and shrewdness
could extricate him. ick however was a lad
of ready wit. Snateching-up a bunch of oakum
that lay close to bis hand, he flung it with a
quick ain: into the captain’s broad face. Just
as the latter had caught a glimpse of a dim,
gliding figure, the swashing mass took him in
the eyes, causing him to hastily retreat a step,
while a harsh oath came from his bearded lips.

The next minute the ship gave'a wide lurch,
and fell rapidly off before the wind, while the
cordage creaked end the canvas flapped as if a
sudden gale had blown through the rigging,

In fact the helmsman, with his senses sharp-
ened by the hue and cry for the ghost, had been

 

ct LOR 2st! am

startied out of his wits bv what seemed tc hig
wild fancy a winged griffin flying suddenly ‘be-
fore his face. The thing, whatever it was, bad
almost touched him, and loosing the wheel he
sprung wild}y forward over the binnacle light,
uttering a shrillcry of alarm, The suip lett to
steer herself, instantly fell off before the wind,
with the results above mentioned.

‘‘What in the blazes has, brvke loose?” yelled
Mr. Blake, the first mate, ‘ To the sheets, men!
Haul and make fast! Take the wheel, Jack
Brace, and kick that confounded fo%l overboard!
Fetch ber up to the wind with a run! We're
not: bound for the Cape of Good Hope.”

Taking his own advice he darted aft, and
commenced kicking the frightened helmsman
ina fury of rage, at the same moment that the
captain reached the deck, swearing like a mad-
man, 5

At the some time Jack Brace sprung to the
wheel, and the men of the night watch to the
lines, none of them having eyes for ‘the alert
figure that darted forward under tie shadow of
the lee bulwarks. Dick had flung off his ragged
coat, and extended it like wings from his bod
on flashing past the helmsman in bis flight. It

was this that had so scared that superstitious

worthy.

Tne captain stood in front of the companion-
way, There was no escape in that direction,
But the entrance to the forecastle stood open
and unguarded. Dick was about to plunge into
this refuge when he heard some of the men,
roused by the tumult on deck, coming hastily
up the ladder.

He drew back behind the shelter of the fore-
mast until these men had gained the deck, and
moved hastily aft. Then the fugitive sprung
lighthy for the opening, and descended hke a
flash into the depths of the forecastle.- All
around him was utter darkness. There was no
sign nor sound of man present. Dick breathed
more freely.

“Jiminy! but that was a breather!” he ejacu-
lated. ‘Didn’t I guv them a high old race?
Lucky I know the way out o’ this to my ca-
boose; and Pll slide while the coast’s clear.”

He calculated a little hastily. . For at that
instant the ship felt her helm, and came repidly
up to the wind with a lurch that flung him off
his feet. He would have been dashed against
the ship’s sides only that he was suddenly
brought up all standing, by a pair of rough
arms that clasped him in a bear-like embrace.

“Hold your level, shipmate,” came a voice
like the growl of a nor’-wester. ‘It’s old Bob
Backstay that’s uabbed you, and he’s a chap as
don’t let go easy. Be quiet before I tup ye.”

Dick ceased his struggles at this gruff admo-
nition, He might as well have tried to escape
from an iron vise,

 

CHAPTER. I.
BOB BACKSTAY’S YOUNG PROTEGH,

*¢ T.et?s see what sort of a night-hawk this ig,”
growled Dick’s captor. ‘‘The ship’s tuk on
some show of a mermaid, or the like, that’s
skeerin’ the crew into mummies, and I’m bound
to circumnavigate its length and breadth,

f

 

 

 
 

 

Dick, tne Stowaway. 5

 

Ashe tried to strike a match for the purpose
of investigating his captive, Dick made a des-
perate effort to squirm out of his grasp. But he
only brought a love tap from the old tar’s hard
knuckles, that stretched him prostrate on the
di

he struck the match. ;

Its fizzing light revealed a ragged little va-

grant, with a face so smirched with tar and
grime that it was almost impossible to make out
the features. He lay crouched into a confused
heap, his face looking pleadingly up to bis cap-
tor.
‘‘Oh! won’t you let me go, Mr. Blackbeard?”
he piteously begged. ‘‘I ain’t done no nothin’;
co the cap’n’ll fling me overboard if he
cotches me. I know that’s what they do with
stowaways. But I hadn’t nary a shiner, and I
wanted so bad to git t’other side the waters,
Mr. Blackbeard.”

‘“Backstay, you ugly son of a sea cook!”
roared the old sailor. ‘‘ Bob Backstay is my
name. Don’t you fit me out ag’in with sich a
piratical handle as Blackbeard, or Vl chuck
you overboard, and save the captain the
trouble.”

‘‘Won’t you let me go, Mr. Bob? I won’t let
nobody see me ag’in till the ship gits ashore.”

“Drop your mister, youecargorat! Iain’t.a
cap’n, or a first luff, to be mistered. So ye’rea
stowaway, eh? And it’s you as has been skeer-
in’ the crew out o’ their seven wits? May i be
keelhauled if I didn’t ’spect as much,” and the
old fellow broke out into a hoarse laugh.
“Here, git up, and give a ’count of yerself.”

Dick, released, scrambled hastily to his feet.
and lcoked around bim like a cornered rat, as if
ready to make another break for freedom.

“Who are you, and what brung you here?”
demanded Bob,

“7m a New York boy,” answered Dick. ‘I’m
goin’ out to see the world. Didn’t have no
money to take a cabin’ passage, so I tuk a berth
atop the cargo. But I ain’t cost the ship
nothin’. If you'll jist les me go nobody else
‘1 ever know I’ve been aboard. If the men
comes back and finds me here, I know my cake’s
cooked.”

The weather-beaten but kindly face of the
old tar broke into a grin of amusement at Dick’s
terror.

“You've skeered them enough.
they skeered you a bit,” he declared.
have you been hidin’?”

“ Atop the wheat sacks in the hold.”

“Whew! That’s mighty close quarters for a
human “critter. Nobody never thought 0’
huntin’ stragglers there! Lord! here come the
men tumblin’ back! Squeeze yerseif in here,
little | bantam.. There’s no other bunk open
now.

It’s time
“* Where

He lifted the lid of a great sea-chest. It was |

two-thirds filled, but there wes room enough
for the boy’s diminutive figure. He sprung
hastily in, and the heavy cover was quickly
lowered.

‘ “Now, keep imum. T’ll prop the lid a bit so
you kia git breath, Don’t make as muck stir as

eck.
“ Lay still there now, will ye?” growled the |
sailor, setting his foot on the boy’s breast while |

 

a mouse in a meal chest, or they miought sus
picion you.”

The next minute the men who hal rushed on
deck came swearing down the ladcéer into the
dark forecastle, Bob had extinguished the lamp
which he had lit during his siioért conference
with his captive.

“What's the row on deck?” he demanded.
ff Ain’t shipped a sea, or let run a stray spar,

NM

‘“Tt’s that infernal fetch, ag’in,” growled one
of themen. ‘ The thicg appeared to Joe Black
in his trick at the helm. The fool let all fiv,
and run for’ard skeered blue. Hang his ugly
picture. I'd like to give him a salt_water bath
fu’st, and the ghost one arter, I don’t take
stock in no ghosts, and the chap as flies the
wheel for sich a skeer ought to— Ob Lord,
what’s that?”

He had seated himself on Bob’s sea-chest, and
sprung up suddenly, as if somethinz had stung
him. In reality, he had displaced the prop by
which Bob had fastened up the lid, and it was
its sudden fall, and Dick’s groan as he felt him-
self squeezed by the heavy weight, that fright-
ened the bragging sailor.

‘‘A brave chap you are,” cried Bob, with
ready self-possession. “ Skeered at the squealin’
of a rusty hinge. Come,—lads, let’s to bunk
ag’in. We're robbed of half our snoozin’ spell.
I'll see if ‘Tim’s bulky corporation has bu’sted
anything inside my chest.”

He took advantage of the darkness to relift
the cover of the chest, give a reassuring pat to
his captive, and fix the fallen prop more se-
curely. The edge stood open ahalf inch for ihe
admission of, air. Dick lay as silent as a
mouse,

Within two,minutes more all the sailors were
swinging in their hammocks, and ere five mio-
utes had past sleep ruled supreme in the fore-
eastle of the Wildwing. Even the boy, in his
close quarters, was sinking into uxnconscious-
ness,

Wo must pass rapidly over the events of twu
days. Bob Backstay had taken the first safe
opportunity to get the captive out of bis close
quarters, and to slip him, through a trap in the
bulkhead, into a narrow lumber-room in the
forefront of theship. Here he brought Dick
a share of bis meals, and admonished him to lie
quiet until the vessel reached barbor.

“The captain’s as mad as a West Injy hurri-
cane,” he declared to Dick. ‘‘ He's fizzing like
wet gunpowder, and he moughbt do you a harm
if he overhauled you while this wind holds.
Lay low. He had the batches off this mornin’
and the hold s’arched. ‘You'd had some broken
bones if he’d nabbed you.”

“Vd give all ’m worth if I was safe ashore,”
faltered Dick.

“You would, eh? And "bout how much.are
you wuth, little un?’

“ve got two ‘gold guineas,” said Dick, with
anair of great importance, ‘It tuk me three

months to save it up a-sellin’ papers, and I got it
changed to English money, because they don’t
know enough to take American t’other side the
water.”

» The old tar laughed grimly at the speech of
the young millionaire, 3

bag

 
  

 

Dick, the Stowaway.

 

 

* A sweet Httle grampus you are, to start out
and see the world with ’bout cash enough to
carry you from Liverpool to Lunnun. Best
stick to the ship and let me make a sailor of

‘Guess if you’d been bunkin’ for two weeks
atop a pile o’ bags, in a dark hole, a-fightin’ rats
for fun, you mought have enough of the ship
for one dose, What’s more, I’ve got a reason
why 1 want to git to England.”

‘Never seo’d a boy yet that hadn’t a reason
for everything,” answered Bob. ‘* What is it?
Do you want to take a blink at Liverpool streets
and try your tongue on the cockneys?’

“ Not much,’ rejoined Dick, promptly. ‘I’ve
got a uncle ’cross the water somewhere as I
want tosee. It’s my mother’s brother, and he
livesin the city of Chester, that I’m told ain’t
fur out from Liverpool. He’s got the spons,
and I kalkerlate to make him pony down hand-
some,”

“ Got the what?” asked Bob, in surprise.

“The spondulicks. The money-bags. He’s
bu’stin’ rich, Andhe ain’t got nary wife nor
child, Pm his nearest relation. And I’m
a goin’ fur the old man heavy.”

The old tar looked askance at his protege,
while a low whistle came from his lips.

‘‘ A rich uncle, hey? See here, Dick, take an
old salt’s advice and keep clear of him. Jist
drop him a bit of a letter to let him know you’re
_ y to be on hand when they come to read his
will.

: “What’ll I do that fur?” asked the surprised

OY.

“Cause your style ain’t the sort to please an
English gentleman, that’s all. ‘Your ways may
be prime among boot-blacks, but. you wouldn’t
be two days in your uncle’s house afore he’d
kick you into the gutter and cut you off in his
will. Just keep clear of him, my lad. Go back
to York in the Wildwing, and pick up some no-
tion of asailor’s ways. And I'll help you write
a letter to the old uncle as’ll let him know that
he’s got a live nevey.”

This was undoubtedly good advice, but Dick
had long ago made up his mind, and was not to
be turned aside at a word, He had no notion
of giving up his traveling projects until he had
at least made a fair trial of them.

“7 don’t care a picayune ur the spondu-
licks,” he boldly asserted. ‘‘If he plays bluff
on me I’m going to open his eyes, you bet. He
didn’t treat my mother none too well, Id jist
as lieve as not tell him to take his money to
buy grave-stones fur dead moukeys. Tiuons
Dusty Dick kin make his way, if there weren’t
sich a thing as a mule,” ;

** Don’t a fool, boy. Don’t filng away a
fortune just to give your slippery tongue an aire
ing. What’s your uncle’s name?” Ep

“Mr, William Pearson.”

** And where does he live?”

“Tn Chester.”

“ But Chester’s a big place.”

“ And he’s a big gun. Guess you kin easy

find a big gun in a big place.”

The old boatswain laughed. Dick was cer-
tajcly sharp enough. /

“Best take my advice,” ke repeated, “and
Vara seamanship and manners aboard this good

 

ship. Meanwhfie I'll see your uncle, and tell
him as he’s got a nevey alive in Ameriky.”

‘Land ho!” The shout came faintly to the
boy’s ears, from far up avove the deck, but it
sung in his young soul like a call to battle. Oh!
if he only dared go on deck, and feast his eyes
with a sight of the coming shore!

“Are we coming to land?” he weeny de-
manded, ‘‘ Will we bein harbor soon?” “

“Not for a good two days yet, my boy. I
reckon it’s Fastnet light that’s sighted, outside
o’ Queenstown, We've got a long run up the
channel afore we see Liverpool.”

He left the boy in bis retreat, and made his
way to the deck, where all the crew were eager-
ly observing the low shore line, whose fresh
green hue told of the verdant fields of Ireland.

Two days and nights more passed away.
They were now running up St, George’s Chan-
nel, before a fresh breeze, and in a chopping
sea which gave the poor boy the first touch of
seasickness he had yet felt.

He was about ready, in his misery, to wish
the ship would go to the bottom with all on
board, when Bob Backstay came again below.

“ Hold your level, my poor fellow,” he said,
kindly.
Holyhead light is just lifted, and we’ll round
Anglesey Island afore sunrise. The there’s a
straight wake for the Liverpool docks and old
Envgland’s shores.”

Sick as he was, the boy roused himself at this
news. The sight of land to a seasick passenger
is like the wal!s of Paradise; and Dick, after his
rough experience, yearned for it as one might
yearn for heaven.

It was to him like the full cup to the drunk-
ard. Whatever the danger, he must see if
again if he died for it. He crept out of bis
contracted quarters. The forecastle seemed
empty, and be made his way slowly and pain.
fully up the ladder.

The nightly gloom yet lay on the deck, though
there was a faint gleam of light in the easter».
sky. Dick crept unseen across to the bulwark:
where, screened behind a coil of rope, he leok
eagerly eastward across the glooming waves,
There, in the far distance, loomed a dim light,
disappearing and reappearing at measured in-
tervals. He knew it was the lighthouse glow,
that told of land upon their lee. With heartfelt
ae he sunk to the deck, too sick to re-
treat.

The morning sun more and more illumined,

the sky. In the far east a somewhat darker
line than the rest of the sky could be discerned.
Dick’s eyes saw it, but he did not know that
that cloud-like line was the distant shore-line
for which his heart yearned.

Only now he felt the danger of his situation,
and looked around him to gauge the chances of
escape, What was his horror to see looking
down on him in stern surprise the harsh counte-
nance of Captain Hastings?

“ Nailed, by all that’s good!” ejaculated the
latter. ‘So this is our ghost? Hang meif I
didn’t know it! Come, young hopeful, you’ve
had your fling. It’s my turn now.”

He gripped Dick’s arm with an angry clutch,

We'll be in harbor before noon, ,

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

    

Wick, the Stowaway.

 

e CHAPTER III.
THE STOWAWAY COURT MARTIALED.

In the ‘cabin of the good ship Wildwing, uy
the light of the early morning sun, a surt of
court-martial was in session. It consisted of
Captain Hastings, Mr. Blake, his first officer;
Mr. Jenkins, his second; and Bob Backstay, the
shrewd old foretopman, who had claimed the
right to look after his protege. In their midst
crouched the miserable’ little culprit, looking
like a fox that has been caught in the very act
of robbing a hen-roost,

He presented, indeed, a sorry aspect. His
diminutive figure was half covered with rags,
which were none the better for his rat-like
ereepings through the ship’s hold. His face was
spotted with tar and grime, until it was impos-
sible to discover its native complexion. He sat
doubled up on the chair where they had placed
him, with his bare feet on the rounds, his chin
nearly on bis knees, and his eyes glancing
round with the sharp eagerness of & cornered
rat.

And yet any keen observer‘could have scen
that there was more in the lad than at first
sight appeared. His features were regular, his
eyes bright and intelligent, bis tangled hair
half hid a broad, high forehead, There was a
certain alertness in bis looks as of one that is
fully wide awake to every contingency. His
figure, though small, was well knit and grace-
fully formed. It had the shapeliness of the
fawn, and looked as if it might have the activi-
ty of the deer. His age it was not easy to make
out. To look at bis general appearance, one
would have said sixteen. To look at the world-
ly wisdom of his face, twenty five might have
seemed a safer guess,

The captain’s Harsh features grew harder as
he cast his stern eyes on the youthful culprit.

“So, young one,” he roared, in a tone like the

rowl of a hurricane, ‘you're trying to steal a

ree passage aboard this good ship, hey? Con-
found your dirty little picture, do you know
what we generaliy do with stowaways?”

“Sew ’em up in canvas bags and chuck ’em
overboard, I s’pose,” answered the boy, with
perfect seriousness,

Asmile came to every face but that of the
captain. Dick’s tone was so grave, his look so
earnest, that it seemed as if he really expected
such a fate. :

“Just so; and with a ten-pound shot at their
feet, so that they won’t waste any time in sink-
ing,” answered the captain, quite as seriously.
‘¢Mr, Jenkins, pass the word for’ard to get up
abagand a shot. And pipe all hands up for
execution.”

A queer look came upon Dick’s face as the
officer quietly sought the deck.

“By the way, Mr. Jenkins,” continued the
captain, “lock abaft and see if there is a shark
following. They’re generally about to snap up
stray bits like this one.”

The boy’s eyes were fixed upon the captain’s
face as he gave these orders with seeming seri-
ousuess,

“ Wish ye’d look fur a whale instead,” grave-
ly demanded the culprit, “‘’cause then a feller
mought have old Jonah’s luck, and be bisted

    

 

 

if I's
go overboard I'd like to jake all the
chances.”

This speech brought a grim smile to the cap-

up ashore arter a chres days’ vovage.
got to

tain’s stern face. He sat for a few moments in
silonee, looking into the boy’s apparently inno-
cent countenance. At the end of ti at time Mr.
Jenkins returned and quietly resum 2d his seat.

“Pve passed up your orders,” he remarked.
“And there’s a big shark just off the weather-
beam.” ’

“Very well.
achance to play ghost in earnest.
to ask him a few questions first,
you aboard this ship, sirrah?”

“Snaked aboard,” answered Dick.
she flung off her tie ropes.”

“ And, what the blazes did you v ant aboard?
Where are you bound? Wasn’t Aizerica wide
enough to hold you?” *

“Got sorter tiréd o starvin’ round New
York,” answeréd Dick. ‘‘Grub was gettin’
mighty thin, and jobs as skeerce as bullfrogs at
poms cg Took a notion I’d lik: to see the
world, and try and pick up a livin other side
the duck pond. That’s why I shij-ped aboard
this here vessel.”

A laugh passed around the board %t this naive
explanation,

“A jolly little mariner this,” ex laimed Mr.
Jenkins. ‘‘ How have yon lived sinve you came
onboard?” E

“Mostly on wheat and. cheese” answered
Dick, gravely, ‘*Gnawed a hole in a wheat
sack, and found a cheese box wit 1 the cover
bu’sted.. If weren’t very high o'd grub, a-

We'll soon give the young one |
But [ want
How came

“ Afore

A chawin’ raw wheat and moldy cheese.”

The culprit locked pleadingly around the
circle of his judges, bis eyes restirvg hopefully
on old Bob’s weather-beaten counte sance.

“Bless my ,top-lights but the ld must, ha’
been half-starved,” muttered the old tar, “I
tuk pity on the little rat-and guy him some
grub the last day or two,*but th» sea gripes
ain’t left bim much appetite. Mebbe it wasn’t
seamanlike to hide him, but a fox ’d have let up
oan chicken as begged like the young chap

id. :

“You had best have let me settled that,”
harshly rejoined the captain. ‘If the young-
ster was so well fed what brought bim on deck
at night, to scare the men out of their wits?”

“ Couldn’t hang ont without water,” rejoined
the lad. ‘‘And a feller couldn’t help gittin’
tired of chawin’ wheat and cheese,”

The captain’s grim face lost some of its barsh
expression,

‘* Come,” he said. ‘ Let’s know a little more
about you. What’s your name?”

“Dusty Dick is what the Bowery boys used
tocallme. But my right name’s Dick Dareall.
’Tain’t of’n a feller gits his right name ’mongst
New York boys.”

** And so you’ve run away from your father
and mother to see the world?”

“Reckon not. I ain’tthatsort. My mother’s
dead, and I ain’t see’d my father fur a good ten
year, He was asailor, as set out on a voyage
fur Afrikay, and never come back ag’in. Is
jist bad to scratch fur a livin’, and I got sort
0’ tired 9’ scratchin’, Ain’t much show fur a
   

Dick, the

Stowaway.

 

poor orphan, as has got all the world to root
ag’in’.

“ola Bob Backstay looked earnestly at the bo
as he thus told his story, while a gleam of recol-
lection marked his wrinkled face,

“ What did. they call the craft as your daddy
crossed the salt waters in?” he eagerly asked,

“Don’t jist remember.”

‘Wasn't it the Sumter?”

“You bet! That's it fur a pigeon.”

“ Come here, boy,” cried the old salt. “‘ Your
daddy was my shipmate. And as prime a tops-
man as ever drew rope or handled a reef point,
Why, cap’n, Dave Dareall was wuth your whole
crew in a hurricane. And this boy looks like a
chip of the old block.” He caught the boy’s
hands and drew him from his chair, while bis
eyes shrewdly surveyed him, ‘‘Trim lines, a
good cutwater, a rakish set ’o’ spars—shiver my
timbers if the boy ain’t got the making of aman
in him! Won't never do to fling a neat bit of
flesh and blood like this to-the sharks, while
there’s so many lubbers afloat,”

« Just haul in your slack and be hanged to
you!” roared the captain. ‘You've got.too
free a tongue, Bob Backstay. You've been
whimpering around this boy like a dashed soft-
hearted fool that never smelt sea salt. Shoot
me if I’d hold back long from tracing up the
pair of you and giving you a round dozen
apiece, i’ve always looked on you as a chap
tnat knew a sailor’s duty.”

A chivalrous feeling of devotion came into
Dick’s young heart. Sick as he was, he stood
upright before tbe old: tar and extended his
arms in a protecting attitude,

“Guy me the two dozen, cap’n,” he pleaded.
“TJ jist made him hide me. Guv me three
dozen and let up on him. I’d sooner be chucked
overboard at once than have any harm come to
old Bob Backstay fur helpin’ a poor boy in
trouble.”

There was some admiration in the laugh that
passed around the table, Even the captain’s
face softened.

“The little villain has grit, that’s sure,” he
remarked. ‘'There’s solid oakin him, I wouldn’t
have thought there was so much back-bone in
such a little lump of rags and dirt.”

“Don’t git skeered, Dick,” whispered the old
tar. ‘‘The cap’n’s like a roller, all bluster on
top and smooth water at bottom. Lord love ye,
he knows Bob Backstay too well to lay a rough
hand on him.”

“What do you say, gentlemen?” asked the
captain, with affected gruffness, ‘Shall we

itch the stowaway overboard and be done with

im?

‘““There’s some moldy pork in the meat-chest
that?ll make better shark bait,” answered Mr.
Jenkins,

‘Shall we trice him up in the rigging then,
and give him a dose of rope’s end?”

“The little rat is half gone now, with sea-
sickness,” rejoined Mr Blake.

“Tsee. He’s won you all over with his baby

face,” growled the captain, though he could not
keep back a smile from his face, ‘‘Take bim
away, Bob, Wash his face, and let us see what
there is in the way of eyes and nose behind
all that dirt. And seo if you can find him some-

   

a —

thing in the way of clothes, There’s_a boy’s
toggery somewhere in the ship.”

‘Thank you, cap'n,” said Dick, walking for-
ward in a manly manner, and taking the cap-
tain’s hard hand in both his. ‘‘ You’re a-givin’
me a good deal more nor I deserve.”

“T don’t want a scarecrow aboard my ship
for a whole voyage,” answered the captain, as
he rudely withdrew his hand. ‘‘As long as
you're to sail back to New York aboard this
craft I calculate to have you a little ship-
shape.”

“ Sail back to New York?” faltered Dick.

“Just so. No man nor boy ever stole a pas
sage from John Hastings yet, and bang me if
any one ever sball. Back to New York you
go, for a nabbed stowaway, and what’s mere
you’ve got to work your passage. Ill teach
you a few points in seamanship.—Tbere, Bob,
take him away, and scrub the tar from his face,
DPve said my say.”

Dick was very much down in the visage as
he followed his old sailor friend. After all his
efforts he was doomed to disappointment. His

nipped in the bud, The vessel was now in
smoother waters, and the lad’s sea sickness was
nearly gone. But he was sick at heart with the
weight of a lost opportunity.

The feeling of sickness had so depressed him
during his examination that be would have
cared little if they had really decided to make
him food for sharks, But as he began to feel
better in his stomach anew lease of life came to
him. Dick was becoming his old risky, impu-
dent, and venturesome self again,

“Does the cap’n mean’ it?” he asked of his
conductor,

“Every word of it,” answered Bob.

“Then I ain’t goin’ back, nary time. I’m go-
in’ ashore, and ropes won’t hold me.”

“You'd best go back, my little chap. You'll
Yarn somethin’ of seamanship. And if ye’re
spry the cap’n ’ll likely guv ye a lift back to old

nogland ag’in.”

This was a new phase of the question. Dick
ran it over in his mind as he strove to wash
the grime from his face. His fatber had been
a prime sailor; why should not he be? And a
sailor’s life was full of the adventure for which
his soul thirsted.

“Tm bound to see my uncle, anyhow,” he
asserted.

“ Better not,” answered the sailor.

“11 take the chances,” rejoined Dick, “ And
if Cap Hastings tries to hold me Pll git out 0’
this here ship, if I have to gnaw out through the
sido timbers. I ain’t goin’ to be nobody’s pris-
oner, you bet,” "

When Dick came on deck again he was so
changed in appearance as to be hardly recog-
nizable. His fate was so clean that it shone,
and old Bob had found him a moderately well-
fitting suit of boy’s clothes.

The word had passed atwaong the sailors that
it was this boy that had so long played ghost on
the Wildwing, and they looked on him with
eager curiosity. They saw a well-grown boy.
with brown complexion and bright eyes, an

 

pression. In form he was shapely and graceful,

cherished desire. to see the world was,to be ,

with something very keen and alert in his ex- —

 
 

 
 

 

Dick, the Stowaway. 9

 

and gave evidence of more agility and fuscular
power than was usual for one of his age. Every
soul of them were taken with his appearance
except Joe Black the helmsman, who felt re--
vengeful toward him for the scare and the
kicking be had got,

Hour after hour passed away, as the ship ran
along to the eastward before a favoring breeze.
To the south lay a distant land line that held
the boy’s eyes with a sort of fascination. It
was the first earnest of the new world for
which he had so longed.

“ Why don’t we make fur theshore?” he asked
of a sailor.

“That's Anglesey Island. Liverpool’s off
bere to the east’ard. We'll forge into the
Mersey afore sundown.”

He was right. Late in the afternoon a long
line of coast loomed up to the east. It grew
rapidly moré distinct as the ship dashed on-
ward, while a cloud of sails seemed converging
in the same direction, One or two great steam-
ers also plowed the waters toward that welcome
coast. Ere longa dim line of distant spires rose
like-fairy minarets against the sky. Thea the
more slender lines of crowded shipping became
visible, like a network of spars. A wide open-
ing appeared in the coast, to which all the ves-
sels converged. It was the mouth of the Mer-
sey. Within an hour the good ship Wildwing
rode on the waters of that world-famous river,
with a dense mass of shipping before her, and
the mighty docks, and far-stretching roofs end
spires, of Liverpool outlined against the eastern

sky.

Dick fairly danced with excitement.

“Tm a-goin’ to take that there town in, you
kin bet yer bottom dime on that!” he ejaculated,
“Pm bound to go ashore in Liverpool, spite o’
the cap’n.”

“You are, eh?’ cried a harsh voice at his
elbow. ‘We'll see abont that. You’ve hada
good glint at old England?”

“ Yes, sir,” faltered poor Dick,

“Make much of it then, for it?s your Jast.
Here, Joe Black, take this sprout below, and
lock him up, If he gets out to d-ylight before
we leave harbor, [ shall hold you respons-
ible.”

“ Av! ay!” bluntly answered the sailor. “ll
take keer be don’t catch an English fever.
Come along, young-’un,”

There was something of revengeful spite in
the roughness with which Le dragged the boy
away, tbrust him into a contracted hole below
deck, and turned a key upon bim.

, “Guess you'll stay there till you’re wanted,”
be ey remarked, ‘‘You won’t find it so
easy to play ghosts while l’ve got charge of
oul

z Dick flung himself down in despair. This
was a disastrous ending to his ardent hopes.

CHAPTER IV.
DICK TREADS ON FOREIGN SHORES,
ANOTHER morning dawned upon the busy
scene within which the Wildwing had dropped
anchor the previous night! The rays of a
brigbt sun fell upon a forest of masts, which
crowded the broad stream and the vast docks of
Liverpool, Huge warehouses rose in long lines

 

 

on the water-streets and even upon the broad
and massive stone embankment of the docks,
The noise of busy traffic filied the air, the sound
of wheels, the puff of lifting engines, the roar of
a thousand voices. Hundreds of boats were
plying back and forth on the stream. Men at-
tired in every costume and speaking every, lan-
guage of the civilized world appeared upon
decks and wharves. The noise of lading and
enlading, and the uproar of the busiest com-
mercial sity on the globe, filled the sunny morn-
ing air. -

Something of this came to poor Dick in his
close and hot prison; and aroused an“ intense
desire to escape, and.a feeling of revengeful an-
ger against the captain for robbing from him
the world of nope shut out by a few inches of
sturdy oak plank,

“T blowed last night ’'d eat my way out
through the ship’s sides,” be muttered, ‘but
somehow I don’t feel hungry that way this
morning. The job’s a bit too big fur my appe-
tite, Anyhow I’m not goin’ to hang round
here; you bet,”

He felt in his pockets to seeif he had removed
al) bis possessions in changing his rags for his
new suit.

In doing so he came across the key by which
he had previously gained access from the hold
to the cabin. A gush of hope came into his
heart, .

“Wonder if the locks is all the same?” he
ar “Te they is ’m goin’ to dust it out of
this here ship quicker’n shootin’. Ud been
starved into a funeral specimen afore now if
this key hadn’t fit tother door. Vl guv the
next brick house I git holt of if it only works ir
this lock.”

But Dick was not destined to lose a brick
house. The key didn’t work, The lock refused
to open, and he dashed the useless key angrily
away, and flung himself down upon the deck in
spiteful rage. /

“ Jist my luck!” he ejaculated. ‘‘If I hadn’t
wanted so bad to git out you’d seen that old
door pile open the minute the key touched if.
Queer how nice things work when nobody
wants ’em to, and how contrary they git the
minute a feller wants ’em to work smooth.”

He kicked the door, spitefully in boyish spleen.

“What’s the row in there?” cried a harsh
voice from the outside. ‘' Keep quiet, you dirty
rat, or I’ll dust yer jacket for ye. I ain’t forgot
that-you got me a kicking.”

Tbe door opened as he spoke, and the harsh
face of Joe Black appeared, with a look of ma-
licious spite,

“Don’t you kick up no didoes here,” he ex-
claimed, ‘‘ The cap’n told me I was to boss this
here job, and if you start any shindy I’ll take
a bit of the starch out of ye.”

‘‘Jist you tech me!” cried Dick, defiantly
“T’ve got old Bob Backstay on my side, and 1
bet he'll salt you.”

The burly brute lifted his foot with intent to
kick the defiant lad. But he thought better of
Ns Perhaps the threat cf Bob Backstay checked

im. 5 ,

‘‘Dou’t try yer slack on me,” he growled, “I
ain’t got no angel’s temper to swaller a boy’s
imperdence. Yere’s yer mornin’ grub, and if

 
 

10.%: Dick, the Stowaway.

youn kick up any shindigs shoot me if I don’t
starve you fur a day or two to teach you man-
ners.” é

He stepped over Dick, who lay on the floor
close by the partly-open portal, and stooped to
place on the deck the tin dish of food. which he
bore. There came a quick, shuffling sound be-
hind bim, the sound of a slammed door, the
click of a sharply-turned key. A laugh of tri-
umphant malice greeted him as he bastily
turned |

Dick hee disappeared. . The door was closed
and locked. The laugh came from its opposite
side.

“ Guess mebbe you'll like that grub yerself,”
cried the boy. ‘’Cause likely you'll have to do
without fur a day or two to teach you manners,
I'm goin’ ashore, but mebbe the cap’n mought
miss you afcre the ship’s quite unloaded.”

The caged jailer replied by a volley of kicks
upon the locked door, while he threatened Dick
with dire revenge if be were not released. But
ouly an irritating laugh followed, and a parting
bit of advice from the triumpbant boy.

.“Jist you keep still. Il telegraph to the
cap’n arter | git to Lunnun as there’s a_plucked
pigeon locked’up in the rubbish bole. Good-by,
an’ keep a pantticg eye open for ghosts. They’re
thick as buinbly bees round this here ship.”

His exasperating laugh died away in the dis-
tance, and the involuntary prisoner was left to
his meditations,

An hour afterward, while all the crew were
busy on the forward deck, a light splash was
heard in the water aft,

‘What's that?” asked the first mate. ‘Look
over the rail, Jack, and see if anything has
dropped overboard.” > /

The sailor spoken to reported that nothing
was visible, and work went on without further
attention to the incident. The look out had
failed to observe a small, round mass clinging
close under the ship’s quarter, and no one saw
this mass gradually leave the ship’s side, with a
swimming motion. It was the\head of Dick
Dareall, who had made his way stealthily to the
deck, and taken the opportunity to drop unob-
served into the still waters of the stream, He
was now lustily striking out for the docks, ina
direction to avoid observation from the ship’s
crew. ¢

Ten minutes afterward there was another in-
cident on board the Wildwing. A man came
rushing kastily on deck, with disheveled hair,
starting eyes, and a face suffused with rage ‘un-
til it seemed almost crimson. It was Joe Black,
who had managed to break out of his prison, and
who was half beside himself with fury.

“Where's that boy?’ he shouted. ‘‘ The little
lubber played it on me, and locked me up in
limbo. Where is he, till I shake the lights out o’
his dirty carcass?”

‘Youve let bim slip, have-you?” cried Cap-
tain Hastings, in suddenanger. ‘ J’ll deal with
you, blast you, if be ain’t found. Search the
ship for the rat,”

Mr. Blake remembered the splashing sound he

had lately heard, He sprung to the side «nd |

looked across the stream, just in time to catch
sight of a diminutive figure crawlire =» tho
stone inclosure of the doc

i

 

“Stole away!” he exclaimed. ‘There he
eoee! The sharp youngster has given us all the
slip.

“Where?” demanded the captain, springin
forward, just in time to see Dick raise himsel
erect on the edge of the embankment, and
swing his hat in triumph as he turned his face
toward the ship.

The next minute be disappeared behind a
building which occupied that part of the cause-

way.

oy Launch a boat, and make after him!” yelled
the angry commander. ‘‘By good and bad Vil
have him back, or know the reason why!”

But he didn’t have him back. Dick bad shot
away like a deer, and had managed to make his
way from the stone causeway into the city long
ere the boat could inter¢ept him. Once in the
city streets he was safe from pursuit, and he
made it his first duty to hunt a sunny spot
where he could dry. bis dripping clothes in the
warm rays of the midsummer sun, He had set
foot at last on foreign shores.

A few hours afterward the figure of Dick
Dareall might have been seen traversing the
crowded streets of the great commercial city of
Liverpool, thoroughly dried, in the best of
spirits, and with an extra dose of American as-
surance in the independent manner in which be
earried himself. He had made up his mind to
uphold the pride of a full-born American citi.
sen wherever in the world he came.

There was a double-distilled Yankee swagger
in the boy, as he walked along the streets of the
Englis4 city, and looked up at its massive build-
ings with a supercilious air. No New York
street boy ever bore himself with more inde-
pendent assurance, and one might have thought
that he owned a brace of American cities, and
did not think Liverpool worth the buying.

Boys are boys all the world over. Liverpool
was not without its gamin fraternity, and some
sharp slack passed between Dick and some of
these boys, who were attracted by his foreign
airand manner, But Dick had been brought up
ina wide-awake school, and was not the boy to
be talked down by any half-trained foreign
sprout. One of them, who showed a disposition
to come to closer terms, he toppled over into
the gutter.

“I’m a Yankee, I am!” exclaimed Dick,
setting bis hat rakishly on one side of his head,
and swaggering on more independently than
ever. “I’ve got the American eagle in my
coat pocket, and the stars and stripes under my
belt? The chap as treads on me treads on the
American fiag, and down goes his house if he’s
as big as an elephant. I’ve got Uncle Sam’s
bonor to hold up, and I’m goin’ to do it like «
hoss.” ?

His wanderings in time brought him to arail-
road station, a fine stone edifice which he looked
at with a critical air.

‘Tain’t bad, considerin’,” he remarked, with
an approving nod of his head. ‘Some of these’
Envglishers has been across the waters, and
learned a pint or two ’bout buildin’, Where
does this here railroad run to?” he asked a by-
stander. ,

‘To London.” ;

“ It’s Chester I’m consigned for. Goin’ there

 
 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

Dick, the Stowaway. 11

to see my uncle. How’s a chap goin’ to absquat-
ulate to that there place, mister?”

The man looked. at Dick with a smile of
amusement,

“This road will take you there,” he answered.
“Sixteen miles out.”

‘“Thankee!” answered Dick politely. ‘‘ Ain’t
quite picked up the ropes round these diggin’s

i

He made the best of his way into the station.
It was near train time, and purchased a ticket,
and then set himself to watch the ways of Eng-
lish railroad management, with an air of con-
scious superiority.

“Tawsee, why don’t they cross the duck
pond, and pick up some ideas in Ameriky?” ho
observed, ‘‘ Never see’d nothir’ so awkward in
all my born days.”

There was a rush of people for the train,
which would be cff.in a couple of minutes more.

‘Dick was carried along in the rush, and thrust

by the guard through a door in the side of a
car into a narrow section containing only a
couple of seats. These were already partly oe-
cupied by three previous passengers,

“Hold yer level there, neighbor,” cried
Dick in surprise, ‘I ain’t calkerlatin’ to travel
in a spittoon or a snuff-box, I paid fur my
ticket, and I want a seat in a car that’s got
elbow room fur a grasshopper. Like to know
what sort of a galloot you take me fur.”

“What ails you?” cried the guard sharply.
** This is the best car on the train.” :

“This is, hey?’ answered Dick, surveying the
car with a sniff of contempt. ‘‘ Yeonly oughter
fee an American palace cay, then. Ye’d open
them aves of yourn so wide that it’d take a
jackscrew to fotch ’em together agi’p.”

Dick stepped into the car with an indescriba-
ble air of compussion on the ignorance of
foreigners. The guard angrily slammed the
door behind him, and lucked it.

“Hey there!” cried Dick, starting up in
alarm. ‘What you Jockin’ that door fur?
This ain’t no cattle car, nor we ain’t express
baggage. S’pose this train rattles down a
precipice, or bu’sts its nose ag’in’ aao.her engine.

hat’s to beecome—”

His protest was. checked by the sudden start-
ing of the train, which flung him baca Lreath-
Jess into his seat. The other occupants of the
tar were two young ladies, who were laughing
with much amusement at Dick’s fright, aud a
middle-aged gentleman, a genuine Englishman,
staid, upright, full-faced, kindly, yet somewhat
supercilious, who looked at Dick with an air of
chilly disapproval.

“So you are an American boy?” he asked.

“You bet [ am,” answered Dick, sturdily.
“Right from the shoulder. Full-blooded.
Dyed in the wool. Reg’lar hickory grain
Yankee.”

“T thought so,” answered the gentleman, ad-
justing his eyeglasses for a closer look at this
unique specimen, ‘You may learn a few
things before you get back again. On this side
the water we don’t tumble our trains over
precipices, or have engines run their noses to-

ether. So there is no harm in being locked

“ Just es I 'spected,” returned Dick, with im-

 

pudent assurance, ‘‘ Allers heered you didn’t
kuow what travelin’ is thisside the ocean. A
feller ain’t begun to see life till he’s been bu’sted
up on a railroad train; and a. true-blocded

ankee’d be, ashamed to come home fren a
railroad trip without two or three broken -ibs,
You folks dunno what travelin’ is.”

The gentleman was silent. The young ladies
quietly tittered. Dick’s heart swelled with
pride. He felt that he had triumphantly up-
held the honor of his country against ail takers.

 

CHAPTER V.
DICK CALLS ON HIS UNCLE.

Tux train thundered into tne Chester station,
Dick had managed to ete good deal of his
mettle on the journey. The English gentleman,
secretly interested in this genuine specimen of
the independent American street Arab, had
taken occasion to,draw him out, and had got a
pretty strong notion of what Dick thought
about foreigners in general, and English in par-
ticular. The fact was that the perverse youth
had taken a dislike to the stiff manner, the
slow, set speech, and the general stateliness of
his new acquaintance, and had spread himself a
little freely in consequence,

“There!” he ejaculated, as he stepped hastily
from the car. ‘‘Glad I’m out o’ that pill-box,
The idear o’ folks travelin’ where they’ve got to
take a reef in their nose for fear it'll bump ag’in’
t’other side of the ear. Guess I'll go hunt up
my uncle.”

“Your uncle?” repeated the gentleman.

“Yes. That’s what brung me here. Wouldn't
catch me in these diggin’s only I’m streakin’ out
for a rich uncle, He’s got plenty of the spon-
dulicks, and I ajin’t gotnone, Calkulate to bleed
him a few.”

“ What is his.name”’ asked the gentleman,
while the young ladies stood listening with
great interest. :

“Mr. William Pierson. Mebbe you don’t
know bim?”

‘Maybe I don’t,” answered the gentleman,
while a peculiarly sour look crossed his; face.
He turned hastily away and was quickly lost in
the crowd of passengers.

Dick turned to the two young ladies, whe
were surveying him with avery odd expression,
and seemed to bave much ado to prevent them-
selves from laughing in his face. Something ia
the conversation had caused them great amuse-
ment.

‘“Scuse me, ladies,” he remarked politely.
*Couldn’t none o’ you tell me where to find my
uncle? I’m a poor orphan, that’s come ’eross
the Atlantic ocean to find bim.”

“You had better have stayed, on the other
side,” answered one-of the ladies. ‘I’m sadly
afraid you will go back empty-handed.”

‘‘Mr, Pearson is a captain in the Highth In-
fantry, which is undec orders for Egypt,” re-
marked the other. ‘‘ He may bave sailed. You
wouldn’t like to follow him there?”

“ Wouldn’t I?” answered Dick. ‘I’ve sot out
to see the world, and guess I mought as well
take in Egypt.” :

““¥t takes money to travel,” returned one of

 

 
 

 

 

is Dick, the Stowaway.

the ladies. ‘Are you supplied with that neces-
sary item?” :

‘Takes money or cheek,” rejoined Dick.
“ve been brung up in New York, where boys
gits plenty of cheek. And I calkulate to make

_ my uncle pan out too, if I kin only settle down
on him. unno where he lives, then?”

“ Number 220 Northgate street,” answered the

young lady, checking an inclination to laugh.

os antes, returned Dick, taking off -his hat
with great politeness for him. ‘‘ Guess I’ll drop
down and interview him.”

He walked off with something of a swagger,
and with the notion that he had been very manly
and gentlemanly, and had left behind him a fa-
vorable record of American manners. If he
had looked behind him he would have seen the
ladies laughing and talking with great amuse-
ment. But Dick was not much given to looking
beLind. In his motto the world lay ahead, and
he was bound not to travel in the rear-guard.

As the self-possessed boy made his way
through the streets of the Euglish city he could
jot. help being impressed with the strangeness
of the scene that surrounded him. He had been
droppei down in the heart of a world a thou-
sand years old, Of all the cities of England,
Chester is the one that has retained the most of
its anvque uspect, and its ancient walls are still
preserved to keep out the destructive spirit of
the nineteenth cer.tury.

Entering the city through its gates, as one
might enter a city of the Middle Ages, the
traveler finds himself, in the midst-of a marvel-
ously old fashioned s¢ens. The houses all seem
of the style of a thousand years ago, whilé the
peculiar arrangement knewn as ‘the Rows”
seer g to tell of very old times, The first floor
of the houses has its front past open to the
streets, and forms a covered gallery, along
which a person can walk through nearly the
whole town entirely under cover. This old
footway is reached by stairs from the ‘street.
The stores lie back of the gallery, and shopping
can be done without any exposure to foul
weather.

Such was tho strange scene that met Dick’s
eyes as he walked curiously onward, taking in
new impressions at every step. He had fairly
got away from the busy modern life of Ameri-
ea.

Yet as he went on, certain modern indications
met his eyes. Many soldiers were visible in the
streets, and occasionally a squad, with bright
new muskets and flashing bayonets, marched
briskly past, with an air as if they meant busi
Bess.

“What's up?” asked Dick of a lounging citi-
gen, ‘The folks round here ain’t all sojers, I
suess,’?

“It is the Highth Infantry Regiment,” was
the answer. ‘‘ They’ve got marching orders for
Eeypt. They’ll be off for Plymouth to-night.”

‘The Highth!” cried Dick. ‘‘That’s the one

that my uncle’s a captain in, Guess I better go
fur him lively.”

He had no difficulty in finding his uncle’s resi-
dence. He had already learned the street aud
number, and made no hesitation about askin
his way. There was many a dubious look a
the odd boy as he proceeded, The good folks

 

thereaway were not used to that sort of young
gentlemen. There was too much of the flavor
of the wide West about Dick for their tastes.

The house to which he had been directed
proved to be a spacious stone mansion, very
showy, and surrounded by broad open grounds,
It lay outside the city wall, in the fashionable
suburb of the town. An old-fashioned brass
knocker graced the broad oak door. _

Dick looked around him for a bell-pull; but
not seeing any, he.made the knocker sound
with a noise loud enough to rouse up the whole
neighborhood,

“Jist like furrenirs,” he remarked, with a
contemptuous air. ‘Dunno what a door-bell
is, Lreckon. Wonder they don’t set up a loaded
cannon at the door, fer a chap to fire off when
hé wants to git in.”

The door quickly opened, and revealed a high-
ly-starched servant, with his chin in the air.

“Mia. Pearson live here?” asked Dick, with
business briskness,

“FH does,” was the answer. ‘Mr. Villiam
Pierson resides ’ere,”

“That’s right, old stiff. Show mein. Tell
him it’s his nevey from America,”

The servant drew back with an air of con-
sternation as his eyes fell on Dick’s ill fitting
and queer cut attire, and as he heard his per-
emptory voice. “

‘His nevey from Hameriky!” he repeated,
with uplifted hands,

“ Jist_so. Reckon that’s plain English,” an-
swered Dick, with a lordly assurance.

The servant hesitated for a moment; but
Dick's air and attitude meant business. If the
boy had been a nabob he could not have dis-
played more independent dignity.

; ie is there?” asked a sharp voice from the

all,

‘« Hit’s a boy, who says as—”

“Dry up, old-trip-and-go-fetch-it,” cried
Dick, bis activespirit exasperated by the drawl-
ing slowness of the servant. ‘‘It’s me, sir.
Mr. Dick Dareall from America—Mr, Pearson’s
nevey. Crossed the big pond to see my English
uricle” >, ;

He pushed into the hall as he spoke. There
stood an erect, neatly-dressed, good-looking
gepelemni, with a shadow of a smile on his

‘ace,

“Come in here,” he remarked, leading into a
side rcom,

Dick followed, and paused in amazement at
the magnificence of the scene around him,
The apartment was very richly furnished in
green and gold, and glittered until it dazzled
his eyes. He had never dreamed of such gran-
deur, and fora moment fancied that he must
have stumbled into a palace by mistake.

“You are Mr. Pearson’s nephew, you say?”
asked the gentleman, with a smile of amuse-
ment at Dick’s wonder...

“Yes,” answered the boy, witbless assurance.
He dropped into a chair, and continued to stare
at the fairly-like vision, as it seemed to him.

“Mr. Pearson -has only one nephew in the
world. What proof have you that you are be?”

The tone was somewhat haughty and over-
bearing. Dick looked quickly at the speaker,
on whose face was an air of doubt and disdain.

Set Herr

 

 

i

 

 

 
 

j

 

 

 

Dick, the Stowaway. 13

 

In an instant the boy was himself again. He
had vowed to sustain the honor of America
wherever he went, and was not going to be put
down by any aristocrat if he lost a fortune by
his independence.

“Are you Mr. Pearson?’ he asked, with an
air as haughty as that of bis questioner.

“No, But I represent him.”

ve got my papers,” replied Dick, ‘‘and-I
guess ’ll keep’em. Mr. Pearson kin see’em,
but I ain’t goin’ to shell out to everybody that
axes for ’en.”

“What brings.you here?” was the next ques-
tion. ‘‘ Why did you not stay in America?”

‘Cause I got wild fur a tramp,” answered
Dick. ‘‘My daddy’s lost in Afnky, and my
mother’s dead. She told me as how my uncle
in England had a pile of gold as big as a meet-

* in’-house, and as he’d never done nothin’ fur

her, mebbe hé mought pan out a little fur me.
That’s what’s brung me ’cross the Atlantic
ocean.

“You had better have stayed at home,” was
the reply. ‘‘In the first place, Mr. Pearson is
not the manto accept every Yankee boy tramp
as his nephew. In the next place he has no
money to waste on traveling beggars. In the
third place he is under marching orders for
Egypt, at the head of a gallant company. ‘You
will have to go there if you want to see him.”

“T will,” answered Dick, as assuredly as if he
had only to cross the street tobe in Egypt.
“And you kin jist put this in yer pipe and
smoke it, old hoss. The man as calls mea boy
tramp is a gallinipper, and the man as calls me
a travelin’ beggar is a bu’sted sorehead, and
I wouldn’t guy a dime a gallon fer sich
roosters. The world’s got grub enough ‘to feed

“me if I never see a shilling of Mr. Pearson’s

money. . And«it’s big enough to bold me if I
never set eyes on his countenance. There’s your
provender, and you'll hear the American bald
eagle screech afore you see Dick Dareall back
water. If I am only a boy I’ve been brought
up where every man takes up as much room as
a chestnut tree, and has got a heart like spring
steel, and a hand like a forty-ton hammer.”
“ Dick walked from the room with an air of
lordly dignity. He had been touched to the
quick by the insinuations of his questioner,
und had grown eloquent thtough indignation.
Yhere was a man’s heart in the boy’s bosom ag
he strolled proudly from the house.

Hardly had he gone ere another gentleman
emerged into the room from an alcove.

“ Well?’ he said, questioningly.

“Ts an impudent little rogue, Mr, Pearson,”
was the reply. “But he does not look to me
like a liar.”

‘‘He has too much Yankee assurance for my.
taste, at any rate,” answered Mr. Pearson, |
with a shrug. ‘I fancy he will make his way >

through the world, without my help. After
him, Harry, and give him this. It won’t do to
send him away quite empty-handed.” He press-

ed a well-filled purse into the hand of the other,
- * And now I must haste. My minutes in Eng-

_ land are numbered.”

He quickly left the room.
Two hours afterward Dick was still wander-
ing, carelessly about the streets, when his at-

tention was attracted by the inspiriting sounds
of drum and fife, playing a quick marching
air. Lond burrahs arose from the spectators
as the musicians rounded a corner into the strect
in which he was, followed at a quickstep by a
company of well-armed and equipped soldicry.
At their head marcbed their officers, with
drawn swords and proud bearing.

“What soldiers are they?” asked Dick, as an
other loud cheer went up.

“T's a company of the gallant Highth, off
for the war in Egypt. Captain Pearson com-
manding. That’she. That brave soldier at the
head.”

Captain Pearson! Dick sprung hastily for
ward to catch a glimpse of his uncle. He might
never have another chance. His eyes fell on
the stately figure of the handsome officer, and
he retreated as if he had been struck by a bul-

et.

‘My cake’s cooked,” he muttered.

The man he saw was no other than his travel-
ing companion of the morning, to whom he
had bragged so profusely of the superior quali-
ties of America{

‘Bob Backstay has got a level head,” con-
tinued Dick, ‘It's jist ashe said. I ain’t been
two hours in this here town, and Pll bet a buf
falo I'm cut off in my uncle's will already, as
clean as they shave the bristles off a pig. No
matter. 1’m Dick Dareall, and l’m goin’ through

as was ever hauled out of it.”

An hour after he ynexpectedly met the gen-
tleman who had received him in Mr, Pearson’s
house,

“Here, my lad,” cried the latter, with an air
as if he was calling to a dog. ‘I told Mr.
Pearson of your errand, and he believes, like
me, that you are an impostor. But he sends
you this to pay your way back to America
witb.” He held out the purse he had received
for Dick,

‘* He does, hey?” answered Dick, indignantly.
“Fie don’t send it to bis nevey, but to git rid of
a little lyin’ beggar, hey?”

““That’s about it,” was the reply.

“Then jist take it back to him, and tell him
that Vd see his money at the bottom of the sea
afore I’d pocketa cent of it that didn’t come to
meas a right. I ain’t no beggar, mister, and
don’t calkulate to set up that line of bizness.”

Dick walked on proudly, leaving the other
behind, with a covert smile about his lips.

“The little idiot!” he said. ‘I knew he

would never have had the offer. I fancy I can
make better use of it. Let mesee. I will go

 

There’s ears a jolly crew around there.”

He walked away with a very satisfied air,
, He had done his duty by his employer, and felt
' that he had fairly earned the cash which Dick

had refused. ;

A week passed away, during which Dick
Dareall disappeared from sight. e was seeing
England, wandering through its rural Janes,
and taking in a full draught of that green
beauty which makes it one of the most charm-
ing lands upon: the earth, :

ick was not without his admiration for the

a

the world, There’s as good fish in the sea yet

wouldn’t touch it if I tried that plan, or he:

down and see the boys at the Green Dragon inn.

 

;

ae

)
|
4

 

 
  

  

 

14 ee Diek, the Stowaway.

 

beautiful, and his life had been so spent in the
streets that he enjoyed to the full the rich
charm of the verdant English landscapes.

At the end of the week he reappeared in
Liverpool, with an empty pocket, but a full
memory. Nearly the first person he met on the
city streets was old Bob Backstay.

& o Hillo !” cried thelatter. ‘‘ Turned up again,
ey?

2 Veg, answered Dick. . ‘Out of uneles and
out of money. Wish I’d tuk your advice and
stuck on board, ’cause I’ve only been playin’
the fool.”

“ Jist as I ’spected. Never see’d a boy yet as
couldn’t beat Jonah at doin’ that. And what
sheets have you got flyin’ in the wind now?”

“Didn’t git a show at my uncle. He’s a
sojer captain, and is off fur Egypt, where there’s
a war kicked up. Like to foller him, if I could

only see my way clear.”
“Then ye’rein-luck, my boy. The Wildwing
isn’t bound back to New York arter all. She’s

chartered to carry out troops to Egypt, and “Il
sail inside o’ twoduys. Streak aboard and make
friends with Cap’n Hastings, and ye’re in
clover.”

“Jolly for you!” cried Dick, flinging up his
hatin delight. ‘‘ Bet Pll circumnavigate on the
cap’o, I’m arter my uncle like a ’skeeter arter
a constable. Got him down on me heavy, but
I’m bound to make him let up, He’s got to pan
out, or else somethin’ ’I] bu’st.” b

CHAPTER VI.
THE CRUISE OF THE WILDWING.

Dick DaREALL was still in the streets of
Liverpool. He had consulted with Bob Back-
stay, and had devised a plan for getting again
on board the Wildwing, but said plan was not
we in shape to put into exccution. In one of

‘is;rounds of the busy streets he unexpectedly
came across the gentiema!) whom he had met at
his uncle’s house. A sudden thought sprung
into the boy’s active mind.

‘oSeuse me, sir,” he said, plucking the gertle-
man’s sleeve. ‘ Reckon you ain’t forgot me.”

“Not quite,” was the somewhat sour reply.

“ve changed my notion, that’s all,” con-
tinued Dick. “ Guess I'l] take that money purse,
Bound fur Egypt, I am, and calkerlate to hand
it back to my uncle and let him see I’m no beg-
gar. S’pose you just fork over.”

The gentleman besitated for a minute, looking
at Dick with a startled expression.

** Bound for Egypt?” he repeated.

“Exactly. Consigned tothe seat o’ war. So
pony up that there purse.”

? A sharp look flashed into the gentleman’s
‘ace,

* Here itis,” he said, pressing something into

Dick’s hand.

 

 

“But where’s the money?” cried Dick, as his
eyes fell upon an empty purse. _

“Leaked out,” was the answer. ‘You |
wouldn’t take it full. You must_now be satis-
fied with it empty.” He turned on his heel
and walked away,

“Tam well rid of that,” he said to himself, ,
*Mr, Pearson is not the man to play tricks on. |

, and claim I gave him the full purse.”

oe if anything turns up now I can outlie the |

  

Dick stood looking oddly at the empty purse,
ha a shrewd whistle came slowly from his
‘ips.
co Thats what the boys call rich,” he mut-
tered. ‘‘He’s eat the goose, and guvs me the
empty skin. Don’t I wish | were goin’ to stay
here. I'd like to trade that chap a Yankee
boy’s trick fer his English one. .Ther’s one bit
left in it,” he continued, feeling the purse.
“ Guess it kin stay there fur a nest egg.”

He thrust the empty purse carelessly into his
breast pocket, and strolled idly on, as if he did
not care a fig how the world rolled. d

Meanwhile all was busy enough on board the
Wildwing. Her cargo had been rapidly dis-
charged, and the space between decks hastily
fitted up for the accommodation of the troops
which Seutats Hastings had engaged to convey
to Egypt.

The war had suddenly broken out, Alexandria
had been bombarded by the English and burned
by the Arabs, and an army had to be sent out
immediately. The government transports were
not able to do all the work required, and many
merchant ships had been chartered. The Wild-
wing was to take out a detachment of the Hn-
niskillen Dragoons.

All was bustle upon the dec: s of the vessel.
Boats were coming and going, lighters bringing
stores and provisions, workmen fit'ing up bunks
and state-rooms, a perfect medley of labor, at
which the sailors looked on idly, v.ith lightéd

pipes.
Amid all this confusion it was easy fora light
active form to reach the deck unobserved from
a boat. alongside, and to slip unseen into’ tbe
forecastle almost under the eyes of Captain
Hastings. Evidently again there was some-
body aboard the Wildwing whose name was
not down on the ship’s books.
/ A few day afterward the good ship hoisted
anchor, set her sails to a favoring breeze, and
glided gracefully down the broad channel] of
the stream, while her bulwarks were lined with
red-coated soldiers, waving their caps in wild
adieu to the shores of old England. oud hur-
rahs rose as the vessel glided onward. The
lads felt that they were off to do great deeds
and gain great glory, while many a wet eye on
shore showed a fear that they were off to be

*

buried in solitary graves under far-off 'skies,~

where never an English breeze would blow
upon their tombs. But there.were few such
gloomy thoughts on that bright day, and amid
the loud cheers that rent the air.

Ina few hours afterward they were well out
in the channel, bowling merrily along before a
fresh easterly breeze, with every sail set and
the blue waters curling white under the ship’s
cutwater.

Captain . Hastings stood on the forward
deck, conversing with his first officer, as his

| eyes were fixed on the seas abead.

“TY wonder what has become of that sharp
little stowaway?” he remarked. ‘The young
bound gave me the slip in the neatest manner

ossible. I fully intended to carry him back to

ew York.” :

*“Mebbe you'll have the chance yit, cap’n,”
cxme-a youthful voice behind him.

The captain bastily turned, and an oath of

  
  
  

ates

  

 
—_
—S

Pas

-

Dick, the Siowaway. ‘ 16

 

astonishment came from his lips as he saw be-
fore bim the diminutive figure of Dick Dareall,
with a look of indescribable self-assurance upon
his_fé ce.

‘By the seven lamps of Babylon, where did
you e-me from?” he shcuted. ‘

_* Didn’t you order me to be kept in limko till
the <bip left harbor?’ asked Dick, with a roguish
smile, ‘Don’t want to lock me up clcar ’cross
tLe ocean, cap’n?’ ‘

“You lie, you rat!” cried the captain harshly.
“You gave me the slip and made your way
asbore.”

“That’s ’eause you put a galloot ‘like Joe
Biack to look arter me,” answered Dick, with-
out flincbing, though the angry commander bad
lifted bis hand as if to strike him. ‘“ What’s
more, I had bizness ashore. But 1’m here now,
*cordin’ to orders, and ready to god where the
ship goes, and to ’bey orders like a sailor.”

The captain looked for a minute into the
maly young face before him. Then his anger
seeined to suddenly evaporate, and a laugh
broke from his lips. Dick was not sea-sick
now,.as he had been in his former interview
with the captain, and he was such a self-pos-
sessed young rascal that the latter found it im-
possible to continue angry with bim.

“You confounded little gutter snipe,” he ex-
claimed. -‘‘ Shoot me if I won’t find if tbere’s
any wool behind all that cry. If there’s the
making of a sailor in you J’ll give you a show.
If there is not I’ll land you on the first shore I
touch at, Up the main rigging with you, and
lay out on the topmast yard. Let me see if
your -fingers and toes are as spry as your
tongue.” .

Dick was off like a shot ere the words were
hardly spoken. Springing into the main shrouds
he ran up the ratlines like a monkey» He had
been: well used to climbing, and: this was like
cbild’s play to him. Ina minute’s time he was
well up in the rigging, and in a minute more
was well out on the topmast yard. Soon the
captain saw bis slender form erect on the very
extremity of the yard-arm, holding carelessly
by a rope with his left hand, and swinging his
cap gayly round his head with his right. At*
that hight he looked like a bird that had lighted
on the spar.

“Back with you, you risky: rascal!” ‘yelled
the captain in alarm. ‘I didn’t bid you break
your confounded young neck.”

Dick drew back at this stern command. Ina
minute more he was seen descending to the
deck, not by the orthodox route of the shrouds,
but sliding down a stay-line as fearlessly as a
trained old sailor, .

“ You'll do, m7 boy,” remarked the captain,
patting Dick or the head, ‘‘ I’ make a sailor
of you if you don’t break your neck in the
learning. To. much riskiness is worse than too
little, mind faat, my lad. Here, Bob, take the
Ra into your mess, and teach him a sailor’s
duty.

There was a proud color in Dick’s cheek as he
turned away in charge of old Bob Backstay.

We cannot follow the Wildwing step by step
through the long journey that lay before her.
Down the west coast of Wales, with its craggy
coast line, aad its distant mountains, she made

a

her way. Then past Land’s End, and the fScilly
Islands off Southwestern England. A few days
more found her in the Bay of Biscay, where a
fierce gale struck the ship, and threw two
thirds of her soldier cargo into the pangs of sea-
sickness. Out of this storm the good ship
secudded, and down the coast of Spain and Por-
tugal. Finally her prow was turned due east,
and over the waves she leaped for that. nar-
row channel above whict’ frowns the towerirg
rock of Gibraltar, with its tier on tier of em-
battled guns threatening the entrance to the
blue island sea, A few hours more and the
broad Atlantic was left, while the ship proudly
“rode the smooth waters of the Mediterranean.

During this voyage Dick was not idle, but was
rapidly learning the details of a sailor’s life
under the tuition of Bob Backstay.. He proved
an apt pupil, and the old fellow grew proud of
his protege when hesaw him Jay aloft with the
a and help reef the foretopsail in a sweeping
gale.

“You had not batter risk thaeboy’s life too
much,” warned the captain. ‘““He is too green
for such work.”

“Can't larn earlior,” answered old Bob. ‘TI
had him under my, hand, ready to uab him out
o’ danger. But the boy’s a sound chip o’ the
old block. You never see’d a firmer grip nor a
truer eye. His daddy was a prime sailor, and I
b’lieve the instinct is born in the lad.”

A few daysafterward this theory was sharply
tested. They were running up the Mediter-
ranean, to the south of Sardinia, when a sharp
squall struck the ship too suddenly for prepara-
tion. Caught with all sail set, and the wind off
her beam, she was crowded for a moment into
the water asif she would sink bodily. Then sh¢
felt her helm, fell off, and began to gather head-
way through the sea, But she staggered under
her press of sail, and some of tha -upper canvas

was hastily let run, and efforts made to secure |

it. Dick, despite the sharp warning of Mr.
Blake, ran hastily aloft, bound to take his trick
at this new duty. The consequence which the
officer had feared came to pass. Dick had
hardly reached the yard, and made an effort to
help the sailors gather in the bellying sail, ere
asbarp swish of the canvas jerked him from
his feet, and hurled him helplessly out upon the
wind, In a momént he was hurtling like a
rocket through the foamsfilled air, and the next
moment plunged heavily into the tossing sea.

““Man overboard!” came the thrilling cry.

There was a rush to the side of the deck.
Dick’s head had just emerged from the water,
and he was striking out manfully for the ship.
Mr. Blake, who had watched the whole catas-
trophe, quickly threw overboard such buoyant
articles as he could Jay his hands on.

“Ttold the boy not to go aloft!” he cried.
“What is, to be done? We cannot launch a
boat or go about in this gale.”

“Not? said the captain, looking sternly to

windward. ‘* Only Providence can help the lad
now!’ é

In a minute more the ship was full a mile
away, driving before the squall;-bus in ten
minutes the wind died down as suddenly as it

 

had risen, and left only a moderate breeze in
token of its fury. ;

Baa cet

 
Make all sail!” cried the captain, ‘ Hard
‘a-port your helm! Bring her up! Steady!
steady! We must go back and look for the
boy; but I fancy he’s food for fishes before
now.

He did not know Dick Dareall, that was cer-
tain. The boy knew nothing of ocean swim-
ming, but he had been like a cork on the waters
‘of the North River,’ and was the champion
‘swimmer of the wharf-boys of New York.
‘This education stood him in good stead now.
The sea was very rough, but he battled man-
fully for his life, and managed to keep bimself
‘afloat until, just as be felt his strength giving
‘out, one of the floating objects that had been
‘flung overboard struck against his hand,

Hastily clutching it, in a moment he was
‘mounted upon this impromptu life-preserver,
while a laugh of scorn at the storm broke from
‘the boy’s daring lips.

“ Ain’t goin’ to drown Dusty Dick in no frog-
pond like this,” he muttered, as he sturdily
struck out.

In a few minutes more the great hull of the
Wildwing loomed out, surging down rapidly
upon him, A loud cheer, that came down upon
the wind to his ears, told him that he had been
discovered, and in a few minutes more the ship
was close by the struggling boy.

“You needn’t lower a boat!” he screamed,
“Fling me a rope, and Dll be on deck in a
jiffy.”

This was done as the ship’s bull surged past.
Dick grasped the rope, ran up it rapidly hand
over hand, and in a minute sprung on deck,
waving his wet cap in triumph.

“Can’t drown Dusty Dick like you can a
‘blind kitten!” he shouted. ‘But it’s lucky that
then.:oop floated up, or I mought have swallered
salt-water afore now.”

“Starboard your helm!” roared the captain.
“Stand by to go’ about!—And see here, boy!
Don’t goaloft ina squall again. The Wildwing
oy waste her time in pick yz up float*~g lum-

er.” 5
On sailed the good ship, day and night. Past

Sicily, and round the English fortress of Malta;°

along the southern sbores of the great islan
of Candia; then southeastward, like a sea bird
flying for southern suns, until the low African
coast opened, the minarets of Alexandria broke
into view. outlined against the blue Egyptian
sky, and the Wildwing rounded into that world-
famous harbor, in which now lay the huge iron-
clads of the English fleet. .

Evening fell as the Wildwing dropped anchor,
while a cheer of delight broke from her soldier
cargo, glad to see land once more, and gladder
still to see the English flag waving in triumph
from the peaks of mighty ships.

CHAPTER VII.
WALKING INTO AN OPEN TRAP.

THE ancient city of Alexandria presented a
terrible aspect as Dick Dareall and Bob Back-
stay walked through it, and viewed the ruins of
the famous old city. The Wildwing had dis-
charged her cargo of troopers, who were glad
enough to get ashore out of the reach of sea-
sickness, and from the close confinement of
“tween decks.” But she yet rode af ancbor in

~

16 ; Dick, the Stowaway.

 

se

the harbor, detained by the English admirai.
There was a project on foot to shift the army te
the Suez Canal, and all the transports in the
harbor would be needed for this purpose.

Captain Hastings had rowed asbore on some
business with the authorities, and bad given his
boat’s crew permission to walk through vhe
city, with the exception of a couple of boat
keepers. Thus it was that old Bob and Dick,
who bad accompanied him in the boat, found
themselves ashore.

They clambered over the ruins of one of the
forts which the English ships had battered into
ruins some time before. The mighty balls and
shells had torn it into a loose heap of earth,
while its cannon were hurled about like so many
playthings, some buried in the ruins of the fort,
others standing upright in the eartb.

“There’s no mistake bout it, Dick,” said old
Bob, ‘‘ but them’s great guns in airnest: Why,
boy, the American Revolution was fought with
pop-guns alongside o’ them. But if the lads
then didn’t bave as big chunks of iron they had
as big hearts. Remember that, youngster.
It’s the hearts that tells, arte all.”

‘1t’s easy to squat behind a big gun ond fech >

a coal o’ fire to a primin’,” answered Dick, con.
temptuously, “Taint that way the Yankee
boys fight.’

“See here, you young rascal,” cried Bob,
“these English lads kin fight, too. And the

won't git threugh this war without some hand-,

to-hand scrimmages, jist you mark that.”

But a quiet smile showed that the old fellow
was secretly pleased with Dick’s patriotism,
He was a full-blooded Yankee himself, and
wasn’t the man to go back on his native land.

By this time they had got up into the streets
of the city, and were viewing the destruction
which-one wild day and nigbt of ravage had
made. All the magnificent center of the city,
with its banks, hotels, exchanges, churches end
private dwellings, was now a beap of ruins,
utterly destroyed by the deeds of that territle
night in which the army of Arabi Pasha had
retreated in disorder from the city.

For more than a day and night the flames of
the burning city had ascended to the heavens,
while the infuriated stragglers of the army and
the wild robbers. of the desert had ravaged
all before them, killing every European they
met and pillaging and burning with savage
ferocity. any of the Europeans had escaped
by banding togetber and fighting their way ta
the shores of the barbor, but the red splashes
which yet showed themselves on stones and
walls told-of the murdering ravage of the ter-
rible outbreak,

Old Bob’s teeth set close as he walled on,
ae his hands till the nails cut into the

esh,

“By the beard of Neptune!” he cried, ‘‘I’d
like to light down on some o’ the devils as cid
this! It’s pure cussedness, Dick, and it’s nothin’

‘else, The chap as could do work like that

ought to be squeezed till his soul, if he’s got
any, come Lut at his finger nails.”

“Pd like te plat: bis hair fur him,” answered
Dick. ‘If I wouldn’t make him squeal. wuss
nor a pig with a twisted tail, then ther’s no use
talkin’,

 
  

 

See

 
 

|

 

Dick, the Stowaway. i?

 

The sharp measures taken by the authorities
had nearly put an end to the plundering. A
number of desert robbers had been bung and
others shot down in the streets, and only now
and then some skulking scoundrel was caught
in an attempt at robbery. Detachments of
soldiery guarded the burnt district, and the
two wanderers everywhere met with stern-
faced sentinels patrolling the streets. But the
dress of a sailor and the face of an American
were good passports, and Bob and his protege
were allowed to pass unchallenged. -

Outside the ‘burned district the native town
still stood. The fire had done it some little
damage, but the greater portion of it was yet
unhurt. It was a dirty and poorly-built region,
composed of small, squat Oriental houses, with
here and there one of more solidity and preten-

sion,

As the two friends walked on they met a dif-
ferent class of people from what they had yet
seen. The genuine Arab now filled the streets,
thin, wiry-looking men, half dressed, and with
brown, scowling features. Many a dark look
fell upon the two strangers, as they walked
heedlessly on, and mors than one of the Arabs
turned as they passed, with his hand in his
breast, clutching dagger or pistol, while his face

ew savage with hate of the white-faced

oreigners. ‘ ‘

“It’s dangerous quarters here, Dick,” said

“old Bob, ‘If the English lion hadn’t his paw

on these chaps’ throats our lives wouldn’t be
worth a capful of wind hereaway, Keep an
eye on the dirty beggars, , That chap there
would have knifed-us if he dared.”

“Tet ’em try it on,” cried Dick,. bravely.
“ve got a bit of iron and wood here,” tapping
his breast pocket, ‘that’s got six tongues. And
every time it speaks it means something. If

- that little chap as we call a revolver says some-

thing with all its tongues, there’ll be a little
hole Jeft in this here crowd.”

“Best ke2p it. where it is,” answered old Bob,
with alaugh. ‘Fight where the odds ain’t too
big, but don’t fight where they are too big,
that’s my motto, When the kicks is bound to
be all one-sided, it’s best to keep your feet in
your pockets. Mind that, boy.”

“Tm afeard I'd have my kick anyhow,” re-
turned Dick. _‘‘ I’ve fit three to one afore now,
and come up all sbinin’.”

“Three to one!” answers Bob, contempt-
uously. ‘Lord, I'd take,six to one.of these
beggars. But when it comes to a crowd,
Dick.”

Dick Jaughed merrily at old Bob’s idea of fair
odds. They were now in the thickest region of
the native town; a dangerous spot. in fact,
though they did not know it. They had met no
soldiers for some time. Detachments of troops
were posted on the outskirts of the native town,
bet this portion of the streets was left un-
guarded,

They had entered a very narrow street, bor-
dered by low, dilapidated houses, 1n the mid-
dle of the avenue, however, stood one house of
more pretension, a stout-built brick mansion of
two stories in hight, with a wide gateway lead-
ing to the interior court-yard, which is found in

Egyptian mansions,

 

Yn front of this house stood a group of men
different in appearance from any they had yet
seen. They were tall, spare, wiry-looking fel-
lows, dressed in long cloaks of black and white
striped stuff. On their heads yellow handker-
chiefs were twisted to take the place of turbans.
Their faces were brown in hue, and tanned al-
most to blackness, while their expression had in
it something wild and fanatical. There was
also a haughty pride which was not seen in the
faces of the towusmen.

‘‘Who are them fellers?” asked Dick, pausing
in surprise,

“They belong to the wild desert tribes,” an-
swered Bob. ‘‘ What folks call the Bedooins.
Tve seen ’em afore. Mighty ugly beggurs they
are, too, to catch a chap astray. Seeuis to me,
Dick, we’ve poked our nose into danger.”

He looked irresolutely back, as if with inten-
tion of retreating. But tbe part of the street
through which they had come was now crowded
with a throng of bare-legged Arabs, who were
surveying them with scowling faces,

“Shiver my timbers if we ain’t walked into a
trap !” growled Bob. ‘

‘Then let’s walk out of it,” cried Dick, bold-
ly. Bet high them fellers is all brag and no
backbone.”

He walked resolutely forward, accompanied
by his old friend. With an air of perfect in-
difference they advanced, and pushed their way
into the group of Bedouins, who filled the street
from side to side, The latter seemed irresolute,
though their faces were full of hatred of the
daring strangers.

Dick and Bob had already reached the center
of the crowd, when one sturdy fellow placed
himself square across their way, and held out
his arm as if to dispute their passage.

“Git out, you catamaran!” exclaimed Bob.

Tho fellow muttered something in Arabic,
but showed no signs of moving.

In an instant the old sailor’s hard fist took him
square between the eyes, and he went down
like an ox struck by a bullet.

“Peg out, boy!” shouted Bob. ‘Show the
dogs a clean wake.” :

He sprung forward, followed by Dick, who
bad drawn his pistol. One chap caught the boy
by the shoulder, but the pistol flashed in his
face, and the bullet rent a hole through his tur-
ban. He fell back in alarm, while Dick dashed

on,
It looked for a moment as though they would

escape. Bob had broken through the line of

Bedouins, rolling another in the dust in’ doing

* ne Dick was close at his heels, revolver in
and.

But two stout chaps flung themselves before
the boy, one striking up his pistol hand, while
the other grasped him by the wrist, and jerked
him back toward the open gateway of the man-
sion.

The pistol exploded, sending its ball whizzing
uselessly through the air.

Bob turned on hearing the report, and a glare
of lion-like fury rushed into his face as he saw
the boy surrounded by a crowd of Arabs, who
were jostling him back toward the gateway.
Dick fought valiantly, but the peel ad been
wrenched from his hand, and his boyish strength

 

 

 
   
   
 
   
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
   
 
    
  
 
 
   
    
  
 
   
 
   
   
   
   
  
 
 
   
 
 
   
    

18 ' Dick, the Stowaway.

 

was of no avail against the group of vigorous
ruffians who held him.

“Run for your life!’ yelled Dick to the old
sailor. ‘‘ Stir up the sojers, and fetch ’em round
here double quick!”

But this was not the old man’s way. With
the leap of a mastiff he was back upon the ruf-
fians, striking right and left with fists and
arms, which had been hardened by the storms
of fifty years.

Down they went before him, like cornstalks
before the knife of the reaper, and the villains
drew back in momentary dismay from before
the swinging blows of the furious sailor.

He had nearly made .his way through the
throng to the side of the boy. Ore or two
blows more would have cleared the track. But
at that moment the ruffianly crew, in shame at
being driven back by a single man, closed in on
him with a wild yell of rage. A dozen hands
clasped bim by hair, shoulders and arms, and
though the old man continued to fight like a
fury, he was soon helplessly hempered.., Ham-
mered and bustled by the yelling and maddened
throng, he was dragged after the boy through
the open pateway into the court-yard of the
mansion, followed by the crowd of ,furious
Arabs, while the street doors were shut'with a
clang behind them. Five minutes afterward a
patrol of English troops passed through the
street, marching stolidty between the lines of
scowling Egyptians who lined the sidewalks.
But nothing suspicious appeared, -and the squad
marched on, undreaming that behind the closed
gateway of the mansion which they passed a
couple of Americans lay prisoners in the hands
of a raging crew of Bedouins.

The captives could not have given the alarm
if they had wished, for they lay bound hand and
foot, while beside each kneeled a fierce Arab,
holding a hard on his mouth and a dagger to
his breast.

The steady tread of marching feet came to
their ears. In a minute more it had passed,
and quickly died away in the distance. The
kneeling Arabs rose and sheathed their daggers,
looking down disdainfully on the helpless pris-
oners.

“Yes, you bloody beggars,” growled Bob.
“You know we can yell our throats out for
nothin’ now, blast ye!”

“Why didn’t you run, Bob, when I told
yeu?” asked Dick.

“Weren’t my way,” grumbled Bob. ‘‘Can’t
run when the fight’s in me,”

 

“Thought it was your motto never to fight
ag’in’ odds?”

“So it is. But I never yit see’d the time |
that a motto could bold a man when the devil
was awake in him.”

Dick laughed heartily at Bob’s philosophy |
His buoyant spirits were beginning to ris¢ |
again, |

CHAPTER VIII.

A MIDNIGHT FLIGHT,’

THERE was a stir.on the quay at Alexondria
when Captain Hastings returned to his boat,
and found that his main oarsman was missing.
Bob Backstay had not returned, and his boy |

 

protege had also failed to make bis appearancé,

The angry captain roared out a volley of
oaths, as if that was likely to mend the matter.
After he had sworn off a part of his spleen he
set himself to think.

*“Y'd as soon expect myself to skulk from
duty as Bob Backstay,” he said. ;

“Tf I mought put in an opinion, sir,” ven-
tured the coxswain, ‘it ain’t old Bob’s wav.
There’s summut happened to the old chap, _ It’s
a dangerous town, is this here, as ye know.”

“By Jove, you’re- right,” cried the captain.
‘‘He may have got into trouble with these
treacherous cut-throats of Arabs, I’d as soon
lose a right arm as have old Bob made mince.
meat of by the murdering hounds.”

He sprung hastily ashore again, and hurried
back into town, where he lost no time in stirring
up the officials, and in having a search ordered
for the missing seamen. He himself and_ his
boat’s crew also scoured the streets and alleys
of the town. A couple of hours were thus
spent, but no trace of Bob or his companion
could’ be found. Some of the sentries had
observed them, going toward what was known
to be the most dangerous district of the city,
but a search of this region proved fruitless.
Finally Captain Hastings returned réluctantly
to his ship, leaving the matter in charge of the
military officers in command. :

It would have been no easy matter to find the
two captives, in fact. They had been carried
to a retired room, in the rear of the upper floor
of the mansion, and left there, tied hand and
foot, and under the charge of two: truculent

barbarians, who, dagger in hand, watched over.

them with scowling looks,

‘“We're in a roarin’ tight scrape, Dick,” mtt-
tered theold man. ‘“ But we're alive yet, thank
the stars. Somehow I’ve a notion it ain’t
murder they mean. ’Cause if it- was they
wouldn’t wasted time in preliminaries.”

“Tf they’re goin’ to chop us up I don’t see no
use in ’em wastin’ time,” returned Dick. ‘I
ain’t in no hurry to be put on a choppin’-block,
but if it’s goin’ to be done there’s no sense ir
keepin’ a feller hangin’ on a hook.” a

‘““There’s summat else in the wind, boy. _ The
thing was too sot to be a murderin’ dodge.
J ist keep yer level, and we’ll sail into harbor

it.

‘* Ain’t no back-down in me,” answered Dick.
**T ain’t the kind that skeers. easy.”

Their conversation was brought to an end by
their guards, who approached them with threat-
ening movements, and some wild jabber of
talk. Immediately after several others of their
captors entered the room, among them a
haughty, stolid old fellow, rather better dressed
than the others. He seemed the leader of the
gang.

An active conversation in Arabic followed,
which sounded to Dick like the cackling of so
many geese. But old Bob held his head to one
side with a knowing air, as if he was making
some meaning oft of their talk,

At the end of an interval the chief approached

the prisoners, and spoke to them in broken Eng-

sia which he pronounced with a villainous ac:
eont.
** We are goiag to take you away;” was the

 

 
 

i len Se

Dick, the Stowaway. i9

 

thread of his discourse. ‘Keep quiet and we
won’t harm you. But if you try to make a
noise you go to the fishes.”

“That’s comfor’ble news,” answered Bob,
shrugging his shoulders. ‘‘ You never see’d a
mouse quieter nur I’l! be. I’ve got a notion
there’s better use fur old sailors than to make
fish bait.”

**Couldn’t git a whimper out 0’ me with a
double-barreled pump,” averred Dick. ‘’Cept
Isee a good show,” he continued, in an aside,
“fand then I'll yell like forty-horse thunder.”

The old chief seemed to vaguely understand
their ee He nodded his head approvingly,
and remarked:

“Knife Inglis very quick, if no keep mum.”

“English!” roared Bob. ‘‘ We're not Eng-
lish, blast yer pictur’! We're true-blooded
Americans.\ Genuine Yankees. Reg’lar Ply-
mouth rockers! Ye’re barkin’ up the wrong
tree, Mister Sheik.”

“Yankees!” repeated the sheik, in a dubious
tone. ‘‘ You Yankee? Boy Yankee?”

‘*Both onus. Ye’re a-wiping yer feet on the
stars and stripes, old man, when you meddle
with Uncle Sam’s boys.”

A hasty jabbering conversation followed, in
which there appeared to be some difference of
opinion, It ended in the leader’s again ap-
proaching the prisoners.

“You go,” he announced. ‘ Want Inglis,
but Yankee do. Must go.” He waved his
hand expressively, as if to indicate that it was
too late to rectify the mistake, Turning on his

heel the sheik quickly left the room, followed by |

all but the guards.

Old Bob addressed one of these, but received
for answer only a shake of the head from both.
They evidently understood no English. 3

“All right,” he muttered, ‘I ain’t been
kicked round the world for nothin’, Dick.
know summat o’ their lingo. Picked up the gist
o’ their prating.”

“What was it?’ asked Dick curiously.

“We're to be took to the rebel gineral, Arabi,
my boy. ‘These chaps bas been sent out as
scouts to pick up an Englisher, and nabbed us
by mistake. . *Tain’t much news be’ll git out of
us. But there’s no use tellin’ these fellows as
we're ignoramuses, They wouldn’t b’lieve it,”

“What's to do then?” asked, Dick.

‘Slide, if we see a chance. Go, if.we don’t,
That’s the whole programme.”

“Tt’s a mighty short one,” muttered Dick,
“But Is’pose ther’s no gettin’ away from the
circus till the perf6rmance is over.”

Night was now rapidly approaching. In two
hours more darkness descended on the streets
and houses of the city, in the sudden way in
which it usually falls in tropical regions.

The captives were brotight some food as night
approached, which they ate with a relish, despite
their ticklish position. It wzs late in the night
ere any further movement took place. The
guards still kept awake, locking like bronze
statues as the ligit of the oil lamp fell on their
dark features, But the captives were sound
ee and had been for hours when the Bed-
ouin leader again entered the room.

He stood for a minute, looking at them with

#

 

some approval in gis dark features. He then
gave orders for them to be awakened. Old Bob
was wide awake ata touch, but Dick lay look-
ing stupidly around him, and muttering:

“Why don’t you let a feller have his snooze
out? ’Tain’t breakfast time yit. I jist ain’t
goin’ to git up, ’cept you’ve got buckwheat
cakes and sassage for breakfast.”

A few words from Bob brought him to a re-
alizing sense of the situation, but he continued
to growl as the .bonds were removed from his
ankles and he was made to stand up.

“We've got to emigrate, Dick,” said the old
sailor. ‘‘ And we’d best walk the line level,
‘cause these chaps ’ll knife us if we say as much
as beans is beans,”

“But wouldn’t I give a new hat to have my
hands untied and a grip of that there revolver
ag’in?” muttered the boy.

Threatening looks and words and a flourish
of daggers admonished the captives to the vir-
tue of silence. They were led from the room
and out of the house with a stout chap holding
them by the elbows on either side, while the
rest of the party crowded closely around them.

The night was dark, and not a soul was in
sight. The captives were hurried at a quick
step along the street, and through other narrow
avenues, ina direction toward the harbor. It
was not many minutes ere they reached the.
water-side at a deserted point. Not far to
their right and left lay two of the ruined forts
of the Arabs, looking lonely and desolate in the
night shadows. As they neared the water edge
two men hastily started up, and some words in
Arabic passed between them and the Bedouins.

“The coast’s clear, Dick,” whisp red Bob,
*‘They’re afeared of the English guards on the
land side, so“they’re goin’ totry and slip us
through by, water.”

“ Hope they’ll git overtook,” answered Dick,
in the same tone. \

A boat now appeared, concealed behind a
heap of earth in easy view fromshore. The
party entered it quickly but quietly, forcing
their prisoners into a position in the stern
sheets, In a minute more the oars were out,
and they moved silently out from the shore.

Well out in the harbor, their position marked
by the dim light of sbip lamps, lay several

‘great, phantom-like monsters, the huge iron-

clads of the British blockading fleet. Several of
them were vaguely visible from the position of
the boat, and it was rowed in a direction to
round the prow of the innermost frigate at a

-safe distance.

The oars rose and fell in the water almost
silently. Evidently the Arab rowers were well
trained to their work. Over the dark waters
they slowly moved, the dark shore line not far
off to their left, the looming phantom of the
iron-clad wel! out to their right,

Gliding half-way between the vessel and the
shore, their dark forms hardly visible on the
shadowy water surface, their oars working
stealthily, the boat moved on almost like a

‘host, .

They had passed the vessel and rounded again
into the outer karbor, heading for a line of land
not visible from where they were, when asharp:

he a Eta tesa aiiae ies

 
 

20 Dick, the Stowaway.

 

ed sentinel on the vessel’s deck caught a
glimpse of something suspicious creeping over
the still surface of the water.

‘Who goes there?” he challenged, in a loud,
sharp voice. ;

No answer; but the rowers bent more vigor-
ously to their oars.

“ Halt, or I fire!”

The boat shot rapidly onward, there being
now vo effort to avoid noise. .

A sharp report came from the deck of the
iron clad. The water spurted, and a dull thud
broke the air, as a bullet struck the surface
close by the boat. :

With set lips the rowers bent to their oars
making the water foam under the cutwater of
their sharp-bowed skiff. :

Several other shots were fired, more wildly
than the first. Then there suddenly flashed out
from the deck of the huge vessel a light that
glowed like a miniature sun. Its glare brought
out the lines of the vessel with startling dis-
tinctness, and made the harbor in the immediate
vicinity as light is day. An electric light had
been kindled. '

The fugitive boat, now more than a quarter
of a mile away, was plainly visible in the outer
circle of this bright glare. To the left a well-
manned patrol boat rowed up into the line of
light, in swift pursuit. But the fugitives had a
good start, and rowed on with all their
strength, heedJess that shots continued to patter
on the water close around them,

“The beggars have stuck us in the stern to

stop the first bullet as comes aboard,” growled

old Bob surlily.

His Arab guard grasped his shoulder, and
pressed the segs of a dagger against his breast
so sharply that the old man felt it in his flesh,
A warning shake of the head accompanied the
expressive action.

“Ay! ay!” muttered Bob, and relapsed into
silence.

The boat shot rapidly onward. The electric
light faintly revealed the line of sbore for
Sehich they were bound, and it rose fast into
prominence as they cut through the foaming
water. At a considerable distance in the rear
came on the patrol boat, its crew laying lustily
down to their oars.

In a few minutes the chase was a hot one,
‘he pursuing boat gained slowly, but it was
evident that the fugitive would reach the shore
in advance. And it was now too far away for
rifle-shots to be effeciive. Through the still
night pursuer and pursued rushed at their ut-
noost speed. Five anxious minutes passed, and
then the Arab boat ran her nose well up on the

dark shore line, and her crew sprung to their |

feet with a cry of triumph.

The Bedouins grasped their prisoners and
hurried them inshore, leaving the Arab boat-
men to look after their craft, It was a sandy
spit, with some bushy growth not far back.

hind this they hurried, captors and cap-
tives. Hastily onward u the beach, half-drag-
ging the two unwilling Americans to where a
ong; low line of buildings rose dimly against

the dark background.

 

revealed, with a line of horses standing within
them, under the care of a brace of Bedouins,

These were hastily led out, ready saddled for
the road, and the wild nomads quickly leaped
to the saddle, with a ¢ry of savage triumph.

Bob and Dick were forced to mount two of
these animals, and. were firmly bound upon
their backs. Hastily the cavalcade rode out
into the open ground.

They were ready to start, but first the sheik,
with a gesture of wild triumph, rode down tc
the beach and waved his long spear in the air,
while a yell of defiance burst from his lips.

He was answered by a cry from the, inmates
of the patrol boat that was now not far out from
shore. There came also a sharp crack, and a
rifle-bullet whistled past him.

With another defiant wave of his spear, and
another wild cry, he turned his steed and gal-
loped up the slope. Reaching the group of
horsemen, he spoke to them without checking
his speed. Instantly the cavalcade was set in
motion, the two captives in the midst, and the
sound of hoofs broke on the still night air.

The troop was off for the desert, rushing liks
a meteor through the night, at the full speed of
the far-famed Arab horses,

 

CHAPTER IX.
AFLIGHT FOR THE DESERT.

A SINGLE wild yell of triumph rose from the
Bedouin troop, as their mettled steeds rushed
down the slope of the slight elevation, and their
koofs struck the sandy soil at its foot. They
were at home again, with the desert sands be-
neath their horses’ hoofs, and they flung their
spears wildly in the air and caught them in
their hands, as they galloped on through the
shadowy night at a speed that defied pursuit.

Just what the two prisoners thought, as they
felt themselves being haled away at the mar-
velous speed of Arab horses, we cannot say.
But their-sensations were certaimly not of the
most agreeable.

Soon the hoofs struck heavier soil, and tha
speed of the troop was sensibly checked, yet
the mettled steeds needed no spur nor whip to
Bis them up to their utmost work. A finger
touch on the reins, an encouraging word, was
alone needed by these well-trained and intelli-
gent animals,

Through a low-lying, shadowy landscape they
drove onward. Now a peasant’s hut rose
through’ the gloom; now they flashed past
some massive ruin .of the far past; now the
yelp of some suddenly-wakened cur broke on
the air; now voices were heard as the rushing
troop roused some lightly-sleeping Egyptian.
Some three hours of this headlong flight, and
then a faint glow to the east spoke of the coming
day. Thenighbt had passed,

In Jess than a half-hour more the sut’s_ rim
peeped above the horizon, and a stream of ligt.t

oured across the low-lying land. The eyes of

he youthful captive looked curiously upen the
scene revealed by these far-streaming sunbearas,
with the interest of one who first beiolds

| new lands, ‘Far to their left spread a

Rounding this building, some open sheds were | broad, level country, of fertile alluvial se#i, tor

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

Dick, the Stowaway.

21

 

' they were in the rich lands of the Nile Delta, a
country built up by the mud deposits of thou-
sands of years.

\Many peasant huts marked this scene, the
116.¢ of the proprietors being already in their
uelds, working stolidly away, with scarce a
glance at the cavalcade that rode past.

To theright a different scene presented itself.

. A broad sheet of water ‘stretched out before

\them, as far as the eye could reach, its wavelets
gently lapping the beach, as they curled before
a fresh breeze.

“ What is that?’ asked Dick, curiously. “I
thought we were riding away from the ocean.”

nS So we are,” answered Bob. ‘‘ That’s the
Lake Mareotis. It’s a broad sheet that lies to
the south of Alexandria.”

“Phen we're not goin’ to Arabi’s camp?” con-
tinued Dick. ‘‘ For it lies off to the west of the
town, and we’re travelin’ south like mad.”

‘Hope ye didn’t s’pose these chaps was fools
enough to ride through the “British lines,”

rowled Bob. ‘‘They’ve got to circumvent this

ere lake to fetch the rebel army, and it’s a
good fifty mile ride if it’s an inch.”

 Jist wish they’d take the string off my feet
and hands for awhile,” muttered Dick, “Id
make a break fur freedom if I got shot for it.”

“That’s jist what'd come of it,” rejoined
Bob. “You'd git shot. These ain’t no babies,
I tell younow.. Can’t fool yer time with these
desert chaps. You'd best mind your eye.”

‘Mought as well be hung for_a sheep as a
lamb,” growled Dick, surlily. ‘‘ Don’t let ’em
guv me the chance, that’s ail.”

Hours passed away. As they got further
south the breeze died out, and the climbing sun

ot hotter and hot er, until the air seemed to
Rica like a flame, They gained the southern
extremity of the lake and rounded to the west-
ward, with scarce a moment’s cessation in their
wild flight. Yet hardly a fleck showed on the
sleek coats of the horses, and they seemed as
fresh as if they had just left their stables,
They had marvelous powers of endurance.

They now left the fertile soil of the Delta
and struck upon an entirely different stretch of
country. A hard sandy and gravelly soil lay
before them; flat asa band, and without a leaf
or a blade of grass to meet the vision in the
whole broad expanse.

A new light came into the eyes of. the Bed-
ouins and a cry of gratification broke from their
lips. The horses too snorted gladly and darted
forward with new speed. It was the desert at
last, the true bome of the wild wandering Arab
which stirs his soul to its depths as the sight of
his native bills does the soul of a mountaineer,

“The rogues are at home now, Dick,” said the
old sailor. ‘‘ The sand under their feet is like the
waves under the feet of an old salt. And their
home is like the ocean in one-way. For hun-
dreds of miles this sand rolls on as level as the
ocean floor. For thousands of miles, I should
say, for it spreads out yonder into the great Sa-
hara, the premium desert of the world, which
never halts till the Atlantic is reached and its
sacds join the sands of the sea.”

“J have heered of it,” averred Dick.

‘And I have crossed it,” continued Bob, “A
square thousand miles of sand, with heral= «

 

bft of rock or a stretch of fertile sile. And
fresh water ag scarce asin the middle of the
sea. Mor’n once I’ve rid a hundred miles and
over without a Grop of water, ’cept a bit we
carried in leather bottles.”

“T’'d like to taste some now,” answered Dick.
“Tm as dry inside as a limekiln.”

“We'll soon have it, my lad. Do you see
where these chaps is headin?” He pointed to-
ward where a group of slender columns rose in
the distanee, with a dome-like canopy at their
tops. ‘‘Them’s date-palms, Dick; the tree of
ae desert. We'll find a spring or a well at their

oot.

As they came nearer, Dick made out clearly
one of the most graceful sights that the earth
holds, a group of palms, with their tall, straight,
slender truzks, and their verdant crown of long
drooping leaves, outlined beautifully against
the blue Egyptian sky.

In ten minutes more the desert oasis was
reached, and the Bedouins spruvg from their
horses. The mouth of a well opened in the
center of the group of palms, while around it
spread a luxuriant growth of grass, which the
horses nipped with hungry haste.

The prisoners were now released and suffered
to dismount. Their hands, too, were untied, as
if their captors disdained to keep them longer
bound. Indeed escape seemed hopeless, with that
desert reach around them, and a half-score of
armed desert riders surrounding,

Water was quickly drawn from the shallow
well, and given to the horses, who drank with
eee Afterward the men hel themselves
and their prisoners. It was the true desert
fashion, horse before man.

Next a frugal repast was spread on the sands,
consisting of squares of hard cheese, of long
strips of dried mutton, and of cakes of millet
that needed sharp teeth for their mastication,
But appetite gives a relish to the dryest proven-
der, and the desert fare was devoured with as
much avidity as if it bad been the most luxu-
rious of viands.

The frugal meal over the Bedouins stretched
themselvesin the shadow of the trees, evidently
for a noon siesta. The horses were cast Joose,
with the assurance that they would not stray
far from the luxuriant grass of the oasis. Only
one of the Arabs remained on guard.

‘They are takin’ it mighty easy, seems to
me,” said Dick, nursing his knees, as he sat on
the sand. .

“Faith! Pm glad of it,” rejoined old Bob.
“Ym no more eager than them to ride in a
scorcher like this. Let’s stretch out and take a
snooze, my boy.”

“TLet’s make a break for a pair of hosses,
while they’re snodzin’,” suggested Dick. ‘* We
kin knock the pins from under that scout and
dig out.”

The old sailor cogitated fora minute. Then
he shook his head.

“Won't do,” he answered. ‘These chaps
sleep like-a leaf. A breath’ll wake’em. And
we can’t ride the desert horses like them.
They’d run us down in a jiffy,” :

Dick sat silently brooding for ten minutes.
Then he remarked, with a gesture of boyish im-
patience: :

 
  

    

22

Dick, the Stowaway.

 

“Hang if I'm goin’ to rust here!

arter me you kin snatch another hoss and ride
tother. One or both on us mought git off.”

Without waiting for a reply the hasty lad
sprung to his feet, and leaped for one of the
horses, which at that moment had strayed close
beside him. Tho agility which his limbs prom-
ised was now quickly shown, for he was in the
saddle with the spring of a panther, Hre the
astonished gnard, who had been leaning on his
long spear in a dreamy attitude, could recover
his faculties, Dick had grasped the reins, turned
his horse’s head to the desert, and dug his heels
into the animal’s sides, :

With a yell of alarm the guard rushed for
him, brandishing his spear. In an instant the
whole camp was awake, With the alertness of

-desert life the Bedouins sprung to their feet,
and grasped their weapons. But the fugitive
was already in full flight. The miettled horse,
not used to such rough treatment, had spruug
forward with a snort of anger, and dashed at
breakneck speed for the desert, the boy clinging
like a monkey to his back.
~ It had all passed in an instant. Yet the
Arabs were too accustomed to surprises to be
taken aback. Some ran -for their horses,
Others grasped the remaining prisoner, who had
continued motionless, knowing well the,useless-
ness of the effort. Dick was rot a hundred
yards away ere the guard and the old sheik
were on horseback. A ery from the leader
checked other Bedouins from mounting, and
the two pursuers put themselves immediately
on Dick’s trail.

The horses of the pursuers seemed to instinct-
ively feel the work that was required of them.
Stirred only by encouraging words, and guided
by a finger touch on the reins, they sprung for-
ward with the speed of the gazelle, and in an
instant the chase was in full progress, the fugi-
tive scarce two hundred yards in advance,

Dick was not without knowledge of horse-
manship. He had ridden barebacked horses in
the country at home, and could keep his seat
like a monkey. But he knew nothing of the
points of an Arab horse, and his bard hand on
the rein, and the pressure of his heels on the
animal’s side, only served to madden the intel-
ligent steed. After its first few wild leaps it
dropped into a sulky pace, from which Dick’s
utmost efforts could not rouse it.

Bebind him came now the two fierce pursuers,
sitting their horses like statues. Yet, without
laying a finger’s weight upon them, they had
brought them to a speed that was simply mar-
velous, Like the wind they darted onward,
spurning the sand beneath their unshod hoofs.

Scareely a quarter of a mile had been passed
ere they wére within spear reach of the flying
boy, The guard brandished his long spear in
his hand, and would have flung it with deadly
aim, but that a word from his companion
checked his hand. Gn they rode until they
were not six feet behind the fugitive boy.

At this moment there was a diversion iv the
chase. Dick’s horse, tormented and angered

by his unskillful treatment, suddenly came toa
dead halt, and flung his heels in\ the air with
vicious rage.

   

Yl snatch |
a hoss and ride one way, and while they’re | effect.

 

This unexpected movement had its natural
The horse stopped but Dick went on,
over his ears, and landed with a heavy thud on
the hard sand, ten yards ahead. There he lay,
motionless, with his face to the sky, a faint
quiver in his limb» the only sign of life,

The two Arabs rode up and ‘halted their
horses beside him, At an order from the sheik
the other reached down the head of |the spear,
and stirred the fallen boy. No movement fol-
lowed, All his senses seemed shaken out of him
by the fall.

A conversation ensued between the two men
that lasted for some minutes. Then, to the hor-
ror of the old sailor, he saw the chief draw
from his breast the revolver which bad been
taken from Dick the night before. Bending
from his-saddle he took quick*aim and pulled
the trigger. A sharp report woke the echoes of
the desert, and rung like a thunder clap in old
Bob’s ears. 6

No second shot was required. A bullet-hole
pierced Dick’s coat, immediately above his
heart, A momentary twitch as the ball struck
him, and his, limbs stretched out moveless,
while his pallid face was upturned to the
scorching Egyptian sky. ;

Catching the loose horse the two Arabs rode
back, leaving their yictim on the sands. The
angry old sailor burst into a furious remon-
strance, but it: was utterly unheeded, In a
minute he was forced to mount, and was
bound upon his horse. By this time all the
Bedouins were ready, and the cavalcade-set out,
ridin», as ifin mockery, close by the body of
the motionless boy.

Old Bob caught a glimpse of the deathly
pallid face, and he shut his eyes with a groan,
while a revengeful feeling rose in his heart.

In five minutes the easis lay far behind them
with the unburied corpse calling, with pallid
face for retribution on its murderers.

CHAPTER X.
NOT SO DEAD AS HE SEEMED. ~

THE sun again hangs low in the West. Buta
very different scene surrounds us from that of
the last sunset. Instead of the streets of a city,
or the desert reaches of the last chapter, we
find ourselves in the midst of a busy camp.
Long lines of tents stretch around us. In front
are the defensive earthworks of an army at
bay, mounted with cannon, and guarded b
alert sentinels. Around us are throngs of sol-
diers; some marching rapidly from point to
point of the camp; some under drill; others
gathered around open-air fires, which give out
the odors of the kitchen, as the mess suppers
are being prepared. It is a busy and interest-
ing spectacle, and is rendered more so by the
occasional roar_of a distant cannon, and the
swish of a great ball as it drives through the air
overhead, or plunges into the face of an earth-
work, Ananswering gun from the earthworks
sends a_return ball into the hostile camp, and
then all relapses into silence. It is the mere
by-play of two resting armies.

Tho soldiers around us are partly in uniform,
but many of them wear the scant dress of the
Egyptian fellah, while they nearly all wear the
red fez cap, which is the distinctive head-dress

 

 

 
 

 

 
 

Dick, the Stowaway.

 

of the country. It does not need this, however,
to show that we are in the ranks of the Egyp-
tian army. There are no signs here of the
method and rigid discipline we would find in
the Hnglish camp. In front of a large tent,
made oF red and white striped cloth, and over-
hung with tbe lazy folds of a drooping fizg,
stood a group of officers—richly-dressed, fine-
looking men the most of them, their bronzed
faces showing the effects of a tropic sun. In
their midst was one less showily dressed, yet
whose haughty face and commanding manner
showed the instinct of a leader. And the def-
erence shown him by the others showed that
they stood in the presence of Arabi Bey, the
rebel general, who had roused up his country to
revolt, and hurled defiance in the face of Eu-

rope.

Before this group of officers, presenting a
strange contrast in dress and eppearance, stocd
the Bedouin troups, their sheik at their bead,
while between the two parties was their prison-
er, old Bob Buckstay, bis hands still bound.

The old sailor stood erect and defiant; his eyes
full of fire, his face working with repre.sed
emotions. :

“ An American never answers questions with
his hands tied,” he boldly responded to some
inguiry of the rebel general.

“An American?” cried Arabi, in very good
English.

‘“Yes. Full-blooded Yaukee to the backbone.
And these galoots knowed it, too, when they
tuk me.”

Arabi turned angrily to the Bedouins, and
questioned them sharply in Arabic. An-earnest
conversation followed, in which they seemed
trying to explain away some mistake, It ended
by one of them hastily untying old Bob’s
hands,

“These fools have made an awkward mis-
take,” explained the general. “I am not at
war with Americans. I commissioned them to
bring me some English officer, or man in
authority, from whom I might squeeze certain
desired information. And the hounds bring me
aman froma country that must be in sympa-
thy with all men struggling for liberty.”

‘Just prove to _us that it’s liberty ye're
wantin’,” cried old Bob, with enthusiasm, “ and
the whole Yankee-nation will back you up, and
lend you a copy of that star-spangled banner
that never yet went down before an enemy.”

This speech brought a ery of approval from
such of the group as understood English, A
smile came even upon Arabi’s haughty features.
He spoke rapidly to the officers surrounding
him. Evidently Bob had made a favorable
impression.

few questions to the prisoner followed, but

he soon showed that he could give them no
useful information, as he bad only landed in
Alexandria the day before, and had been taken
risoner ere he was two hours on the streets. Re

k good care to say nothing about the Englis
troops brought out by the Wildwing. :

Again Arabi conversed with his officers in
earnest tones. He then turned to the prisoner,

saying: }
U There has been an awkward mistake here,
old man, You ara no longer a prisoner. I am

 

not warring with Americans, ‘You are free to
return to the city; but if you will enter my
service I will make it worth your while.”

Old Bob was silent for a minute before reply-
ing. He then ssid:

“T was not taken alone, sir. There was a
voy with me, who was shot in the desert by
that murderin’ pirate.” He turned and pointec
to the sbeik, while his wrinkled face worked
with revengeful rage. ‘‘ That boy lies dead on
the sands. will not say a word or lift a hand
until I have buried bim. ‘Then I may enter
your service, if only for the chance to revenge
the murdered lad.” His look was so fierce that
the sheik ‘turned pale, and shrunk back among
his followers.

Arabi’s face grew red with anger. He ad-
dressed a few short, sharp sentences to the con-
fused leader of the Bedouins, who seemed un-
able to reply. Another word, and one of them
left the group and strode hastily away. He
was gone forsevera] minutes, when be reap-
pay leading the Arab steed which old Bob

ad ridden al) that day.

“ There,” cried the rebel leader. ‘‘ Mount and”
away. Bury your friend and return to me.
You will not regret entering the service of
Arabi Pasha.’?.

Old Bob looked at the horse, and bluntly an-
swered:

“That animile isn’t made of iron, yer honor.
He’s traveled since daybreak, and wants a
night’s snooze. As for me I’m not used to horse-
back, and am a’most split in two. Let me bunk
to-night, and I’l] be off at sunrise to-morrow.”

“Very well,” answered Arabi, with a smile.
He spoke to an officer, who motioned the sailor
to follow him. In a few minutes the old man
found himself provided with shelter and ratior.s
and was_bade a courteous “‘ good-night” by the
Egyptian officer. ‘

At daybreak the next day he wasup and about.
in the already aroused camp. The horse had
been quartered near him, and seemed as ready
as he for the road. Devouring a hasty meal, and
providing himself with rations for his journey,
old Bob mounted the mettled steed. He was
accompanied through the camp by an officer,
many an angry look being cast upon him by
the fanatical Mussulmen, by whom every
Christian, was viewed with hatred. But soon
the camp. limits were passed, the horse gladly
neighed as his hoofs struck the open sands, and
waving a good-by to his conductor the old man
rode boldly forth, i

“Tm afeared it may be a long day afore you
seo me ag’in, Mr. Arabi,” he muttered.
“Though I don’t feel like leavin’ this country
till I’ve settled the hash of that there sbeik,
darn his ugly pictur’.”

The horse eagerly snuffed the fresh morning
air, and darted rapidly forward beside the
waters of the lake, on which now fell the early
rays of the rising sun,

At the same hour over another portion of the
same region, there slowly moved a youthful
figure, whose Sorennnes would have made the
old man’s heart leap for joy, could he have seen
him. For it was no other than the form of
Dick Dareall, whom he expeetedtto find stretch-
ed dead upon the sands by the desert well.

  

 
 

 

24 . Dick, the Stowaway:

 

How came he here alive? That story we must
leave Dick to tell for himself. Where he now
was the desert had vanished, and the alluvial
land of the Nile region spread around him, He
was not ten miles distant from the great river
of Egypt: Here the huts of the Egyptian peas-
antry came into view. The weary lad seated
himself on a rounded knoll, and overlooked the
fertile country below him.

“Ts'poseI ought to be dead,” he remarked,
with a shrug. ‘’Tain’t that old coon’s fault
that I’ve got my heelsonthesand yit. Hedone
his best to peg me out, only he didn’t know that
Dusty Dick was a salamander.”

He continued his reflections, as his eyes roam-
ed curiously over the scene,

“My English uncle didn’t calkerlate he was
givin’ me my life when he guy me that purse.
A whole street in Chester wouldn’t been wuth

. as muchas that one little bit of gold.” He took
from his breast pocket the purse which he
had received in the streets of Liverpool. In-
serting his fingers he took out:the only coin it
held, a gold guinea, which seemed bent and bat-
tered,

“I'd have been dead teat only fur this little
chap,” he continued, as he affectionately sur-
veyed the coin. ‘It cotched a bullet as was
makin’ a straight wake fur my heart. That
bit o’ lead has sp’iled Queen Vic’s beauty; but
there’s other photygraphs of the old lady,
and there ain’t no other Dusty Dick. I’m
goin’ to keep that pictur’ as long as I live, you
bet.”

He rose and replaced the purse, with its pre-
cious cdin, in bis pocket. Strangely enough
his life had been saved by the single remnant
of his uncle’s gift.

Dick had walked many miles since he had re-
gained his senses beside the desert well, .Tak-
ing a hearty drink, and devouring the few
relics of the Arabs’ dimer, he had walked the
night through, and found himself, with the
morning light, in the midst of cultivated land.
Just before him was an Egyptian hut, about
which were no signs of life. Tho boy boldly
advanced, and entered it by the open door. It
was empty,'and seemed to have been so for
days: Probably its tenant had been drafted
into Arabi’s army.

Not troubling himself to ask many questions,
Dick rammaged the but, and succeeded in ee
ing to light some dried-up remnants of food,
end a bag full of dried dates.. On this he seized
with avidity, and:devoured the food as rapidly
as he could without water to soften it.

While eating he continued his explorations,
and soon discovered a parcel of Hay pian cloth-

e

 

ing, of a boy’s size. An idea quickly shot into
his sharp brain. No Christian’s life was worth
a moment’s purchase in Egypt just then. If
he cared for safety he must play the vaxptian:
No sooner thought than done.  Hastily throw-
ing off his outer clothing he donned that of the '
Egyptian boy, and found it an excellent fit.

A dash of brown pigment, which he also found, |
on bis face and hands, and his complexion took |
on the bronzed Egyptian hue. He laughed to

himself as he thrust the fez cap on his tangled

“ Ain’ I a hunky boy?’ he exclaimed.

“Don’t b’eve old Arabi hisself d know me,
Pm jist transmogrified, and I’m bound to see a
bit of this here Egypt afore I streak back fur
Ameriky.”

Without a thought, that his Saxon features,
or his ignorance of the language, might betray
him, Dick left the hut, first securing the bag of
dates, and made his way eastward across the
valley of the Nile.

His journey took him past many fertile fields,
in which the Egyptian laborers were busy
working. Many glances were cast upon him as
he passed, but no one seemed to tae him for

aught but an Egyptlan. So far his disguises .

proved a success. ‘

It was approaching noon when he saw before
bim a clump of dwellings, forming the first vil-
lage he had yet met. At thesametime a sound
camé to his ears that made him leap with sur-
prise. For the moment he fancied bimself in
America, for he had not dreamed of such a
sound in the land of the Pharaohs. It was the
shrill whistle of a locomotive,

“Hunky ag’in!” cried Dick, with delight.
“That’s justboss. I’m a-goin’ fur that there
train and if I steala ride it won’t be the fust
time. Guess I kin show ’em some Yankee tricks
in that line.”

Reaching the village he discovered that it was
a railway station. Tne long, familiar iron lines
ran past as straight as a die. Soon the whist-
ling locomotive ran in, while all the inmates of
the place hastened to the station, af if this was
the one event of their lives.

The train consisted of a single passenger, and
a half dozen freight cars. It halted for a mo-
ment in the village, and then steamed on, But
it carried out one more passenger than it bad
brought in. Dick Dareall was on board, crouch
ed on the top of one of the freight cars.

Onward ran the train, ata moderate speed,
over the level and fzrtile plain of Egypt, busy
now with the preparations for the harvest. In
less than an hour they reached and crossed the
Nile, on a bridge which had been thrown across
the historic stream.

The great river which had for thousands of -

years fed and fertilized the oldest civilized land
of the carth, ran sluggishly and majestically
on, full almost to the level of its banks, for it
was the time of the annual rise, and soon it
would be oe its muddy waters into the low
lying fields that bordered it for hundreds of
miles.

It was a new experience for Dick, and he
eagerly watched the rude agriculture of. the
Egyptians, with their plow composed of a
jerked stick, drawn by two lazy builocks. The
mode in which the peasants dipped water from

the river for their fields, also interested him.
Some used long well-sweeps, others rode water-.
wheels, turned by oxen, and with earthen jars -

on their rims. So new and attractive was all
this to the boy, that the day passed quickly
away, and he was So to hear the cry of
“* Cairo,” as the train halted ata fine station.

 

CHAPTER XI.
THE LAND OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

Morr than a week has passed since Dick

é tote Sh ee ae
et eg Pe Se oo Abate oe

 

 

 

 

 

 
at

 

 

Dick, the Stowaway. “5

 

Darenil entered Cairo. It has been a week of
doubt and danger, for the sharp young donkey-
drivers, for which that city is celebrated, soon
discovered that Dick was not an Egyptian, and
would have worried him as dogs worry a
strange cat, had he not succeeded in escaping,
He had, in fact, been rescued by an old French-
man, wto still remained in tha city, protected
by a written safeguard from Arabi. Dick was
now domiciled with the old man, to whom he
had told his adventures, The latter taught him
some common phrases in the Arabic language,
by whose aid he might save himself from peril
if again assailed. Dick had a quick tongue, and
soon pronounced them like an Egyptian.

He certainly needed some protection, for it
w:s impossible to keep the restless boy under
cover. Cairo was £0 strange a city, and had so
oriental an aspect, that it seemed to Dick as if
he was wandering in the very scenes of the
Arabian Nights, and as if he might at any mo-
ment meet Aladdin, or the troop of the Forty
Thieves in its streets.

Its numerous domes and minarets gave it a
different aspect from any European city, while
the crowds of swarthy Egyptians in the
streets, the long lines of camels, the endless
donkeys, half buried under their burdens of
fresh cut grass, the women with their closely
vailed faces, only their bright eyes showing
that there was a face beneath the mask, all this
was strangely attractive to the American lad,
Still more taking were the long bazaars, roofed
in from the sun, and displaying a thousand dif-
ferent articles of the richest and most varied
form, jewelry, carpets, cloths of Persian manu-
facture, until the boy’s eyes were dazzled with
their glow. And the constant. turmoil in the
bazaars, the throngs of men, women, donkeys,
camels and oxen, all’ mingled together, every
one in the way, and all shouting, screaming and
appealing to the Prophet, until it seemed as if
the strongest Head might be turned by the up-
roar.

Such was the scene in whose thick the youth
found himself, and as he saw the variety of
faces and costumes, the jugglers and mounte-
banks, and the dlers with their strange
goods and odd cries, he expected nothing less
than to bear some old magician crying out,
‘(New lamps exehanged for old,” and to see
some idle servant run out with Aladdin’s won-
derfui lamp. It would have astonished him
little to see the magic lamp rubbed in the street,
its monstrous genii called up, and the whole
busy city transported bodily for a thousand
miles into the desert, as in the Arabian Night
marvels,

A week afterward found Dick in the midst of
very different but equally strange scenes. He
had wandered from the city, along the course
of the Nile, and soon found himself amid the
wonders of old Egypt, the grand ruins of the
far past.. Great stone images, with the figures
of lions and faces of women, stared at him
from the midst of desert sands, Then he came
upon the Pyramids, mountains of stone built by
human hands, before which the boy stood in an
awe such as he had never before felt. Before
him rose the t pyramid of Ghizeh, built of
immense blocks of stone, and rising four hun-

 

dred and eighty feet into the air. He stood
looking at it until a doubt crept into his mind
that mere men had heaped these mighty stone
mounds, and a half belief that they were the
work of the genii of whom he had read.

In another place be came upon the ruins of
the great city of Memphis, and stood looking
at them with utter amazement. He was grow-
ing more and more doubtful that mere man had
done this work. It seemed only fit for the bands
of giants. The earth was strewn with broken
statues of marble and granite, and among them
figures that seemed to his excited eyes as tall as
a church steeple. And there were the remains of
mighty temples, with columns as thick as the
trees of aforest,and towering aloft with swelling
tops like the crown of aspreading palm-tree, The
air was cool under the shadow of these huge
stone columns, and Dick wandered among them
fancying. that he had been suddenly taken to
another world, or made the victim of the en-
chantment that of old was fabled to haunt
these scenes.

But a familiar sound -brought the romantic
boy back to himself, This was the neigh of a
horse, which seemed strangely out of place in
that quiet and majestic scene. In a moment he
was back again in the modern world, glad to
escape from the heavy grandeur that had been
weighing down his spirits.

Peering eagerly arcund he soon caught sight
of the steed. It was a genuine Arab, slender.
limbed, sleek and intelligent, with small bea
and an eye that almost spoke. It was tether
at the foot of one of the columns, and wal
busily cropping the surrounding grass,

But Dick’s quick eyes saw more than thy
There was something familiar to him in the
pearance of the horse, and as he drew pearer
and noted the saddle and accouterments, with
their silver mountings, he fully recognized the
animal. It was the horse of the Bedouin ¢ieik
who had shot him in the desert.

“Wonder if it ain’s my turn now?’ cried
Dick, with delight. ‘The old chap stole my
revolver, and shot me with it. S'pose 1 steal
his hoss?) What’s good fur the goose is good fur
the gander, I calkerlate. Where is the old cove,
anyhow?”

The boy turned back, and made ‘his way
through the pillars of the ruined temple toward
‘where he saw a glimpse of color in the warm
sunlight. Reaching the edge of a rubbish: beap,
and gazing down the slight declivity, he beheid
what he partly expected. There sat the old
sheik, dressed in a gay-colored robe and turban.
He was crouched on a fragment of a statue, and
busily munching some dried dates, which he
drew from a bag at his side.

The slight noise made by Dick drew his atten-
tion, and he looked hastily up. In an instant
he had sprung to his feet,-his eyes dilated with
horror, while his hands were extended as if to
repel some dreadful object. Hissharp eyes had
at a glance recognized Dick’s face, as he stood
in the bright light, outlined against the column
behind him. Tothe superst*tious mind of the
old Bedouin it seemed the , pirit of the mur-
dered boy come back to torment bim for his

deed.
“You'd best be skeered, old hogs,” cried

 
 

 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 

  
 

2¢

Dick, the Stowaway.

 

Dick, in a sepulchral tone. “Ym a-goin’ to
haunt you now, you bet. ‘You can’t howl
round here shootin’ Yankee boys.”

The old fellow did not understand these
words, but he krew they were English, and his
fright was redoubled. There came from bis lips
a loud cry of ‘ Allah-il-Allah!” and he darted
headlong down the slope, and in among the
opposite ruins, frightened out of his five senses.
A loud laugh that followed him seemed to his
excited fancy the ery of a demon, and Jent
fresh wings to his flight. Dick laughed again
as he saw the long cloak of the sheik streaming
in the wind, like the tail of some new bird of
the desert.

“The old rascal won’t stop short of Chiny,”
eried Dick. ‘ As long as he stole my revolver,
and shot me in the bargain, a hoss is only a fair
swap. I’m a-goin’ bot foot fur that there
critter.”
~ In five minutes afterward Dick was mounted
on the sheik’s horse, He had some difficulty in
doing so, for the animal refused to submit to
the hands of a stranger. But, by dint of some
fondling, and soothing words, the daring boy
sueceeded in mounting the animal, and was
soon cantering away from the ruins, on the
back of one of the noblest horses of the desert.

As be wound out of the ruins, and struck the
open sands beyond, a loud, astonished ery from
behind met his ears. Swerving in the saddle
Dick saw the form of the old sheik, yelling half
rage and half in fear, and apparently yet in
bt as to whether he saw a phantom or a
8 ug of flesh and blood.

Waving his hat in farewell, a triumphant
mout broke from the lips of the reckless lad.
sting the horse to the gallop he rode away at
@ brisk pace, leaving the villianous old Arab
afoot in the ruins, and ready to tear his hair
with rage.

Dick’s previous experience of Arab horses had
taught hima word or two. As he had no desire
to be flung over the ears of the animal, he took
care not to bear too hard on the bit, and to
keep his heels out the creature’s sides,

Under this milder treatment the animal went
steadily on, with the swift and gentle move-
ment for which the Arab horses are celebrated,

Soon the reckless boy had left the bafiled
sheik far behind him: Onward he went, verg-
ing toward the hills that bordered the Nile val-
ley, for the overflowing river had turned’ the

lds into black mud, through which a horse
would have helplessly floundered. Sheets of
water spread on each sido of the river, save
where broken by higher ground; laden with that
fertilizing mud which would, on the retirement
of the river, be turned into waving fields of
wheat and corn,

But nothing of this troubled Dick’s brain, as
he struck the sandy edge of the bordering hills.
He had something else to think of, for at that
moment another ‘horseman su Pear appeared,
emerging from behind a ruined wall,

Dick hastily drew rein and strove to turn bis
horse’s head, The other horseman seemed to be
making the same endeavor. But whether they
would or not, they were doomed to come to-
fester, for, with loud neighs of recognition,

ment were rubbing noses in token of olé ac:
quaintance,

Dick lifted his eyes with a little dread, The
other borseman did the same, Buta loud shout
broke the silence of the hills as they gazed upon
each other’s faces.

Z “Bob Backstay, or I’m a donkey!” yelled the

Oy.
“Dick, the stowaway, or I’m a blue-nosed
mackerel!” yelled the sailor.

“How did you come here? I thought you
wers hung by Arabi,” queried Dick.

‘How did you come here? I thought you
were shot by the sheik,” asked Bob.

And then a wild laugh broke from the lips of
the reckless boy. ;

‘Dusty Dick didn’t peg -out as easy as they
ealkelated,” he exclaimed.

I’m ridin’, and I left him back yonder skeered
blue by my ghost.”

Old Bob echoed the boy’s laugh.

“T knowed it, Dick,” he said.
lerin’ you up. That's what brung me here.
Found your old Frenchman in Cairo, and he
put me on your track. But how the blazes did
you tack ship on that pistol bullet?”

Dick explained how he had been strangely
saved by the lucky coin that had turned the
leaden ball.

‘Goin’ to hang on to it while there’sa hair in
my head,” heeried. ‘‘There’s luck in it; and
mebbe it’s all Vmvlikely to git from my sojer
uncle.

“ We've got a good horse apiece anyhow,” re-

joined Bob. ‘tI move we make a break down

the river for Alexandria. Woe must keep ott
of Arabi’s clutches, thouzh. He may hang me
for not keeping my promise.”

They rode together a few miles down the
river, when, from the summit of a slight eleva-

‘tion, they saw something that materially
changed their plans.

This was the gleam of rifle barrels, the wav-
ing of flags, and soon the appearance of a body
of men, marching hastily and disorderly south-
ward. Further north the sun glinted from other
masses of steel. Evidently a hasty southward
march was being made by a considerable body
of soldiers. Out of their midst/rode a troop of

. dragoons, their bright accouterments glistening

as they came rapidly forward. Just then a cry
of delight rose froma the weary troops. They
had caught sight of the distant minarets of
Cairo, lit up by the descending sun.

“ Let’s slide,” cried Dick. “ It’s gittin’ mighty
onhealthv round here.”

“Let fly all, port your helm, and scud for
harbor,” answered Bob.

Ina miuute more they were skurrying back,
at a rapid pace, up the Nile valley.

An hour afterward, the well-mounted pair
rode into Cairo, considerably in advance of the*

coming troops. They mads ‘he best of their
way to the house of the hospite. ble Frenchman,
“Something’s bu’sted!” cried Dick. ‘ Arahi’s

 

|

army’s comin’ at two-forty speed up the river,
“The In|

Heered any news?”
“Oui,” answered the Frenchman,
glis’ has broke camp, Dey vas all gone to Sues

two animals rushed forward, and in a mo-; Canal, Coming down dis way,” he puinied to

‘And what’s more, ,
lve got even with the sheik. This is his hoss”

.‘ T’ve been fol-

 

 

 
 

  

Dick, the Stowaway.

   

27°

 

the east,
dere’s great news.
Inglis at Ismaili.

De batile field is shifted.
Egyptian off here. You
stay vid me, No safe yet. Whole desert full
of Egyptian. -Bedouin everywhere. You stay
eee I keep watch. When coast clear you
ride.

And so it was decided. The fugitives con-
cluded to stay with the hospitable Frenchman
until the two armies had become settled once
more, when it might become safe to make a
break across the desert for the English camp.

 

; CHAPTER XU.
OVER THE BARREN LANDS.

On the morning of September 1ith Bob and Dick
rode out of the streets of Cairo, Their old host had
concluded that the armies were now settled in camp,
the roving parties drawn in, and that by making a
wide flank movement around the Egyptian lines the
fugitives might make a safe break for the English
encampment.

Well furnished with provisions and water, and
splendidly mounted, they rode out of the Egyptian
city, glad to escape from its dangerous streets,
The passage through those streets was not made in
safety. Not two months ago Christians had been
murdered there by the natives, and their fierce fa-
naticism was not yet allayed. Dick still looked
much like an Egyptian boy, but there was no dis-
guising old Bob, and they were hooted and stoned

the rabble as they rode throngh the streets.
Mounted as they were it was with some difficulty
they escaped injury. A howling crowd had gath-
ered in their front.” Stones began to fly in both di-
rections. There was but one thing for it. Stirring
up their horses to full speed they rode furiously
down upon the cowardly crew. In an instant they
were among them. Down went. the natives in
swaths before the plunging horses. The crowd
broke and ranin wild fright. In less than a minute
the danger was past, A dozen of the Egyptians lay
stretched upon the ground, and wi.) a shout of tri-
umph the Americans rode briskly on, laughing at
their discomfited foes,

“T's like a brace of seventy-fours through a fleet
of porgy-fishers,” declared old Bob. ‘Keep yer
evitter down to his work, Dick. "“Lain’t safe sailin’
round here,” F ,

“Yonder’s the open country,” cried Dick.
‘Guess we kin begin to whistle. There ain’t a hoss
in that town that’s got the bottom to foller'us
now.

It would, indeed; have been hard to overtake
them. They had learned something of the art of
riding an Arab horse, ‘and the small, clean-limbed_|
animals spurned the sands beneath their hoofs as
they ran easily onward, with an easy, gliding, but
very swift motion.

Stumbling over the rubbish heaps which surround
the city, and passing lines. of ancient tombs and
mosques, it was not aes ere they climbed the ele-
vated boundary of the Nile valley, and struck the
edge of the sandy desert beyond.

heir eyes parla

the scene which now met them. A far-reaching
level of hard sand aud gravel, assmooth almost as
a floor, and stretching out endlessly to the limits of
the Red Sea. And it was an utterly unknown land
to them: There were wells here and there but the
chance was against their finding them. There was
nothing for it but to ride rapidly onward, and trust
to the provisions and water they brought with
them. In less than two days they would strike the
line of the Suez canal, or of the Red Sea.

“ Jnd

if our hosses give out?’ asked Dick, as he
gave the rein to his steed.

| year.

“ Arabi run to head him off. Oh!/ has got to git their sheer of the water. We'd best

starve a bit ourselves than kill our beasts.”

The sun shone warmly down on the desertas they
rode onward at arapid pace, The horses needed
no urging. They had their native sands beneath
their feet, and rushed onward as if they gloried in
the free air and broad expanse surrounding.

Above them was the blue Egyptian sky, from
which hardly a drop of rain falls throughout the
Before them was utter desolation. As they

| rode onward they passed the whitened bones of

grown somewhat accustomed to |,

 

“Then we'll have to foot it, that’s all,” answered
¢ “Tf we don’t find s well the hosses

sailor.

many a camel, which had fallen and perished by
the wayside of the caravan route.

“That’s a mighty good idee,” cried old Bob.
“Them bones is better to sail by than the compass.
They’re like telegraph poles ‘long the highway.”

“Tf they don’t plump us into the Egyptian camp,”
rejoined Dick.

Allthat day they rode onward, At night they _
camped upon the desert, with theit saddles for pil*
lows, and the sands for a bed. But the necessity of
furnisning their horses as well as themselves with
water quite exhausted their store of that necessary
commodity, and when they resumed their desert
ride see next morning their water skins were quite
empty. ‘

“Anyhow there’s been a good drink all round,”
cried Dick. - ‘And if we don’t strike water to-day
we’ll reach the canal afore night. It ca. ’t be more
than fifty or sixty miles off.”

Old Bob shook his head doubtfully.

“We're in strange seas,” he remarked. ‘And
it’s hard to keep our bearin’s. Howsomdever I've
a through much wuss. Keep up your sperits,

HICK,

* Ain’t got no notion of lettin’ ’em swag down,”
answered Dick,

Onward they rode, mile after mile. They had left
the caravan track, and swerved to the south, for
fear of being led into danger if they kept that
course. There was nothing now but the cumpass
and the sun to guide them, but the old sailor knew
well. the art of navigation, and laid his course as
es asif he had been sailing the Atlantic in-
stead of crossing the desert.

Hour after hour passed by. ‘The sun crept up to
its noontide elevation, and commenced to glide down
its westward ee It was a hot and exhausting
ride. Occasionally a breath of air swept across the
plain, but the wind was hot, and bore before it
clouds of fine sand that proved very annoying to
the travelers, They began to feel intensely the need
of water, while their horses showed sigus of flag-
sing under the scorching sunbeams.

“We'fl be as dry as parchment afore night,” re-
marked Dick.

*Tt’s the hosses I’m thinkin’ on,” answered Bob.
“The poor critters had hardly a mcuthful for
breakfast. ete Caer now. We must give
‘em arest if we lose two hours by it.”

He drew rein to pull up his wearied horse. But
the animal, instead of yielding, started off at in-
creased > aa changing his course more to the
northward.

“What ails the critters?” cried Dick, whose horse
had shown the same perversity.

“T dunno,” answered Bob, with a shake ef his
head. “It’s a queer dodge.” 2

“ What's that ahead?” asked Dick, pointing.

“T's a palm tree, as I'm a sinner!” exclaimed *
the old. man, with a glad outburst, ‘The hosses
beat us hollow. Let out, little chap, bless yer
sharpeyes. We're all right now.’ He patted the
horse’s neck affectionately.

Tt was asolitary palm, Soon it loomed out: plain-
y seaiyet the clear sky, the desert signal for water
ahead.

Within half an hour they reined in their horses
beneath the solitary tree. A thin growth of grass
at its foot also indicated water. A broad opening in-
the sandy surface, and six feet down the welcome
gleam of water appeared, with a slope leading to ite

surface,

   

a \
 

 

 

 

See nec acannon a ep ae ce re

28 Dick, the Stowaway.

 

In a minute the thirsty travelers had quenched
their thirst. Then the horses were led to the water's
edge, and given a long, refreshing draught of the
eool liquid, Bob and Dick now partook of a frugal
meal meath the palm tree’s shade, while the
horses cropped the scanty grass around its foot.
For two hours ees rested here. The sun was de-
scending, and the heat had grown less extreme,

** Ain’t it time we was slidin® on?” asked Dick.

‘Guess so,” rejoined Bob. ‘ Hillo! We've got
to be goin’ now. And it’s lucky the animiles is
freshened ogee

He pointed southward as he hastily sprung to his
feet. Dick looked, and an exclamation broke from
his lips as he saw a troop of Bedouins, the steel
heads of their lances pel ae in the sun, and not
half a mile away. They were heading directly for
the desert spring.

“Tt’s queer if we ain't got to let-her rip now!”
cried the alert boy, as he sprung for his horse.

Bob was already mounting his. The refreshed
animals gayly curvetted as they rode out into the
desert, ey were good for another long run. But
they had hardly struck the sands'ere they were dis-
covered by the desert riders, whose.sharp eyes rec-
ognized the European dress at a glance. In amo-
ment their easy trot broke into a headlong gallop,
while the troop spréad out to the west as if to cut
off escape in that direction,

“We're in for it now!” cried Bob. ‘The beggars
are arter us in solid airnest. The best hosses wins
the race to day.”

And these critters has got to git up and git!”
exclaimed Dick, as he shook his reins.

In a minute more the'chase was in full ee The
desert riders came on like the wind, sprea ing. out
far to the right, and_urging their horses to their
utmost speed. But the mettled steeds of the fugi-
tives had: caught the spirit of the chase. With a
quick bound forward they settled down to their
work, running with a long, loping stride, that seemed
to fairly devour the sands beneath them, It was
3uch a speed as the riders had never seen: or
dreame.i of, and it took their breath as they rushed
at lightning speed through the desert air.

“That's what I call goin’! cried Dick, with a glad
shout. ‘‘ We’ve got the pick of their hosses. Taik
about a race-course! ‘Tain’t no circumstance to
this goin’!

On came the pursuers, but there was no sign that
they were gaining. Yet the experienced old sailor
looked uneasily at their maneuver of extending
their line to the west.

“There’s some dodge in that,” he remarked,
“They’re tryin’ to drive us to the north’ard. We
can’t be far off from the latitude of the army.
Wonder if they’re tryin’ to force us into the lines?”

* Let’s streak west, and make a run for it,” sug-
gested Dick.

They had been running to the northwest. The
now verged westward, It was a risky move, for it
brought them in a line with the outermost Becouins,
whom it gave the advantage of a diagonal instead of
adirect pursuit. Yet the fugitives had somewhat
the best of it, and an hour’s chase showed that they
were gaining on their pursuers.

‘Bully for us!” exclaimed Dick. ‘We've got the
wind on’em.”

‘“What’s that queer noise ahead!’’ esked the old
sailor, doubtfully.;

A slight ridge rose in front of them, succeeded by
adepression in the valley level, In a moment they
had topped the ascent. A cry of surprise and dis-
may broke from their lips as they did so, For in
the hollow before them was picketed a troop of
Egyptian dragoons, already on the alert from the
sounds of the chase!

st Trapped, by thunder!” cried old Bob.

“Let's streak north!” exclaimed Dick,

“No go. The army lies there. We’ro in fur it,
boy, Clean surrounded, Ain’t a mouse-hole to git
out, and we mought as well fling up the sponge.

Dick gritted his teeth as he réluctantly drew rein
There was no gainsaying old Bob’s decision.

Behind them the Bedouins came: on, with yells
that were plainly audible. Before them rode up @
roup of cavalry officers, headed by a stout, full-
aced man, with a long military mustache,

“Shoot me for a lubber, if it ain’t Arabi hisself!’*
muttered Bob, “ We’re in for it now in some airn-

He was right. It was the rebel general. A look
gt anger came into his face as he recognized old

“So,” he cried, sarcastically, “ thisis your way of
keeping your promises?”

“T’ve only jist found the boy,” apologized the
old sailor. ‘‘And-ain’t we makin’ straight fur your
camp?”

At this moment the head of the Bedouin re
came over the ridge, They were led by the ol
sheik whom the fugitives had so much reason to
remember, A cry of delight came from his lips as
he recognized his horse. He rode forward and
eraxpee the bridle.

A hasty conversation in Arabic ensued, in which
the old Bedouin seemed _to be impressing the mind
of the rebel leader. The latter now turned and
spoke to some of the troopers behind him. These
rode up and began stolidly to bind the hands of the
prisoners.

“« What’s to be done with us?” asked old Bob.
aes to-morrow at daybreak,” coldly answered

rabi. ‘

“ Wung?, What for?’ faltered the old sailor.

“ Because you are robbers and spies, and because
you deceived me about this boy’s death, while he
stands here alive and well.”

The old man would have ventured some answer,
but Arabi would listen to none. Two of the troopers
grasped the bridles of the prisoners’ horses and led
them northward. Within an hour they found them:
selves in the lines of the Egyptian army. In fiftecu
minutes more they were safely confined in a guard
house, with a sentry at the door.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
IN AT THE DEATH,

On the eastern horizon a red gleam had just made
its appearance, the herald of the coming day.
Within the Egyptian camp at Tel-el-Kebir a busy
stir was making itself evident. The army was
rousing to the duties of the new day. The night
watch still occupied the forts and outposts, and-sen-
tries moved stolidly to and fro on the lines of the
intrenchments, All seemed as quiet and peaceful as
on many previous mornings.

And yet there.was something inthe air that made
&@ vague uneasiness in the camp. For it was the
morning of the 13th of September, a day that was
fated to be memorable in the annals of Egypt.

Had the Egyptian scouts done their duty there
would have been a very different state of affairs in
Arabi’scamp. For all that night the English army
had been stealthily marching. Now, as daylight ap-
proached, it was creeping forward through the
gloom, like a tiger that crawls on its prey. Little

id the rebel chief dream that before him, not half
a mile away, a hostile army lay crouched in the
darkness, and that eve minute brought the
threatening danger nearer his lines.

At the same time, in the corner of an earthwork,
a scene was taking place in which we are more
directly interested. For there stood the two Ameri-
can captives, their hands tied behind them, a ap
around their necks, while above them stretched tha
SN upon which they were sentenced to suffer

eath.

They were surrounded: by a group of savage-
faced Arabs, among whom was the old Bedouin
sheik, his face full of flerce gratification in the com-
| ing deuth of his foes.

 

You will not steal an Arab horse sqon again,”

 

 

et,

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

  

he said, in his broken English. “Down on your
knees, Yankees, and beg for mercy. Let me see
® you grovel like curs in the dust.”

“T'd sooner beg of @ whipped donkey than ofa
crop-cared cur like you,” answered the old sailor,
“Tf you think, you cowardly doz, that Americans
don't know how to die, and that they are going to
whine at the sight of a rope’s end, then you don’t
know the stock, that’s all.”’ E

Dick was pale at his approaching fate, but there
a no more flinch in him than in his old compan-

on.

“Tain’t had sich a high old time down here, but
what I’m oer to take my chances up above. So
jerk away and be done with it, old dry bones!”

With a cry of anger at this epithet the old chief
gave an order tothe Arabs that held the rope. In
an instant Dick was jerked from the ground, and
bung by his neck ten feet in the air. A scowls of
triumph marked the sheik’s face. %

“Your turn next,” he cried to Bob as he prepared
to gloat over the dying agonies of the boy.

But two very unexpected circumstances happened
to interfere with his amusement. ,Dick’s hands had
been imperfectly tied, and in his struggle ene of
them became loose, In a instant he grasped the
rope above his head, and took off the strangling
‘strain from his neck, :

The other cireumstance was still more important.
As if his hanging had been a prearranged signal, at
the very instant that he was drawn up the silence of
the morning was broken by a thunder of alarming
sounds.

There came a rifle-shot; then a volley; then the
roar of cannon, A bugle-sound rose trom the Lgyp-
tian camp, while the troops rushed confusedly to
their stations, There came an answering bugle-call
from the gloom beyond. he shots increased in
number. Then, with a wild “burrah,” a long line
of trvops broke into view, shouting like furics, and
rushing at headlong speed for the earthworks of
the Egyptian camp.

Prom behinds came the roar of cannon, and death-
dealing balis surged into the crowded Egyptian
lines, A fierce volley of rifle-bullets answered Trom
the forts, but the English came forward, with set
bayonets, and without @ shot in ey

Meanwhile the hanging party had broken, and fied
for their lives, leeving Dick dangling from the rope,
and Bob, with bound hands, a moment respited.

The boy clung to the rope as long as he could
with his one loose hand. But at length his strength
ae way, and it wag with a groan of anguish that

he old sailor saw his hand loosen, and the strain
come again upon his neck.

“Oh! hang on! Hang on!’ he yelled. “Five
minutes, Dick! Only five minutes, and the British
Jads will be in the fort.”

> Itwasin vain The boy’s strehgth wasgone. He
seemed doomed to death in the very face of the ap-
proaching safety. 5

But Providence had ruled otherwise, for at that
very instant a plunging six-pound ball struck the
beam above his head, and plunging along its sur-
face, cut the rope like a sharp knife.

Down with a thud came the strangely-rescued boy
to the earth, ‘

A miuute he lay, gasping for breath, while the
color slowly returned to his bloo“less cheeks. Then
he rose to his fect, staggering slightly as he did so.

“Good as fifty dead men yit,” he muttered, with

; all his old vim. ‘Got a knife, Bob? I’ve got one
: hand loose, and will be free in a jiffy.” =

While this was going on the English reziments
were rushing at double quick time into the heart of
the Egyptian fire. Down went their front ranks
before that plunging rain of balls, but with mar-
velous discipline they forbore to reply. - Bayonct

only,” was the word, and on they came, with a wild

urrah as they struck the foot of the forts. Without
@ pause they swarmed up the steep faco of the
earthworks, into the rain of balls

  

Dick, the S‘owaway.

 

$9

upon then. I was not twenty mirutes from the
first alarm shot, and now, with a leap and a shout.
the British bull-cdo were among the armed
Reyptians, end bullet and bayonet were doing their
work,

Never was a war more quickly ended. Eora short
interval the Egyptians faced their focs, But the
surprise, the confusion and alarm, and the hundreds
of meu that were falling before the English arms,
were too much for theirendurance. A fow minutes
endurance, and then they broke and fled in utter
dismay, pursued by a torrent of rifle balls, and b;
the shouting and yelling lines of the Britis
Sr es

All this had passed so quickly that Dick had not
yet found a knife with which to release himsel’ end
iis companion, when the English s med intu ine
fort, and the Egyptians swarmed out of it.

“Hold yer horses, neighbor!” yellet Dick, as a
soldier rushed at him with leveled bayonet.

“Blast ye, can’t ye see we’re y°r own stripe?”
screamed old Bob. “Ye'’re jist in time to save us
from being hung LN the bloody Arabs. Lend a
knife now. Cut us loose, and we'll fight like dogs
for Queen Vic.”

At the sound of his own language the soldier
changed his hostile design. He dropp<d his musket,
and drawing a knife, in a moment the two prisoners
were free,

‘Snatch a rifie and hafter ’em, boys,’? he cried.
“Pay ’em up for ’anging you. Follow the bloody.
Twelfth.”

Seizing his musket, he ran forward aftcr his com-
any, leaving the released prisoners to follow at
leisure.

“Td like to git even with that old sheik,” cried
Dick, as he picked up the rifle of a dead Egy ptian.

Bob similarly armed himself, and the two friends
ran forward, as full of fight as the English troons.

In some other portions of the Egyptian lines the
surprise had been less successful. ‘he native troops
held their ground better, and a hard hand-to-hand
fight took place. In one redoubt, near which Bob
and Dick quickly found themselves, a’ strong
detachment of Bedouins bhd been stationed, who
were fighting with the tenacity of lions when the
two friends approached.

“There’s our meat!” cried Dick. ‘‘Them’s the
hounds that we're arter! And see that English
flag! Bless me if it ain’t our oli friends, the English
Infantry!” :

“And your uncle among ’em likely. Come on,
= Bee Ye’re old enough to take a hand in a

nt.”

t was a hard strugele that was going on before
them. Bullet for bullet; Arab yell for English
shout; Bedouin spear for British bayonet. Dead
and wounded were dropping like leaves on all sides
and the groans of the dying feebly echoed the fierce
cries of the combatants.

Dick had never seen a fight before, and for the
moment his heart sunk as he heard the terril:le
groans aud felt the splashing blood. But he was
excited ¢ d revengeful, and the spirit of the tiger
rose in him as he caught sight of the face of his

old enemy in the thyong. Re ae pe
ob,’ he cried. ‘* Ss ge

*There’s the sheik,
for the old hound.”

He was there indeed; in the front of the Bedouin
band, fighting like a madman, his face purple with
fury and excitement. Before him wasatall English
officer, sword in hand, cheering on his men. He
turned partly and Dick caught a glimpse of bis face,
It was his uncle, Captain Pearson,

The captain had caught a glimpse of Dick’s face
at the same instant, and a cry of surprise broke
from his lips as he struck at a foeman before him.
It was an unlucky blow, for his foot slipped ina
' poe! et As and he fell headlong on a heap of dead

nea im,

 

 

A yell of triumph broke from the old sh’ ik’s lips. |

Shortening his long spear he sprung forward and
 

 

 

 

Ge

Dick. the Stowaway:

 

Bolsed the dangerous weapon over the fallen officet:
ft seemed as if Captain Pearson was doomed—ag if
nothing could save him. /

But at that instant there came the sharp crack of
& rifle-shov, and the Bedouin chief staggered, drop-
ped his spear, elapees his hand to his kreast and fell

eadlong. He had been shot through the heart.

The fatal bullet came from Dick’s rifle. His de-
sire for revenge was sharpened with fear for his
uncle’s life, as he pressed his finger to the trigger
with a quick aim.

Dropping his weapon he sprung forward to his
uncle’s assistance, and was helping him to his feet
when acry of triumph rose from the English. The
Bedouins were in full flight. ‘The fall of their chief
had spread a sudden panic in their ranks, and they
broke and fled, followed hotly by -the triumphant
English troops.

This was the last stand that was made. Not half
an hour had elapsed since the first wild rush on the

earth-works was made, and victory was already de--

clared. The Egyptian army was everywhere in
flight, followed by volleys from the infantry, by the
swords of the rushing cavalry, and by the plunging
balls of the light artillery. Fifteen hundred of them
lay dead and wounded on the field, while scarce
three hundred of the English had fallen,

“T caught =o face, my boy, in the throng,”
cried Captain Pearson; as he regained his feet. “TI
owe you my life, for I saw the Arab fall before
your shot.”

‘*T done my prettiest,’ answered Dick, modestly.

“You are BY American nephew. I knew you ata
glance. But how came you here? I thought you
were in England.” -

“That's too long a story for jist now,’’ answered
Dick. ‘* And as fur savin’ your life, we’re square on
that, fur you saved mine.’’

“How? Ido not understand you.”

“‘That’s another long story,” replied the boy. ‘I
spose you want to foller the regiment. My story
will do arter you’re done choppin’ down Egyptians.”

“T fancy there is enough of them killed now,”
the captain answered. « ‘‘ They will not make head
again, and there is no need of useless slaughter. I

treated you badly in England, my poor boy. You
have io ouble claim on me now, and I won't forget
you.

“You're a gentleman, Captain Pearson,” cried
old Bob, with enthusiasm,

“Ah! Who is this?”

“That’s old Bob Backstay. We've sailed to-
gether, fought together, and pretty near hung to-
gether. Icalkerlate we'll keep on hangin’ toretler.”*

The officer gave a long look to Bob’s honest face.

““You will do,” he said, holding out his hand to
the sturdy old tar. ‘Come with me after my com-

any. I will not lose sight of you until Ihave heard
shat story.”

They hurried on after the flying Egyptians, and
‘he pursuing English army.

 

CHAPTER XIV.
THE RIDE INTO CAIRO,

_Turoven all that day the pursuit of the flying
‘icyptians continued. Troops of English cavalry
aode rapidly over the desert without a shadow of
opposition, for their foe wes utterly broken and
overcome,

The main body of the Arabs had fled to Zagazig,
an important railway station in the desert. Thi-
ther the English cavalry and flying artillery swiftly
followed. Another English troop rode southwest-
ward over the desert, toward Cairo, the rebel capi-
tal. At the head of this troop rode Bob and Dick,
our two friends. They had been lucky enough to
recover their horses, and the word haying passed
that they had just crossed the desert from Catfro,
the “ere pressed into the service as guides.

“XN that day they rode following the caravan

 

true instinct. At night they bivouacked by’ the sidg
of a desert well, which lay, with its signai grovp 2
palms, on their route.

The next day had well advanced when they
caught sight of the hilly barriers of the Nile valley.
Soon the slight elevation was topped, and a shout of
delight broke from the troop as their eyes fell upon
the scene before them,

There, in the distance lay the great river, the his-
toric Nile, winding lazily onwar one a valley
that was half filled with its overflowing waters.
Somewhat to. the south gleamed the domes and
minarets of the Arab city, as the rays of the declin-
ing sun fell on their gilded tops. And afar off,
down the Nile valley, a conical peak, as of a distant
pepE ale. faintly appeared, blue in the remote dis-

ance.

“What is that?’ asked the leader of the troop,
with his glass to his eye.

“The great Pyramid,” answered Bob. ‘ And this
before you is the old city of Cairo. Egypt, old and
young, lies before you, gentlemen.”

With a cry of delight the soldiers put spurs to
their horses, and plunged down the slope to the
valley level. It was as the old sailor had said,
Egypt was theirs. "

= two hours afterward they rode into the city of
Cairo, not a shot being fired in defense of the rebel
capital. The streets indeed were thronged with

eople to see the English troop pass, and though
fio were many savage looks, yet- there were
shouts of welcome also, Evidently Arabi's rule had
not united all Egypt in harmony. ?

Our two friends were not long in hunting up their
old host, who gave a cry of surprise and delight on
seeing them sate before him.

“ What has happened?” he cried. ‘‘ Dere’s all sort
of reports.” 4, on

“ Arabi’s bu’sted, that’s all,” exclaimed Dicix.
“We had a finger in the pie. And we’ve come here
to see it baked.”

A cry of gratification broke fromthe old French-
man,

“Zen one can walk in the street without getting
his throat cut? And I’m so bappy as never vas t¢
see you again, mine friends. Come you in} Come
you right in and tell me all about it.”

Cairo was like anything but a conquered city.
Not a drop.of blood was shed, not an ounce of plun-
der taken, The English troop quietly took posses:
sion of the city; but there was not a moment's bin-
drance to the ordinary business of the place.

The inhabitants, many of whom-had looked upon:
the entrance of the hostile soldiery with deactiy
fear, were now overcome with surprise and gratl-
tude, This was not the Eastern way of maxing
war. Where was the plunder, the bloodshed, ths
fire and ruin, which were the ancient companions
of warfare? The world had indeed chang +d.

Toward evening the old Frenchman rashod into
the room in which his two guests were resting aftor
their cae ride, and enjoying the first good meal
they had had for three days. ;

“It’s all done! Ze war's ail done!” he cried,
“Arabi is prisoner! They all is prisoner! Thau&
ze stars it’s all done, and we’re all alive!l’’

“Then the boot’s on t’other foot,” cried o!d Boh,
“He tried to hang us, the old rebel. Miybe hol
find that there’s nicer neckties than a rope around
@ man’s neck.”’

“TY ain’t right sure that I'm alive yet,” said Dick,
comicaily feeling his throat. ‘I know I was nearer
kingdom come than I want to be afore my reg'lar
peggin’-out time comes round.”

‘he next morning, with the inspiriting movement
of the fife and the rolling rattle of the drum, an in-
fantry regiment marched in o the conquered city,
Fine, bronzed, hearty fellows they were, with ‘tae
flush of victory in their faces and thei? tread '¢
regular aud even as though on parade. Steadily
and proudly they marched on through the thrunged

“out. 4 Which old Bob had recovered with a sailor’s , streets, with waving flags and glittering arms,

: 3

 

 

 
 

  

“ As sure as you live it’s the gallant Highth!” ex-
elaimed Dick, in delight. ‘And there's my uncle!
There’s Captain Pearson! Hurra!” and Dick flung
his cap into the air with a shout that brought all
eyes upon bim, and stirred up an answering cheer
from the marching soldiery, it was the first time
in the history of old Cairo that a genuine British
aurrah had sounded in its streets, and the very
ae to listen in surprise to tne unwonted
sound.

«ag Come here,my boy,” called Captain Pearson.

So you got to Cairo before us, it seems!”

F “You bet!” answered Dick, with Yankee flavor.

Bob and me led the advance. Come ahead, Bob.
If we are Americans we ain’t too proud to march
with British soldiers. Guess they’re our fust
cousins,”’

A smile of amusement came upon Captain Pear-
son's face at Dick’s worils.

Two hours afterward the regiment was quartered
upon the town, and our two friends were seated.in
& comfortable apartme t with Captain Pearson,
telling the story of their Ezyptian adventures,

“And now I’ve got to sail back for my ship,” ex-
claimed Bob.

“And me too, cried Dick.
cruise in the Wildwing yet.”

“You _are too late,” rejoined Captain Pearson.
“The Wildwing sailed for America more than a
week ago.”’

“And left us like two orphans, without a berth, a
crust ora bome!”

“Not so,” answered the kindly officer. ‘This
boy is my sister’s son, and my nearest relative.
And if he was nothing to me he has saved my life.
Lam wealthy. I don’t fancy that either of you will
want while [ have the power %@ hilp you, for | owe
old Bob Backstay a debt of gratitude for his kind-
ness tomy nephew. As for you, Dick, you are de-
cidedly a rough diamond, but I imagine you will
polish into shape.”

“There’s many a rozgh nut with a sweet-kernel,”
declared Bob.

““An’ I dunno asT’ve done anything ’cept to brag
up Ameri y,” exclaimed Dick. ‘And I'll never
back down on that while athread of the stars and
Stripes « angs together.”'

Asmile came to the captain’s lips, as he warmly
Pressed the hand of the enthusiastic young patriot.

And so we leave them, still in Egypt, for the
Eighth Infantry is yet stationed there, and Captain
Pearson has taken such a fancy to his young nephew
that he will not lose sight of him. There is some-
thing to his liking m the fresh American flavor of
the lad, and Dick the stowaway, is in far differ nt
circumstances to-day, than when we first saw him
in the ship’s hold, fighting for his toes with the rats.

THE END.

“ Ain’t finished my

BEADLE’S POCKET LIBRARY.

256 Merle Monte’s Last Cruise; or, The Sea,Robber
at Bay. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

257 The Boy Cnief of Rocky Pass; or, The Young

_, California Pards. By Maj. E. L St. Vrain.

253 Denver Doll as Detective. By E.L Wheeler.

259 Little Foxeye, tne Colorado Spy. By Oll Coomes.

260 Skit. the Cabin Boy. Ry Edward Willett.

261 Blade, the Sport; or, the Giant of Clear Grit
Camp, By T. C. Harbaugh.

262 Billy, the Boy Rov-r. By Col. P. Ingraham.

263 Buster Bob’s Buoy; or, Lige, the Light-House
Keeper. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams.

264 Denver Doll’s Par ner; or, Big Buckskin the
Sport. By E. L. Wheeler.

285 Billy, the Baggage Boy; or, The Young Railroad
Detective. ty Charles Morris,
Guy’s Boy Chum; or, The Forest Waif’s Mask.

 

Dick, the Stowaway. >

 

267 Giant George’s Revenge; or, The Boys of “‘ Slip-
we Mine.” “By Buckskin Sam.

268 The Deadshot Dandy; cr, The Ri» Grande
Marauders, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

269 The Quartzville Boss; or, Daring David Darke.
By Ecward Willett.

270 Denver Doll’s Mine; or, Little Bill’s Big Loss,
By EL. Wheeler.

271 Ebory Jim’s Terror; or, Ranger Rainbolt’s Ruse.
By Oil Coomes.

272 Kit, the Girt Detective. By T. C. Harbaugh.

273 The Girl Rider; or, Nimble Ned’s Surpriee. By
Jos. E, Badger, Jr.

274 Dead Shot Dandy’s Double; or, Benito, the Boy
Pard. By Col. Prentiss Ingrabam.

205 Fred, the Ocean Waif; or, The Old Sailor’s
Protege. By Charles Mcrris.

276 Deadwood D:ck Trapped; or, Roxey Ralph’s
Ruse. By Edward L. « heeler.

2?7 The Isiot Boy Avenger; or, Captain Wild-Cat’s
Big Game. By Albert W. Aiken,

278 Arizona Alf, the Miner; or, Little Snap Shot’s
Luck. By T. C. Harbaugh.

279 Colorado Jack, the Tiger; or, The Ghost of the
Trailer. By Frederick Dewey.

280 Dead Shot Dandy’s Last Deal, or, Keno Kit’s
New Role. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ;

281 Ned, the Boy Pilot; or, The Pirate Licutenant’s
Doom. » By Jack Farragut.

282 Buck Hawk, Detective; or, the Messenger Boy’s
Fortune. By Edward i. Wheeler.

283 Roving Sport Kit; or, The Ghost of Chuckaluck
Camp. By Edward Willett.

284 The Showman’s Best Card; or, The Mad Animal
Tamer. By Capt. Fred. Whittaser.

285°Old Rocky’s Pard; or, Little Ben’s Chase. By
Buckskin Sam.

286 Dick, the Dakota Sport. By Charles Morris.

287 Nel, the Boy Skipper; or. The Sea Sorceress’
Cruise. By Jack Farragut

288 Deadwood Dick’s Disguise; or/Wild Walt, the
Sport. By Edward L. Wheeler.

289 Colorado Nick, the Lassvist; or, Old Si's Protege.
By Major H. B. Stoddard.

290 Rube, the Tenderfoot:.cr, the Boys of Torpedo
Guich. By Major EB. L. St. Vram,

291 Peacock Pete, ihe Leadviile Sport; or, Hawk, thé
Boss Miner, By Albert W. Aiken.

202 Joe Morey, the Night-Hawk; or, tne Black Rider,

- By Jos, E. Badger, Jr.

293 Dwarf Jake, the Detective; or, Kit Kenyon’s
Man-Hunt. By Edward Willett.

294 Dumb Dick’s Pard; or, Eliza Jane, the Gold

Miner, By Ed. L, Wheeler.-

295 White Wing, the Ferret Flyer. By Ches. Morris.
296 Govinda, the Tiger-Tamer; or, The American |
“Horseman Abroad. By ae F. Whittaker.
297 Arizona Giant George; or, The Boyees of Sardine-

Box City.. By Buckskin Sam.
298 Daisy Dolls Dash; or, The Ten Colorado Pards,
By T. C. Harbaugh.
299 The Balloon Detectives; or, Jack Slasher’s You: g
Pard, By Harry Euton.
800 Deadwood Dick’s Mission. By E, L. Wheeler.
301 Dandy Duke, the Cowboy. By Major E. L. St.

Vrain.
302 Big Benson’s Bet. By T. C. Harbaugh,
308 Tue Hotel Boy De. ective; or, The Grand Central
Robbery. By Charles Morris. :
804 Bald Head’s Pard; or, Creeping Cat’s Cunning.
By Buekskin Sam.
805 Dusky Dick’s Duel; or, The Demon’s Trail. By
Harry Hozard.
806 Spotter Fr tz; or, The Store-Detective’s Decoy.
By E. L. Wheeler,

807 Nick, the Boy Sport; or, Three Plucky Pards.
By Major BE. L. St Vrain, :

308 Double-Fisted Mat: cr, The Mystic California
Giant. By Jos, E. Badger, Jr. z ‘

 

By Capt. Comstock.

_

309 Od G-aybeard’s Boy; or, The Girl’s Ruse. By
2 3EG Dusning Clark, : 5 :

   

a St
 

 

CELE DIB

 

 

 

SPEAKERS AND DIALOGUES. | —

THE MOST ATTRACTIVE SERIES,

Most Available, Adaptive and Taking Collections

Declamations, peers

Recitations,
Speeches,
ions,

Farces,

Minor Dramas,
Acting Charades,
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Notable Passages,

£xtempore Efforts, Colloquies,

Addresses, Burlesques,
IX ALL THE FIELDS OF :

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FOR

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——-o

THE DIME SPEAKERS,

13—Dimz ScHOOL SPEAKER,

14—Dimg Lupicrous SPEAKER.
15—Cart PrerzeL’s KoMIKAL SPEAR
16—Dime Youru’s SPEAKER.

17—Dime ELOQUENT SPEAKER.
18—Diite Hart CoLuMBiA SPEARER.
19—Dime Srrro-Comic SPEAKER,
20—Dime SELEcT SPEAKER,

21—Dime Funny SPEAKER.

22—Dime JOLLY SPEAKER,

Dialogues,

 

1—Drm Amrrican SPEAZER,
%—Dime NATIONAL SPEAKER,
8—Diue Parriorre SPEAKER:
4--Dime Comic SPEAKER,
5—Dime ELOcuTIONIST,
6—Dime Humorous SPEAKER.
7—Dime STANDARD SPEAKER,
8-—Dime Stump SPEAKER.
9—Dime JUVENILE SPEAKER,
10—Duim SPREAD-EAGLE SPEAKER,
411—Dime DesatTer & CratrMan’s Guink %3—Dime DIALEcT SPEAKER.
{2-~DimE EXHiprTION SPEAKER. | %—~Dime Reavines anp Recrraraess.
Each Speaker, 100 pages 12mo., containing from 50 to, 75 pieces.

THE DIME DIALOGUES

Are filied with original and specially prepared contributions from favorite amd
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Dm Dratogues Numper ONE. D.wm Dratoaurs Numper Srventesn, JAt-
Dime DraLoauss Numser Two. tle Folks.

 

Dime DIALOGuEs
Dime DIALOGuEs
Dime DIALOGUES
Ding DIALOGUES
Dime DIALOGUES
Dime DIALoavES
Dive DIALoavurs
Dime DIALOGUES
‘Dimg DiALoauEs
Dim DIALoguEs
Dimz DraLoaues
Dre DraALoauEs
Drm DrALoauns
Dime Dra Loaves

Noumper THRES,
Numper Foor,
Noumper FIve.
NumBrEr S1x.
NuMBER SEvEN.
Nomeer Eicur.
Numser Nive.
Numper TEN.
NoumsBer ELEVEN.
Noumper. TWELVE.

NuMBER THIRTEEN. |
NusBer ForRTeen.

NuMBER FIFTEEN,
NoumpBgr SIXTEEN.

|

Dime Diatocurs NcMBer EIGHTEEN.
Dime Dratoaues Numer NINETEEN,
Die DraLogurs NuMBER TWENTY,

Dime DraLosurs NuMBER TWENTY-ONE,
Dute DraLoaurs NuMBER TWENTY-rwo.
Dimes DiALoauEs NuMBER TWENTY-THREB
Dime Diatoaurs NumMBer TWENTY-FOUR,
Dime Dratoaurs Ntmper TWENTY-FIVE.
Dime Diaroaues Number TWENTY-SIX.
Dive Drarocurs NuMBER TWENTY-SEVES
Dimg Diatocues NumBer TWENTY-EIGHT
Pine Dtaroagurs NuMBER TWENTY-NINE.
Dime Diaroaues NumBer THIRTY.

Dime DiALogues NuMBER THIRTY-ONE.

Each volume, 100 pages 12mo., containing from 15 to 25 pieces.
(8 Por sale by all newsdealers; or sent, post-paid, toany address, on receipt
ot price— TDN CENTS bacy

 

 

 
 
THE

Deadwood Dic
e Library e

HANDSOME TH-COLORED COVERS.

82 Pages. Issued Every Wednesday.

Price 5 Cents.
buy One and You Will Buy the Restt

 

€xtracts from the New York Evening Sun.

TWO REMARKABLE

{n only one sense of she word can it be regarded au a
govel statement when the fact is here recorded that litera-
ture has given many heroes to the world, and perhaps
more than one reader will have to think a moment over
this remark before the subtle delicacy of its genial wit
strikes home.

But it is most essentially a half dime novel statement
that will be news to many when it is added that litera-
wure;f traced from the dimly distant days when Adam
was a mere child down to the present day, would show

it few heroes that in the eyes of boyhood would be

ven judged worthy of comparison with the two greatest
‘oes known to American literature, or, to promptly re-
veal thom, Deadwood Dick and Deadwood Dick, Jr.

* * * The modern heroes of fiction for young America,
who are now as countless as the sands of the sea, and of
whom the Deadwood Dicks are much the most important
* * * it is but natural that their * * * should bear
@way the palm of popularity, and suchas * * * be left
far behind in the race. /

It can be easily believed, therefory, that the two Dicks
8o firmly engrafted on the tree of popular literature
boys and young men, that their position is assured

= and that they stand to-day head and shoulders

HEROES.

above all rivals in the eves of the public for which they
have lived, and for which one of them has died,

American boyhood, and that is a tremendous factor in
the land, now knows Deadwood Dick, Jr., a good beal bet-
ter than it Knows its catechism, and millions of young
minds absort the thrilling incidents of his career in his
everlasting warfare against crime and his never-ending
solving of impenetrable mysteries. '

Millions of boys follow his stealthy footsteps as he tracks
his vicious victims to their undoing, and then, when the
victims are thoroughly undone, the millions wait hungrily
for the next volume, which on every Wednesday appear.
with the certainty of the Wednesday itself, and a new see
of ape thrills go thrilling away from Maine to Call-
fornia, i *

There are the volumes each so crowded with thrills and
heart-tugs that it were madness to hope to do justice to
them collectively and rank injustice to discriminate be-
tween them,

To abandon the idea of giving a few extracts causes In-
finite pain, but if once a start were made in that direc
tion, It would be cruel to The Evening Sun's readers to
stop, and it is therefore better not to relate one single
adventure, Suffice it to say that the stories are clean and
well written,

 

DEADWOOD DICK LIBRARY.

Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road

The Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance
§ The Buffalo Demon; or. The Border Vultures
4 Buffalo Ben, Prince of the Pistol
6 Wild Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval
& Death-Face, the Detective
? The Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza
8 Old Avalanche, the Great Annihilator; or, Wild

Edna, the Girl Brigand
Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian
Omaha Oli, the Masked Terror; or, Deadwood Dick

in Danger
li Jim Bludsoe, Jr., the Boy Phenix; or, Through to

Death
i Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, The Pards of Flood

Bar

Buckhw.n Bill; or, The Red Rifle Team

i4 Gold Rifle, the Sharpshooter

e Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, Calamity Jane

6 Corduroy Charlie, the Boy Bravo

iv moe Rob; or, Nugget Ned, the Knight of the
Gulch

16 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosebud Rob on Hand

18 Photograph Phil: or, Rosebud Rob’s Reappearance

90 Watch-Eve. the Shadow

31 Deadwood Dick's Device; or, The Sign of the Double
Cross

® vanada Chet, the Counterfeiter Chief

#8 Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or. A Strange Stroke
for Liberty

% Deadwood Dick as Detective

% Gilt-ltdge Dick

% Bonanza Bill, the Man-Tracker; or, The Secret Twelve

97 Chip, the Girl Sport ‘

98 Jack Hoyle’s Lead; or, The Road to fortune

Boss Bob, the King of Bootblacks
Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s

Guleh
g londe Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base
lid Sam, the Boy Road-Agent

 

83 Tony Fox, the Ferret: or, Boss Bob’s Boss Job

34 A Game of Gold: or, Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike

35 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; or, The Picked Party

86 New York Nel, the 'toyv-Girl Detective

87 Nobby Nick of Nevada: or, The Scamps of theSierrag

88 Wild Frank, the Buckskin Bravo

89 Deadwood Dick's Doom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last
Adventure

40 Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, The Rivals of the Road

41 Deadwood Dick’s Ward; or, The Black Hills Jezebel

42 ‘The Arab Detective; or, Snoozer, the Boy Sharp

43 The Ventriloquist Detective. A Romance of Roguee

44 Detective Josh Grim; or, The Young Gladiator's
Game

45 The Frontier Detective; or, Sierra Sam’s Scheme

46 The Jimtown Sport; or, Gypsy Jack in Colorado

47 The Miner Sport; or, Sugar-Coated Sam‘s Claim

48 Dick Drew, the Miner’s Son; or, Apollo Bill, the
Road-Agent

49 Sierra Sam, the Detective

50 sierra Sam’s Double; or, The Three Female Detect
ves a

Bl as enor Sentence; or, Little Luck at Rough

anch

52 The Girl Sport: or, Jumbo Joe’s Disguise

58 Denver Doll’s Device; or, The Detective Queen

54 Denver Doll as Detective

55 Denver Doll’s Partner; or, Big Ruckskin the Sport

56 Denver Doll’s Mine; or, Little Bill’s Big Loss

57 Deadwood Dick Trapped

58 Buck Hawk, Detective; or, The Messenger Boy’s
Fortune

59 Deadwood Dick’s Disguise; or, Wild Walt. the Sport

60 Dumb Dick’s Pard: or, Eliza Jane, the Gold Miner

61 Deadwood Dick’s Mission

62 Spotter Fritz: or, The Store-Detective’s Deco:

63 The Detective Road-Agent; or, The Miners of Sassa —

fras City
64 plea Charlie’s Detective Dash; or, The Cattle
ings

 

M. J. IVERS & CO., Publishers (James Sullivan, Proprietor),
879 Pearl Street, NEW YORK.