In the Heart of the Rockies: A Story of Adventure in Colorado

by G. A. Henty

  Produced by Charles Franks, Michelle Shephard, and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team

  IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES

  A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN COLORADO

  BY G. A. HENTY

  HUNTING DOG SAVES JERRY FROM THE RAPIDS.]

  PREFACE

  MY DEAR LADS,

  Until comparatively lately that portion of the United States in which Ihave laid this story was wholly unexplored. The marvellous canyons of theColorado River extend through a country absolutely bare and waterless,and save the tales told by a few hunters or gold-seekers who, pressed byIndians, made the descent of some of them, but little was knownregarding this region. It was not until 1869 that a thorough explorationof the canyons was made by a government expedition under the command ofMajor Powell. This expedition passed through the whole of the canyons,from those high up on the Green River to the point where the Coloradoissues out on to the plains. Four years were occupied by the party inmaking a detailed survey of the course of the main river and itstributaries. These explorations took place some eight or nine yearsafter the date of my story. The country in which the Big Wind River hasits source, and the mountain chains contained in it, were almost unknownuntil, after the completion of the railway to California, the UnitedStates government was forced to send an expedition into it to punish theIndians for their raids upon settlers in the plains. For details of thegeography and scenery I have relied upon the narrative of Mr.Baillie-Grohman, who paid several visits to the country in 1878 and thefollowing years in quest of sport, and was the first white man topenetrate the recesses of the higher mountains. At that time the Indianshad almost entirely deserted the country. For the details of the dangersand difficulties of the passage through the canyons I am indebted to theofficial report of Major Powell, published by the United Statesgovernment.

  Yours sincerely,

  G. A. HENTY.

  CONTENTS

  CHAP.

  I. TOM'S CHOICE II. FINDING FRIENDS III. ON THE PLAINS IV. LEAPING HORSE V. IN DANGER VI. UNITED VII. CHASED VIII. IN SAFETY IX. A BAD TIME X. AN AVALANCHE XI. WINTER XII. THE SNOW FORT XIII. A FRESH START XIV. AN INDIAN ATTACK XV. THE COLORADO XVI. AFLOAT IN CANOES XVII. THE GRAND CANYONXVIII. BACK TO DENVER XIX. A FORTUNE

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  Hunting Dog Saves Jerry From The RapidsCarry Reads Uncle Harry's LetterJerry Gives Tom A Lesson In ShootingLeaping Horse Mounted, And Rode Across The StreamA Moment Later The Indian Fell Forward On His Face"There Is Another Avalanche, Keep Your Backs To The Wall, Boys"They Went Out To Look At The Indian The Chief Had Shot"No Good Fight Here," Said Leaping Horse.

  CHAPTER I

  TOM'S CHOICE

  "I can be of no use here, Carry. What am I good for? Why, I could notearn money enough to pay for my own food, even if we knew anyone whowould help me to get a clerkship. I am too young for it yet. I wouldrather go before the mast than take a place in a shop. I am too youngeven to enlist. I know just about as much as other boys at school, and Icertainly have no talent anyway, as far as I can see at present. I cansail a boat, and I won the swimming prize a month ago, and the sergeantwho gives us lessons in single-stick and boxing says that he considersme his best pupil with the gloves, but all these things put togetherwould not bring me in sixpence a week. I don't want to go away, andnothing would induce me to do so if I could be of the slightest use toyou here. But can I be of any use? What is there for me to look forwardto if I stay? I am sure that you would be always worrying over me if Idid get some sort of situation that you would know father and motherwould not have liked to see me in, and would seem to offer no chance forthe future, whereas if I went out there it would not matter what I did,and anything I earned I could send home to you."

  The speaker was a lad of sixteen. He and his sister, who was two yearshis senior, were both dressed in deep mourning, and were sitting on abench near Southsea Castle looking across to Spithead, and the Isle ofWight stretching away behind. They had three days before followed theirmother to the grave, and laid her beside their father, a lieutenant ofthe navy, who had died two years before. This was the first time theyhad left the house, where remained their four sisters--Janet, who camebetween Carry and Tom; Blanche, who was fourteen; Lucie, twelve; andHarriet, eight. Tom had proposed the walk.

  "Come out for some fresh air, Carry," he had said. "You have been shutup for a month. Let us two go together;" and Carry had understood thathe wanted a talk alone with her. There was need, indeed, that theyshould look the future in the face. Since Lieutenant Wade's death theirmeans had been very straitened. Their mother had received a smallpension as his widow, and on this, eked out by drafts reluctantly drawnupon the thousand pounds she had brought him on her marriage, which hadbeen left untouched during his lifetime, they had lived since his death.Two hundred pounds had been drawn from their little capital, and thebalance was all that now remained. It had long been arranged that Carryand Janet should go out as governesses as soon as they each reached theage of eighteen, but it was now clear that Carry must remain at home incharge of the young ones.

  That morning the two girls had had a talk together, and had settledthat, as Janet was too young to take even the humblest place as agoverness, they would endeavour to open a little school, and so, for thepresent at any rate, keep the home together. Carry could give musiclessons, for she was already an excellent pianist, having been welltaught by her mother, who was an accomplished performer, and Janet wassufficiently advanced to teach young girls. She had communicated theirdecision to Tom, who had heartily agreed with it.

  "The rent is only twenty pounds a year," he said, "and, as you say, theeight hundred pounds bring in thirty-two pounds a year, which will paythe rent and leave something over. If you don't get many pupils at firstit will help, and you can draw a little from the capital till the schoolgets big enough to pay all your expenses. It is horrible to me that Idon't seem to be able to help, but at any rate I don't intend to remaina drag upon you. If mother had only allowed me to go to sea afterfather's death I should be off your hands now, and I might even havebeen able to help a little. As it is, what is there for me to do here?"And then he pointed out how hopeless the prospect seemed at Portsmouth.

  Carry was silent for a minute or two when he ceased speaking, and satlooking out over the sea.

  "Certainly, we should not wish you to go into a shop, Tom, and what yousay about going into an office is also right enough. We have no sort ofinterest, and the sort of clerkship you would be likely to get herewould not lead to anything. I know what you are thinking about--thatletter of Uncle Harry's; but you know that mother could not bear thethought of it, and it would be dreadful for us if you were to go away."

  "I would not think of going, Carry, if I could see any chance of helpingyou here, and I don't want to go as I did when the letter first came. Itseems such a cowardly thing to run away and leave all the burden uponyour shoulders, yours and Janet's, though I know it will be principallyon yours; but what else is there to do? It was not for my own sake thatI wanted before to go, but I did not see what there was for me to dohere even when I grew up. Still, as mother said it would break her heartif I went away, of course there was an end of it for the time, though Ihave always thought it would be something to fall back upon if, when Igot to eighteen or nineteen, nothing else turned up, which seemed to mevery likely would be the case. Certainly, if it came to a choice betweenthat and enlisting, I should choose that: and now it seems to me theonly thing to be done."

  "It is such a long way off, Tom," the girl said in
a tone of deep pain;"and you know when people get away so far they seem to forget those athome and give up writing. We had not heard from uncle for ten years whenthat letter came."

  "There would be no fear of my forgetting you, Carry. I would write toyou whenever I got a chance."

  "But even going out there does not seem to lead to anything, Tom. Unclehas been away twenty-five years, and he does not seem to have made anymoney at all."

  "Oh, but then he owned in his letter, Carry, that it was principally hisown fault. He said he had made a good sum several times at mining, andchucked it away; but that next time he strikes a good thing he wasdetermined to keep what he made and to come home to live upon it. Isha'n't chuck it away if I make it, but shall send every penny home thatI can spare."

  "But uncle will not expect you, Tom, mother refused so positively to letyou go. Perhaps he has gone away from the part of the country he wrotefrom, and you may not be able to find him."

  "I shall be able to find him," Tom said confidently. "When that letterwent, I sent one of my own to him, and said that though mother would nothear of my going now, I might come out to him when I got older if Icould get nothing to do here, and asked him to send me a few wordsdirected to the post-office telling me how I might find him. He wroteback saying that if I called at the Empire Saloon at a small town calledDenver, in Colorado, I should be likely to hear whereabouts he was, andthat he would sometimes send a line there with instructions if he shouldbe long away."

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

  "No, I have not set my mind on it, Carry. I am perfectly ready to stophere if you can see any way for me to earn money, but I cannot stop hereidle, eating and drinking, while you girls are working for us all."

  "If you were but three or four years older, Tom, I should not so muchmind, and though it would be a terrible blow to part with you, I do notsee that you could do anything better; but you are only sixteen."

  "Yes, but I am strong and big for my age; I am quite as strong as a goodmany men. Of course I don't mean the boatmen and the dockyard maties,but men who don't do hard work. Anyhow, there are lots of men who go outto America who are no stronger than I am, and of course I shall getstronger every month. I can walk thirty miles a day easy, and I havenever had a day's illness."

  "It is not your strength, Tom; I shall have no fears about your breakingdown; on the contrary, I should say that a life such as uncle wroteabout, must be wonderfully healthy. But you seem so young to make such along journey, and you may have to travel about in such rough places andamong such rough men before you can find Uncle Harry."

  "I expect that I shall get on a great deal easier than a man would," Tomsaid confidently. "Fellows might play tricks with a grown-up fellow whothey see is a stranger and not up to things, and might get into quarrelswith him, but no one is likely to interfere with a boy. No, I don'tthink that there is anything in that, Carry,--the only real difficultyis in going away so far from you, and perhaps being away for a longtime."

  "Well, Tom," the girl said after another pause, "it seems very terrible,but I own that I can see nothing better for you. There is no way thatyou can earn money here, and I am sure we would rather think of you asmining and hunting with uncle, than as sitting as a sort of boy-clerk insome dark little office in London or Portsmouth. It is no worse thangoing to sea anyhow, and after all you may, as uncle says, hit on a richmine and come back with a fortune. Let us be going home. I can hardlybear to think of it now, but I will tell Janet, and will talk about itagain this evening after the little ones have gone to bed."

  Tom had the good sense to avoid any expression of satisfaction. He gaveCarry's hand a silent squeeze, and as they walked across the commontalked over their plans for setting to work to get pupils, and said noword that would give her a hint of the excitement he felt at the thoughtof the life of adventure in a wild country that lay before him. He hadin his blood a large share of the restless spirit of enterprise that hasbeen the main factor in making the Anglo-Saxons the dominant race of theworld. His father and his grandfather had both been officers in theroyal navy, and a great-uncle had commanded a merchantman that traded inthe Eastern seas, and had never come back from one of its voyages; therehad been little doubt that all on board had been massacred and the shipburned by Malay pirates. His Uncle Harry had gone away when little morethan a boy to seek a fortune in America, and had, a few years after hislanding there, crossed the plains with one of the first parties thatstarted out at news of the discovery of gold in California.

  Tom himself had longed above all things to be a sailor. His father hadnot sufficient interest to get him into the royal navy, but had intendedto obtain for him a berth as apprentice in the merchant service; but hissudden death had cut that project short, and his mother, who had alwaysbeen opposed to it, would not hear of his going to sea. But the lifethat now seemed open to him was in the boy's eyes even preferable tothat he had longed for. The excitement of voyages to India or China andback was as nothing to that of a gold-seeker and hunter in the West,where there were bears and Indians and all sorts of adventures to beencountered. He soon calmed down, however, on reaching home. The emptychair, the black dresses and pale faces of the girls, brought back inits full force the sense of loss.

  In a short time he went up to his room, and sat there thinking it allover again, and asking himself whether it was fair of him to leave hissisters, and whether he was not acting selfishly in thus choosing hisown life. He had gone over this ground again and again in the last fewdays, and he now came to the same conclusion, namely, that he could dono better for the girls by stopping at home, and that he had not decidedupon accepting his uncle's invitation because the life was just what hewould have chosen, but because he could see nothing that offered equalchances of his being able permanently to aid them at home.

  When he came downstairs again Carry said:

  "The others have gone out, Tom; you had better go round and see some ofyour school-fellows. You look fagged and worn out. You cannot help mehere, and I shall go about my work more cheerfully if I know that youare out and about."

  Tom nodded, put on his cap and went out; but he felt far too restless tofollow her advice and call on some of his friends, so he walked acrossthe common and lay down on the beach and went all over it again, untilat last he went off to sleep, and did not wake up until, glancing at hiswatch, he found that it was time to return to tea. He felt fresher andbetter for his rest, for indeed he had slept but little for the pastfortnight, and Carry nodded approvingly as she saw that his eyes werebrighter, and the lines of fatigue and sleeplessness less stronglymarked on his face.

  Two hours later, when the younger girls had gone to bed, Carry said:"Now we will have a family council. I have told Janet about our talk,Tom, and she is altogether on your side, and only regrets that she isnot a boy and able to go out with you. We need not go over the groundagain, we are quite agreed with you that there seems no prospect here ofyour obtaining work such as we should like to see you at, or that wouldlead to anything. There are only two things open to you, the one is togo to sea, the other to go out to Uncle Harry. You are old to go as anapprentice, but not too old, and that plan could be carried out; still,we both think that the other is better. You would be almost as muchseparated from us if you went to sea as you would be if you went out toAmerica. But before you quite decide I will read uncle's letter, which Ihave found this afternoon among some other papers."

  She took out the letter and opened it.

  "'My dear Jack,--I am afraid it is a very long time since I wrote last;I don't like to think how long. I have been intending to do so a scoreof times, but you know I always hated writing, and I have been waitingto tell you that I had hit upon something good at last. Even now I canonly tell you that I have been knocking about and getting older, but sofar I cannot say I have been getting richer. As I told you when I wrotelast I have several times made good hauls and struck it rich, butsomehow the money has always slipped through my fingers. Sometimes Ih
ave put it into things that looked well enough but turned outworthless; sometimes I have chucked it away in the fool's manner men dohere. I have just come back from a prospecting tour in the country ofthe Utes, where I found two or three things that seemed good; one ofthem first-rate, the best thing, I think, I have seen since I came outhere.

  "'Unfortunately I cannot do anything with them at present, for the Utesare getting troublesome, and it would be as much as one's life is worthto go back there with a small party; so that matter must rest for a bit,and I must look out in another quarter until the Utes settle down again.I am going to join a hunting party that starts for the mountains nextweek. I have done pretty nearly as much hunting as mining since I cameout, and though there is no big pile to be made at it, it is a prettycertain living. How are you all getting on? I hope some day to drop inon your quiet quarters at Southsea with some big bags of gold-dust, andto end my days in a nook by your fireside; which I know you will giveme, old fellow, with or without the gold bags. '"

  CARRY READS UNCLE HARRY'S LETTER.]

  "'I suppose your boy is thirteen or fourteen years old by this time.That is too young for him to come out here, but if in two or three yearsyou don't see any opening for him at home, send him out to me, and Iwill make a man of him; and even if he does not make a fortune ingold-seeking, there are plenty of things a young fellow can turn hishand to in this country with a good certainty of making his way, if heis but steady. You may think that my example is not likely to be of muchbenefit to him, but I should do for an object lesson, and seriously,would do my very best to set him in a straight path. Anyhow, three orfour years' knocking about with me would enable him to cut hiseye-teeth, and hold his own in the world. At the end of that time hecould look round and see what line he would take up, and I need not saythat I would help him to the utmost of my power, and though I have notdone any good for myself I might do good for him.

  "'In the first place, I know pretty well every one in Colorado, Montana,and Idaho; in the next place, in my wanderings I have come across ascore of bits of land in out-of-the-way places where a young fellowcould set up a ranche and breed cattle and horses and make a good thingof it; or if he has a turn for mechanics, I could show him places wherehe could set up saw-mills for lumber, with water-power all the yearround, and with markets not far away. Of course, he is too young yet,but unless he is going to walk in your steps and turn sailor he might doworse than come out to me in three or four years' time. Rough as thelife is, it is a man's life, and a week of it is worth more than ayear's quill-driving in an office. It is a pity your family have run togirls, for if one boy had made up his mind for the sea you might havespared me another.'

  "That is all. You know mother sent an answer saying that dear father hadgone, and that she should never be able to let you go so far away andtake up such a rough and dangerous life. However, Tom, as you wrote touncle, her refusal would not matter, and by his sending you instructionshow to find him, it is evident that he will not be surprised at yourturning up. In the first place, are you sure that you would prefer thisto the sea?"

  "Quite sure, Carry; I should like it much better. But the principalthing is that I may soon be able to help you from there, while it wouldbe years before I should get pay enough at sea to enable me to do so."

  "Then that is settled, Tom. And now, I suppose," and her voice quivereda little, "you will want to be off as soon as you can?"

  "I think so," Tom replied. "If I am to go, it seems to me the sooner Igo the better; there is nothing that I can do here, and we shall all berestless and unsettled until I am off."

  Carry nodded. "I think you are right, Tom; we shall never be able tosettle to our work here when we are thinking of your going away. Thefirst thing to do will be to draw some money from the bank. There willbe your outfit to get and your passage to pay to America, and a supplyof money to take you out West, and keep you until you join uncle."

  "That is what I hate," Tom said gloomily. "It seems beastly that when Iwant to help you I must begin by taking some of your money."

  "That can't be helped," Carry said cheerfully. "One must not grudge asprat to catch a whale, and besides it would cost ever so much more ifwe had to apprentice you to the sea, and get your outfit. You will notwant many clothes now. You have enough for the voyage and journey, and Ishould think it would be much better for you to get what you want outthere, when you will have uncle to advise what is necessary. I shouldreally think some flannel shirts and a rough suit for the voyage will bethe principal things."

  "I should think so, certainly," Tom agreed. "The less baggage onetravels with the better, for when I leave the railway I shall only wantwhat I can carry with me or pack on horses. Anything else would only bea nuisance. As to a rough suit for the voyage, the clothes I had beforeI put these on" (and he glanced at his black suit) "will do capitally.Of course I shall go steerage. I can get out for four or five poundsthat way, and I shall be quite as well off as I should be as anapprentice. I know I must have some money, but I won't take more than isabsolutely necessary. I am all right as far as I can see for everything,except three or four flannel shirts. I don't see that another thing willbe required except a small trunk to hold them and the clothes I have on,which I don't suppose I shall ever wear again, and a few other things.You know I would only allow you to have this one black suit made. I wasthinking of this, and it would have been throwing away money to have gotmore. Of course, I don't know what I shall want out there. I know it isa long way to travel by rail, and I may have to keep myself for a monthbefore I find uncle. I should think five-and-twenty pounds when I landwould be enough for everything."

  "I shall draw fifty pounds," Carry said positively. "As you say, youroutfit will really cost nothing; ten pounds will pay for your journey toLiverpool and your passage; that will leave you forty pounds in yourpocket when you land. That is the very least you could do with, for youmay find you will have to buy a horse, and though I believe they arevery cheap out there, I suppose you could not get one under ten pounds;and then there would be the saddle and bridle and food for the journey,and all sorts of things. I don't think forty pounds will be enough."

  "I won't have a penny more, anyhow," Tom said. "If I find a horse tooexpensive I can tramp on foot."

  "And you must be sure not to get robbed," Janet said, breaking in forthe first time. "Just fancy your finding yourself without money in sucha place as that. I will make you a belt to wear under your things, withpockets for the money."

  "I hope I should not be such a fool as that, Janet, but anyhow I will beas careful as I can. I shall be very glad of the belt. One does not knowwhat the fellows might be up to, and I would certainly rather not havemy money loose in my pocket; but even if I were robbed I don't think itwould be as desperate as you think. I expect a boy could always findsomething to do to earn his living, and I should try and work my wayalong somehow, but as that would not be pleasant at all I shall takegood care of my money, you may be sure."

  For an hour they sat talking, and before the council broke up it wasagreed that they should look in the newspaper in the morning for a listof vessels sailing for America, and should at once write and take apassage.

  There was no time lost. Carry felt that it would be best for them allthat the parting should be got over as soon as possible. Letters werewritten the next morning to two steamship companies and to the owners oftwo sailing vessels asking the prices of steerage passages, agreeingthat if there was not much difference it would be better to save perhapsa fortnight by taking the passage in a steamship.

  The replies showed that the difference was indeed trifling, and a weekafter their receipt Tom Wade started from Portsmouth to Liverpool. Evenat the last moment he was half-inclined to change his plans, it seemedso hard to leave his sisters alone; but Carry and Janet had bothconvinced themselves that his scheme was the best, and would not hear ofhis wavering now. They kept up a show of good spirits until the last,talked confidently of the success of their own plans, and how theyshould set about carrying
them out as soon as they were free to act. Theyounger girls, although implored by the elders not to give way to theirgrief at the departure of their brother, were in a state of constanttearfulness, and were in consequence frequently got rid of by being senton errands. Tom, too, took them out for hours every day, and by tellingthem stories of the wild animals he should hunt, and the Indians heshould see, and of the stores of gold he should find hidden, generallybrought them home in a more cheerful state of mind.

  At last the parting was over, and after making heroic efforts to becheerful to the end, Tom waved a last adieu with his handkerchief to thefive weeping figures on the platform, and then threw himself back in hisseat and gave free vent to his own feelings. Two girls sitting besidehim sniggered at the sight of the strong-built young fellow giving wayto tears, but a motherly-looking woman opposite presently put her handon his knee.

  "Don't be ashamed of crying, my lad," she said. "I have got a son yearsolder than you, and we always have a good cry together every time hestarts on a long voyage. Are you going far? I suppose those are yoursisters? I see you are all in black. Lost someone dear to you, no doubt?It comes to us all, my boy, sooner or later."

  "I am going to America," Tom replied, "and may not be back for years.Yes, those are my sisters, and what upsets me most is that I have toleave them all alone, for we have lost both our parents."

  "Dear, dear, that is sad indeed! No wonder you are all upset. Well,well, America is not so very far away--only a ten days' voyage bysteamer, they tell me, and my boy is away in a sailing ship. He is inChina, I reckon, now; he sailed five months ago, and did not expect tobe home under a year. I worry about him sometimes, but I know it is ofno use doing that. The last thing he said when I bade good-bye to himwas, 'Keep up your spirits, mother'; and I try to do so."

  The old lady went on talking about her son, and Tom, listening to herkindly attempts to draw him out of his own troubles, grew interested,and by the time they reached Winchester, where she left the train, hehad shaken off his first depression. It was a long journey with severalchanges, and he did not arrive in Liverpool until six o'clock in theevening, having been nearly twelve hours on the road. Carry's lastinjunction had been, "Take a cab when you get to Liverpool, Tom, anddrive straight down to the docks. Liverpool is a large place, and youmight get directed wrong. I shall be more comfortable if I know that, atany rate, you will go straight on board."

  Tom had thought it an unnecessary expense, but as he saw that Carrywould be more comfortable about him if he followed her advice, hepromised to do so, and was not sorry for it as he drove through thestreets; for, in spite of cutting down everything that seemedunnecessary for the voyage and subsequent journey, the portmanteau wastoo heavy to carry far with comfort, and although prepared to rough itto any extent when he had once left England, he felt that he should notlike to make his way along the crowded streets with his trunk on hisshoulder.

  The cabman had no difficulty in finding the _Parthia_, which was stillin the basin. Tom was, however, only just in time to get on board, forthe men were already throwing off the warps, and ten minutes later shepassed out through the dock-gates, and soon anchored in the middle ofthe river. Tom had been on board too many ships at Portsmouth to feelany of that bewilderment common to emigrants starting on their firstvoyage. He saw that at present everyone was too busy to attend to him,and so he put his portmanteau down by the bulwark forward, and leaningon the rail watched the process of warping the ship out of the docks.There were a good many steerage passengers forward, but at present theafter-part of the ship was entirely deserted, as the cabin passengerswould not come on board until either late at night or early nextmorning. When the anchor had been let drop he took up his trunk andasked a sailor where he ought to go to.

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

  There he met a steward, who, after looking at his ticket, said: "Youwill see the bunks down there, and can take any one that is unoccupied.I should advise you to put your trunk into it, and keep the lid shut.People come and go in the morning, and you might find that your thingshad gone too. It would be just as well for you to keep it locked throughthe voyage. I see that you have got a cord round it. Keep it corded; themore things there are to unfasten to get at the contents the less chancethere is of anyone attempting it."

  The place was crowded with berths, mere shallow trays, each containing astraw mattress and pillow and two coloured blankets. They were in threetiers, one above the other, and were arranged in lines three deep, witha narrow passage between. He saw by the number into which bags andpackets had been thrown that the upper berths were the favourites, buthe concluded that the lower tiers were preferable. "It will befrightfully hot and stuffy here," he said to himself, "and I should saythe lower berths will be cooler than the upper." He therefore placed histrunk in one of those next to the central passage and near the door, andthen went up on deck.

  The _Parthia_ was a Cunarder, and although not equal in size to thegreat ships of the present day, was a very fine vessel. The fare hadbeen somewhat higher than that for which he could have had a passage ina sailing ship, but in addition to his saving time, there was theadvantage that on board the steamers, passengers were not obliged toprovide their own bedding, as they had to do in sailing vessels, andalso the food was cooked for them in the ship's galleys.

  The first meal was served soon after the anchor dropped, and consistedof a bowl of cocoa and a large piece of bread. Half an hour later atender came alongside with the last batch of steerage passengers, andTom was interested in watching the various groups as they came onboard--men, women, and children.

  "Well," he said to himself, "I do think I am better fitted to make myway out there than most of these people are, for they look as helplessand confused as a flock of sheep. I pity those women with children. Itwill be pretty crowded in our quarters, but there is a chance of gettinga fair night's sleep, while in a place crowded with babies and childrenit would be awful."

  Being a kind-hearted lad he at once set to work to help as far as hecould, volunteering to carry children down below, and to help with boxesand bundles.

  In many cases his assistance was thankfully accepted, but in some it wassharply refused, the people's manner clearly showing their suspicions ofhis motive. He was not surprised at this after all the warnings Carryhad given him against putting any confidence in strangers, but wassatisfied, after an hour's hard work, that he had rendered thingssomewhat easier for many a worried and anxious woman. It was gettingdusk even on deck by the time he had finished.

  "Thank you, lad," a man, who went up the companion ladder with him, saidas they stepped on to the deck. "You have done my missis a good turn bytaking care of those three young ones while we straightened up a bit,and I saw you helping others too. You are the right sort, I can see.There ain't many young chaps as puts themselves out of the way to do abit of kindness like that. My name is Bill Brown; what is yours?"

  "Tom Wade. I had nothing to do, and was glad to be of a little help.People who have never been on board ship before naturally feel confusedin such a crowd."

  "Have you been to sea?"

  "Not on a voyage, but I have lived at Portsmouth and have often been onboard troopships and men-of-war, so it does not seem so strange to me."

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

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

  "I have been across before," the man said. "I am a carpenter, and haveworked out there six months, and came home six weeks back to fetch theothers over. I have got a place, where I was working before, to go to assoon as I land. It makes a lot of difference to a man."

  "It does indeed," Tom agreed. "I know if I were going out without anyfixed object beyond taking the first work that came to hand, I shouldnot feel so easy and comfortable about it as I do now."

  "I have got two or three of my mates on board who are going out on myreport of the place, and three families from my wife's village.
She andthe youngsters have been staying with her old folk while I was away. Sowe are a biggish party, and if you want anything done on the voyage youhave only got to say the word to me."