It took me a day
to get there and pretty well another to come back--but three months'
pay went all the same. I don't know what I did with it. I went to a
music-hall, I believe, lunched, dined, and supped in a swell place in
Regent Street, and was back to time, with nothing but a complete set of
Byron's works and a new railway rug to show for three months' work. The
boatman who pulled me off to the ship said: 'Hallo! I thought you had
left the old thing. _She_ will never get to Bankok.' 'That's all _you_
know about it,' I said scornfully--but I didn't like that prophecy at
all.
"Suddenly a man, some kind of agent to somebody, appeared with full
powers. He had grog-blossoms all over his face, an indomitable energy,
and was a jolly soul. We leaped into life again. A hulk came alongside,
took our cargo, and then we went into dry dock to get our copper
stripped. No wonder she leaked. The poor thing, strained beyond
endurance by the gale, had, as if in disgust, spat out all the oakum of
her lower seams. She was recalked, new coppered, and made as tight as a
bottle. We went back to the hulk and re-shipped our cargo.
"Then on a fine moonlight night, all the rats left the ship.
"We had been infested with them. They had destroyed our sails, consumed
more stores than the crew, affably shared our beds and our dangers, and
now, when the ship was made seaworthy, concluded to clear out. I called
Mahon to enjoy the spectacle.
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