and me four bones hang together.” So then and there the compact was made. I lodged the money and directed Tim to report himself to my uncle at Brighton, so soon as he should receive his discharge. All this had taken place and Tim, accompanying my uncle up to town, had joined me, when I explained to him my change of plans, at the same time offering to take him with me, provided he saw fit to follow my very uncertain fortunes. “Is it go to New Zaland wid ye, Mr Dick?” quoth he. “Sure it’s to hell I’d go wid ye, and maybe that’s farther. An’ it’s fighting ye say there is in thim outlandish parts. Well, an’ why not, sure it’s our trade it is, an’ maybe there’s some loot to be picked up, an’ some purty gurls to colougue wid, an’ it’s thankful I’ll be to visit forin’ parts, for sure so many young women have been so kind to me that it’s bothered I am, for it’s Mormon I must turn, to satisfy them all, God bless ’em.” Both my uncle and Jack considered it was right for me to be accompanied in my exile by a faithful follower who could be depended on to stand by me, so that when the good ship _Queen Bee_ sailed from London port she carried the two of us to seek our fate in the antipodes. Tim Egan was indeed a man any young fellow might be proud to have at his call. Standing five feet eleven in height, he was a picture of a beau-ideal Irish soldier, square in the chest, broad in the shoulders, narrow in the flanks and well set up, every bit of him looked made for strength and activity, while his handsome, clean-cut face, that usually carried a pleasant smile, and his dark blue, merry eye made him one that must attract the notice of a girl be she white, black or brown. Such was Tim Egan, and I may say here that a truer, braver comrade, friend and soldier, never took the Queen’s shilling. As soon as the tide suited, and the crew had slept off the thick of their drink, all hands were roused out, the anchor weighed, and the tug, getting hold of our hawser, towed us, during the early hours of the morning, out to sea, casting us loose as we opened the Channel, when with a fair wind we hoisted topsails and topgallant sails, to the good old-time chanty of “Renzo, boys, Renzo,” and with our main royal set we bore away on our course to the other side of the world.