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VIII
OUTWARD BOUND

"Beats Boston, don't it?" said Bill to Walter, as the Susan J. was slowly working her way up the East River past the miles of wharves and warehouses with which the shores are lined.

"Maybe it's bigger, but I don't believe it's any better," was Walter's guarded reply.

As soon as the anchor was down, the two friends hailed a passing boatman, who quickly put them on shore at the Battery, whence they lost no time in making their way to the steamship company's office – Bill to see if he could get a chance to ship for the run to the Isthmus, Walter to get a berth in the steerage just as soon as Bill's case should be decided. So eager were they to have the matter settled that they would not stop even to look at the wonders of the town.

While waiting their turn among the crowd in the office, Bill's roving eye happened to fall on a big, square-shouldered, thick-set man who sat comfortably warming his hands over a coal fire in the fireplace, which he wholly monopolized, apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. It was now the month of December, and the air was chilly. Bill hailed him without ceremony. "Mawnin', mister. Fire feels kind o' good this cold mawnin', don't it?"

The person thus addressed did not even turn his head.

Unabashed by this cool reception, Bill added in a lower tone, "Lookin' out for a chance to ship, heh, matey?"

At this question, so squarely put, a suppressed titter ran round the room. The silent man gave Bill a sidelong look, shrugged his shoulders, and absently asked, "What makes you think so?"

"D'ye think I don't know a sailorman when I see one? Mighty stuck up, some folks is. Better get that Ingy-ink out o' yer hands ef yer 'shamed on it."

The silent man rose up, buttoned his shaggy buffalo-skin coat up to his chin, pulled his fur cap down over his bushy eyebrows, and strode out of the office without looking either to the right or the left.

"I say, you!" a clerk called out to Bill. "Do you know who you were talking to? That's the old man."

"I don't keer ef it's the old boy. Ef that chap ha'n't hauled on a tarred rope afore now, I'm a nigger; that's all."

"That was Commodore Vanderbilt, the owner of this line," the clerk retorted very pompously, quite as if he expected Bill to drop.

The general laugh now went against Bill. "Whew! was it, though? Then I s'pose my cake's all dough," he grumbled to himself, but was greatly relieved when the shipping clerk, after a few questions, told him to sign the articles. Walter was duly engaged, in his turn, as a cabin waiter. This being settled, the two friends sallied forth in high spirits to report on board the Prometheus, bound for San Juan del Norte.

Nowhere, probably, since the days of Noah was there ever seen such utter and seemingly helpless confusion as on one of those great floating arks engaged in the California trade by way of the Isthmus, in the early fifties, just before sailing. Bullocks were dismally lowing, sheep plaintively bleating, hogs squealing. Men were wildly running to and fro, shouting, pushing, and elbowing each other about, as if they had only a few minutes longer to live and must therefore make the most of their time. Women were quietly crying, or laughing hysterically, by turns, as the fit happened to take them. Of human beings, upwards of a thousand were thus occupied on board the Prometheus; while on the already crowded slip the shouting of belated hack drivers, who stormed and swore, the loud cries of peddlers and newsboys, who darted hither and thither among the surging throng, served to keep up an indescribable uproar. Add to this, that the sky was dark and lowering, the black river swimming with floating ice, crushing and grinding against the slip, as it moved out to sea with the ebb; and possibly some idea may be formed of what was taking place on that bleak December afternoon.

But all things must come to an end. All this confusion was hushed when the word was passed to cast off, the paddle wheels began slowly to turn, and the big ship, careening heavily to port under its human freight, who swarmed like bees upon her decks, forged slowly out into the stream, carrying with her, if the truth must be told, many a sorry and homesick one already.

Walter, however, drew a long breath of relief as the ship moved away from the shores. It was the first moment in which he had been able to shake off the fear of being followed. He therefore went about his duties cheerfully, if not very skillfully.

Oh, the unspeakable misery of that first night at sea! A stiff southeaster was blowing when the steamer thrust her black nose outside of Sandy Hook. And as the hours wore on, and the gale rose higher and higher, with every lurch the straining ship would moan and tremble like a human being in distress. Now and then a big sea would strike the ship fairly, sending crockery and glassware flying about the cabin with a crash, then as she settled down into the trough, for one breathless moment it would seem as if she would never come up again. Twenty times that night the affrighted passengers gave themselves up for lost. Most of them lay in their berths prostrated by fear or seasickness. A few even put on life preservers. Perhaps a score or more, too much terrified even to seek their berths, crouched with pallid faces on the cabin stairs, foolishly imagining that if the ship did go down they would thus have the better chance of saving themselves. Some half-crazed women had even put on their bonnets, in order, as they sobbed out, to die decently.

It was hardly light, if a blurred gray streak in the east could be called light, when Walter crept up the slippery companionway. His head felt like a balloon, his eyes like two lumps of lead, his legs like mismatched legs. The ship was working her engines just enough to keep her head to the sea. The deck was all awash, and littered with the rubbish of a row of temporary, or "standee," bunks abandoned by their occupants, and broken up by the force of the gale. The paddle-boxes were stove, and tons of water were pouring in upon the decks with every revolution of the wheels. By watching his chance, when the ship steadied herself for another plunge, Walter managed to work his way out to the forepart of the vessel. Here he found Bill, with half a dozen more, all wringing-wet, hastily swallowing, between lurches of the ship, a cupful of hot coffee, which the cook was passing out to them from the galley. If ever men looked completely worn out, then those men did.

Bill no sooner caught sight of Walter, than he offered him his dipper. Walter put it away from him with a grimace of disgust.

"Dirty night," said Bill, cooling his coffee between swallows; "blowed fresh; nary watch below sence we left the dock; no life in her; steered like a wild bull broke loose in Broadway. She's some easier now. Better have some [again holding out his cup]; 't will do you good. No? Well, here goes," tilting his head back and draining the cup to the last drop.

Just then the first officer came bustling along in oilskins and sou'wester. "Here, you!" he called out, "lay for'ard there, and get the jib on her; come, bear a hand!" Walter went forward with the men. Hoisting the sail was no easy matter, with the ship plunging bows under every minute, but no sooner did the gale fill It fairly, than away it went with a report like a cannon, blown clean out of the bolt-rope, as if it had been a boy's kite held by a string. While the men were watching it disappear in the mist, crash came a ton or more of salt water pouring over the bow, throwing them violently against the deck-house. Shaking himself like a spaniel, the mate darted off to give the steersman a dressing-down for letting the ship "broach to."

Two sailors had been lost overboard during the night. On a hint dropped by Bill, Walter was taken from the cabin, where there was little to do, and put to work with the carpenter's gang, repairing damages. The change being much to his liking, Walter applied himself to his new duties with a zeal that soon won for him the good will of his mates. And when it came to doing a job on the rigging, though out of practice, Walter was always the one called upon to do it. The captain, a quiet, gentlemanly man, who looked more like a schoolmaster than a shipmaster, told the purser to put Walter in the ship's books.

Thoroughly tired out with his day's work, Walter was going below when the mate called out to him: "I say, youngster, you're not going down into that dog-hole again. There's a spare bunk in my stateroom. Get your traps and sail in. You can h'ist in as much sleep as you've storage room for."

By noon of the second day out, the Prometheus had run into the Gulf Stream. The gale had sensibly abated, though it still blew hard. When the captain came on deck, after taking a long look at the clouds, he said to the mate, "Mr. Gray, I think you may give her the jib and mainsail, to steady her a bit."

At break of day on the morning of the fourth day out, as Walter was leaning over the weather rail, his eye caught sight of a dark spot rising out of the water nearly abeam. The mate was taking a long look at it through his glass. In reply to Walter's inquiring look, the mate told him it was a low-lying reef called Mariguana, one of the easternmost of the Bahamas. It was not long before most of the passengers were crowding up to get sight of that little speck of dry land, the first they had laid eyes on since the voyage began. "Now, my lad, you can judge something of how Columbus felt when he made his first landfall hereabouts so long ago!" exclaimed the mate. "Good for sore eyes, ain't it? We never try to pass it except in the daytime," he added; "if we did, ten to one we'd fetch up all standing."

"San Domingo to-morrow!" cried the mate, rubbing his hands as he came out of the chart room on the fifth day. As the word passed through the ship it produced a magical effect among the passengers, whose chief desire was once more to set foot on dry land, and next to see it.

Sure enough, when the sun rose out of the ocean next morning there was the lovely tropic island looming up, darkly blue, before them. There, too, were the hazy mountain peaks of Cuba rising in the west. All day long the ship was sailing between these islands, on a sea as smooth as a millpond. Every day she was getting in better trim, and going faster; and the spirits of all on board rose accordingly at the prospect of an early ending of the voyage.

"This beats all!" was Walter's delighted comment to Bill, who was swabbing down the decks in his bare feet.

"'Tis kind o' pooty," Bill assented, wiping his sweaty face with his bare arm. "That un," nodding toward Cuba, "Uncle Sam ought to hev, by good rights; but this 'ere," turning on San Domingo a look of contempt, "'z nothin' but niggers, airthquakes, an' harricanes. Let 'em keep it, says Bill;" then continuing, after a short pause, "Porter Prince is up in the bight of yon deep bay. I seen the old king-pin himself onct. Coal-tar ain't a patchin' to him; no, nor Day & Martin nuther. Hot? If you was ashore there, you'd think it was hot. Why, they cook eggs without fire right out in the sun."

A two-days' run across the Caribbean Sea brought the Prometheus on soundings, and a few hours more to her destined port. Every one was now making hurried preparations to leave the ship, bag and baggage; every eye beamed with delight at the prospect of escaping from the confinement of what had seemed more like a prison than anything else. While the Prometheus was heading toward her anchorage there was time allowed for a brief survey of the town and harbor of San Juan del Norte, or, as it was then commonly called, Greytown.

These were really nothing more than an open roadstead, bounded by a low, curving, and sandy shore, along which half a hundred poor cabins lay half hid among tall cocoanut palms. From the one two-story building in sight the British flag was flying. The harbor, however, presented a very animated and warlike appearance, in consequence of the warm dispute then in progress between England and the United States as to who should control the transit from ocean to ocean. Two American and two British warships lay within easy gunshot of each other, flying the flags of their respective nations, and no sooner were the colors of the starry banner caught sight of than a tremendous cheer burst from the thousand throats on board the Prometheus. Her anchor had hardly touched bottom when a boat from the Saranac came alongside, the officer in charge eagerly hailing the deck for the latest news from the States. As for the jackies, to judge from their looks they seemed literally spoiling for a fight.

Walter had no very clear idea upon the subject of this international dispute, still less of the importance it might assume in the future, but the evident anxiety shown on the faces around him led him to suppose that the matter was serious. He stood holding onto the lee rigging, watching the American tars in the boat alongside, and thinking what fine, manly fellows they looked, when two passengers near him began an animated discussion which set him to thinking.

"Sare," said one, with a strong French accent, "it was, ma foi, I shall recollect —ah oui– it was my countryman, one Samuel Champlain, who first gave ze idea of cutting – what you call him? – one sheep canal across ze Eesmus. I shall not be wrong to-day."

"Excuse me, monsieur," the other returned, "I think Cortez did that very thing long before him."

"Nevair mind, mon ami. I gage you 'ave ze histoire correct. Eet only prove zat great minds 'ave always sometime ze same ideas. Mais, your Oncle Sam, wiz hees sillee Monroe Doctreen, he eez like ze dog wiz his paw on ze bone: he not eat himself; he not let any oder dog: he just growl, growl, growl."

"But, monsieur, wouldn't Uncle Sam, as you call him, be a big fool to let any foreign nation get control of his road to California?"

The Frenchman only replied by a shrug.

Even before the Prometheus dropped anchor she was surrounded by a swarm of native boatmen, of all shades of color from sour cream to jet-black, some holding up bunches of bananas, some screaming out praises of their boats to such as were disposed to go ashore, others begging the passengers to throw a dime into the water, for which they instantly plunged, head first, regardless of the sharks which could be seen lazily swimming about the harbor, attracted by the offal thrown over from the ships.

"I don't know how 'tis," said Bill in Walter's ear, "but them sharks'll never tech a nigger. But come, time to wake up! Anchor's down. All's snug aboard. Now keep your weather eye peeled for a long pull across the Isthmus."

"Good luck to ye," said the jolly mate, shaking Walter heartily by the hand as he was about leaving the ship. "I'm right glad to see you've been trying to improve your mind a bit, instead of moonin' about like a catfish in a mudhole, as most of 'em do on board here. Use your eyes. Keep your ears open and don't be afraid to ask questions. That's the way to travel, my hearty!" And with a parting wave of the hand he strode forward.

IX
ACROSS NICARAGUA

In the course of an hour or so three light-draught stern-wheel steamboats ("wheelbarrows," Bill derisively called them) came puffing up alongside. Into them the passengers were now unceremoniously bundled, like so many sheep, and in such numbers as hardly to allow room to move about, yet all in high glee at escaping from the confinement of the ship, at which many angrily shook their fists as the fasts were cast off. In another quarter of an hour the boats were steaming slowly up the San Juan River, thus commencing the second stage of the long journey.

For the first hour or two the travelers were fully occupied in looking about them with charmed eyes, as with mile after mile, and turn after turn, the wonders of a tropical forest, all hung about with rare and beautiful flowers, and all as still as death, passed before them. But Bill, to whom the sight was not new or strange, declared that for his part he would rather have a sniff of good old Boston's east wind than all the cloying perfumes of that wilderness of woods and blossoms. It was not long, however, before attention was drawn to the living inhabitants of this fairyland.

First a strange object, something between a huge lizard and a bloated bullfrog, was spied clinging to a bush on the bank. No sooner seen than crack! crack! went a dozen pistol shots, and down dropped the dirty green-and-yellow creature with a loud splash into the river.

"There's a tidbit gone," observed Bill, in Walter's ear.

"What! eat that thing?" demanded Walter with a disgusted look.

"Sartin. They eat um; eat anything. And what you can't eat, 'll eat you. If you don't b'leeve it, look at that 'ar reptyle on the bank yonder," said Bill, pointing out the object in question with the stem of his pipe.

Walter followed the direction of Bill's pipe.

Looking quite as much like a stranded log as anything else, a full-grown alligator lay stretched out along the muddy margin of the river at the water's edge. No sooner was he seen, than the ungainly monster became the target for a perfect storm of bullets, all of which glanced as harmlessly off his scaly back as hailstones from a slate roof. Disturbed by the noise and the shouts, the hideous animal slid slowly into the water and disappeared from sight, churning up the muddy bottom as he went.

Bill put on a quizzical look as he asked Walter if he knew why some barbarians worshiped the alligator. Walter was obliged to admit that he did not. "'Cause the alligator can swaller the man, but the man can't swaller the alligator," chuckled Bill.

Now and then a native bongo would be overhauled, bound for San Carlos, Grenada, or Leon, with a cargo of European goods. They were uncouth-looking boats, rigged with mast and sail, and sometimes thirty to forty feet long. Many a hearty laugh greeted the grotesque motions of the jet-black rowers, who half rose from their seats every time they dipped their oars, and then sank back with a grunt to give their strokes more power. The patrón, or master, prefaced all his orders with a persuasive "Now, gentlemen, a little faster, if you please!"

"And so that's the way, is it, that all inland transportation has been carried on here for so many hundred years?" thought Walter. "Well, I never!"

Incidents such as these served, now and then, to cause a ripple of excitement, or until even alligators became quite too numerous to waste powder upon. As darkness was coming on fast, there being no twilight to speak of in this part of the world, a ship's yawl was seen tied up under the bank for the night. Its occupants were nowhere in sight, but the dim light of a fire among the bushes showed that they were not far off. "Runaway sailors," Bill explained; "stole the boat, an' 'fraid to show themselves. Poor devils! they've a long pull afore 'em ef they get away, an' a rope's-end behind 'em if they're caught."

"Why, how far is it across?"

"It's more'n a hundred miles to the lake, and another hundred or so beyond."

"Whew! you don't say. Well, I pity them."

When darkness had shut down, the steamers also were tied up to trees on the bank, scope enough being given to the line to let the boats swing clear of the shores, on account of the mosquitoes, with which the woods were fairly alive. In this solitude the travelers passed their first night, without other shelter than the heavens above, and long before it was over there was good reason to repent of the abuse heaped upon the Prometheus, since very few got a wink of sleep; while all were more or less soaked by the rain that fell in torrents, as it can rain only in the tropics, during the night. As cold, wet, and gloomy as it dawned, the return of day was hailed with delight by the shivering and disconsolate travelers. In truth, much of the gilding had already been washed off, or worn off, of their El Dorado. And, as Bill bluntly put it, they all looked "like a passel of drownded rats."

Bill made this remark while he and Walter were washing their hands and faces in the roily river water, an easy matter, as they had only to stoop over the side to do so, the boat's deck being hardly a foot out of water. Suddenly Walter caught Bill's arm and gave it a warning squeeze. Bill followed the direction in which Walter was looking, and gave a low whistle. A beautifully mottled black-and-white snake had coiled itself around the line by which the boat was tied to the shore, and was quietly working its way, in corkscrew fashion, toward the now motionless craft. Seizing a boat-hook, Bill aimed a savage blow at the reptile, but the rope only being struck, the snake dropped unharmed into the river.

"Do they raise anything here besides alligators, snakes, lizards, and monkeys?" Walter asked the captain, who was looking on, while sipping his morning cup of black coffee.

Glancing up, the captain good-humoredly replied, "Oh, yes; they raise plantains, bananas, oranges, limes, lemons, chocolate-nuts, cocoanuts – "

"Pardon me," Walter interrupted; "those things are luxuries. I meant things of real value, sir."

"A very proper distinction," the captain replied, looking a little surprised. "Well, then, before you get across you will probably see hundreds of mahogany trees, logwood trees, fustic and Brazil-wood trees, to say nothing of other dye-woods, more or less valuable, growing all about you."

"Oh, yes, sir, I've seen all those woods you tell of coming out of vessels at home, but never growing. Somehow I never thought of them before as trees."

"Then there is cochineal, indigo, sugar, Indian corn, coffee, tobacco, cotton, hides, vanilla, some India rubber – "

Walter looked sheepish. "I see now how silly my question was. Please excuse my ignorance."

"That's all right," said the captain pleasantly. "Don't ever be afraid to ask about what you want to know. I suppose I've carried twenty thousand passengers across, and you are positively the first one to ask about anything except eating, sleeping, or when we are going to get there."

The two succeeding days were like the first, except that the river grew more and more shallow in proportion as it was ascended, and the country more and more hilly and broken. This furnished a new experience, as every now and then the boats would ground on some sand-bar, when all hands would have to tumble out into the water to lighten them over the rift, or wade ashore to be picked up again at some point higher up, after a fatiguing scramble through the dense jungle. "Whew! This is what I calls working your passage," was Bill's quiet comment, as he and Walter stood together on the bank, breathing hard, after making one of these forced excursions for half a mile.

"Is here where they talk of building a canal?" Walter asked in amazement, casting an oblique glance into the pestilential swamps around him. "Surely, they can't be in earnest."

"They'll need more grave-diggers than mud-diggers, if they try it on," was Bill's emphatic reply. "White men can't stand the climate nohow. And as for niggers – well, all you can git out o' 'em's clear gain, like lickin' a mule," he added, biting off a chew of tobacco as he spoke.

On the afternoon of the third day the passengers were landed at the foot of the Castillio Rapids, so named from an old Spanish fort commanding the passage of the river at this point, though many years gone to ruin and decay. Walter and Bill climbed the steep path leading up to it. The castle was of great age, they were told, going back to the time of the mighty Philip II of Spain perhaps, who spent such vast sums in fortifying his American colonies against the dreaded buccaneers. Walter could not help feeling awe-struck at the thought that what he saw was already old when the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock. Some one asked if this was not the place where England's naval hero, Lord Nelson, first distinguished himself, when the castle was taken in 1780.

Leaving these crumbling ruins to the snakes, lizards, and other reptiles which glided away at their approach, the two went back to the clump of rough shanties by the river, and it was here that Walter made his first acquaintance with that class of adventurers who, if not buccaneers in name, had replaced them, to all intents, not only here but on all routes leading to the land of gold.

There was a short portage around the rapids. A much larger and more comfortable boat had just landed some hundreds of returning Californians at the upper end of this portage, and a rough-and-ready looking lot they were, betraying by their talk and actions that they had long been strangers to the restraints of civilized life. Of course every word they dropped was greedily devoured by the newcomers, by whom the Californians were looked upon as superior beings.

The two sets of passengers were soon exchanging newspapers or scraps of news, while their baggage was being transferred around the portage. Giving Walter a knowing wink, Bill accosted one of the Californians with the question, "I say, mister, is it a fact, now, that you can pick up gold in the streets in San Francisco?"

"Stranger," this individual replied, "you may bet your bottom dollar you can. It's done every day in the week. You see a lump in the street, pick it up, and put it in your pocket until you come across a bigger one, then you heave the first one away, same's you do pickin' up pebbles on the beach, sabe?" Giving a nod to the half-dozen listeners, who were eagerly devouring every word, the fellow turned on his heel and walked off to join his companions.

The run across Lake Nicaragua was made in the night. When the passengers awoke the next morning the steamer was riding at anchor at a cable's length from the shore, on which a lively surf was breaking. Behind this was a motley collection of thatched hovels known as Virgin Bay. The passengers were put ashore in lighters, into which as many were huddled as there was standing-room for, were then hauled to the beach by means of a hawser run between boat and shore, and, with their hearts in their mouths while pitching and tossing among the breakers, at last scrambled upon the sands as best they might, thanking their lucky stars for their escape from drowning.²

Walter and Bill found themselves standing among groups of chattering half-breeds, half-nude children, dried-up old crones, and hairless, dejected-looking mules, whose shrill hee-haws struck into the general uproar with horribly discordant note. It was here bargains were made for the transportation of one's self or baggage across the intervening range of mountains to the Pacific. Secure in their monopoly of all the animals to be had for hire, the avaricious owners did not hesitate to demand as much for carrying a trunk sixteen miles as its whole contents were worth – more indeed than a mule would sell for.

Walter was gazing on the novel scene with wide-open eyes. Already their little store of cash was running low.

"You talk to them, Bill; you say you know their lingo," Walter suggested, impatient at seeing so many of the party mounting their balky steeds and riding away.

Bill walked up to a sleepy-looking mule driver who stood nearby idly smoking his cigarette, and laying his hand upon the animal's flank, cleared his throat, and demanded carelessly, in broken Spanish, "Qui cary, hombre, por este mula?"

The animal slowly turned his head toward the speaker, and viciously let go both hind feet, narrowly missing Bill's shins.

"Wow! he's an infamous rhinoceros, este mula!" cried Bill, drawing back to a safe distance from the animal's heels.

"Si, señor," replied the unmoved muleteer. "Viente pesos, no mas," he added in response to Bill's first question.

"Twenty devils!" exclaimed Bill in amazement, dropping into forcible English; "we don't want to buy him." Then resorting to gestures, to assist his limited vocabulary, he pointed to his own and Walter's bags, again demanding, "Quantos por este carga, vamos the ranch, over yonder?"

"Cinco pesos," articulated the impassive owner, between puffs.

"Robber," muttered Bill under his breath. Rather than submit to be so outrageously fleeced, Bill hit upon the following method of traveling quite independently. He had seen it done in China, he explained, and why not here? Getting a stout bamboo, the two friends slung their traps to the middle, lifted it to their shoulders, and in this economical fashion trudged off for the mountains, quite elated at having so cleverly outwitted the Greasers, as Bill contemptuously termed them. In fact, the old fellow was immensely tickled over the ready transformation of two live men into a quadruped. Walter should be fore legs and he hind legs. When tired, they could take turn and turn about. If the load galled one shoulder, it could be shifted over to the other, without halting. "Hooray!" he shouted, when they were clear of the village; "to-morrow we'll see the place where old Bill Boar watered his hoss in the Pacific."

"Balboa, Bill," Walter corrected. "No horse will drink salt water, silly. You know better. Besides, it wasn't a horse at all. 'Twas a mule."

Night overtook the travelers before reaching the foothills, but after munching a biscuit and swallowing a few mouthfuls of water they stretched themselves out upon the bare ground, and were soon traveling in the land of dreams.

The pair were bright and early on the road again, which was only a mule-track, deeply worn and gullied by the passing to and fro of many a caravan. It soon plunged into the thick woods, dropped down into slippery gorges, or scrambled up steep hillsides, where the pair would have to make a short halt to mop their brows and get their breath. Then they would listen to the screaming of countless parroquets, and watch the gambols of troops of chattering monkeys, among the branches overhead. Bill spoke up: "I don't believe men ever had no tails like them 'ar monkeys; some say they did: but I seen many a time I'd like to had one myself when layin' out on a topsail yard, in a dark night, with nothin' much to stan' on. A tail to kinder quirl around suthin', so's to let you use your hands and feet, is kind o' handy. Just look at that chap swingin' to that 'ar branch up there by his tail, like a trapeze performer, an' no rush o' blood to the brain nuther." Walter could hardly drag Bill away from the contemplation of this interesting problem.