“‘Deer captin i take my pen in hand for the larst time to innform you that i am no more suner than heat the ’orrible stuff what you kail meet i have drownded miself it is a moor easy death than starvin’ i ’ave left my clasp nife to bill an’ my silver wotch to it is ’ard too dee so young tommie brown.’” “Splendid!” said Ned, as the reader finished and looked inquiringly round. “I put in that bit about the knife and the watch to make it seem real,” said Bill, with modest pride; “but, if you like, I’ll leave ’em to you instead, Ned.” “I don’t want ’em,” said the old man generously. “Put your cloes on,” said Bill, turning to the whimpering Tommy. “I’m _not_ going down that fore ’old,” said Tommy desperately. “You may as well know now as later on—I won’t go.” “Cookie,” said Bill calmly, “just ’and me them cloes, will you? Now, Tommy.” “I tell you I’m not going to,” said Tommy. “An’ that little bit o’ rope, cookie,” said Bill; “it’s just down by your ’and. Now, Tommy.” The youngest member of the crew looked from his clothes to the rope, and from the rope back to his clothes again. “How ’m I goin’ to be fed?” he demanded sullenly, as he began to dress. “You’ll have a stone bottle o’ water to take down with you an’ some biskits,” replied Bill, “an’ of a night-time we’ll hand you down some o’ that meat you’re so fond of. Hide ’em behind the cargo, an’ if you hear anybody take the hatch off in the daytime, nip behind it yourself.” “An’ what about fresh air?” demanded the sacrifice. “You’ll ’ave fresh air of a night when the hatch is took off,” said Bill. “Don’t you worry, I’ve thought of everything.” The arrangements being concluded, they waited until Simpson relieved the mate at the helm, and then trooped up on deck, half pushing and half leading their reluctant victim. “It’s just as if he was going on a picnic,” said old Ned, as the boy stood unwillingly on the deck, with a stone bottle in one hand and some biscuits wrapped up in an old newspaper in the other. “Lend a ’and, Bill. Easy does it.” Noiselessly the two seamen took off the hatch, and, as Tommy declined to help in the proceedings at all, Ned clambered down first to receive him. Bill took him by the scruff of the neck and lowered him, kicking strongly, into the hold. “Have you got him?” he inquired. “Yes,” said Ned in a smothered voice, and, depositing the boy in the hold, hastily clambered up again, wiping his mouth. “Been having a swig at the bottle?” inquired Bill. “Boy’s heel,” said Ned very shortly. “Get the hatch on.” The hatch was replaced, and Bill and his fellow conspirator, treading quietly and not without some apprehension for the morrow, went below and turned in. Tommy, who had been at sea long enough to take things as he found them, curled up in the corner of the hold, and with his bottle as a pillow fell asleep.