miscellaneous matters, ending with a “scrimmage” under water.

we are back again in hong-kong—in the pagoda—with our old friends seated comfortably round their little table enjoying a good supper.

pretty little mrs machowl has prepared it, and is now assisting at the partaking of it. young master teddy machowl is similarly engaged on his father’s knee. the child has grown appallingly during its father’s absence! ram-stam and chok-foo are in waiting—gazing at each other with the affection of chinese lovers re-united.

“what a sight you are, rooney!” said mrs machowl, pausing between bites to look at her husband.

“sure it’s the same may be said of yoursilf, cushla!” replied rooney, stuffing his child’s mouth with sweet potato.

“yes, but it’s what a fright you are, i mane,” said mrs machowl.

“an’ it’s what a purty cratur you are that i mane,” replied rooney, repeating the dose to teddy, who regarded his father with looks of deep affection.

“ah! go ’long wid you. sure it’s your nose is spoilt entirely,” said mrs machowl.

“an’ it’s your own that is swaiter than iver, which more than makes up the difference,” retorted her lord.—“howld it open as wide as ye can this time, ted, me boy; there, that’s your sort—but don’t choke, ye spalpeen.”

there seemed indeed some occasion for the latter admonition, for teddy, unused to such vigorous treatment, was beginning to look purple in the face and apoplectic about the eyes. in short, there is every probability that an attack of croup, or something dreadful, would have ensued if the child’s mother had not risen hastily and snatched it away from the would-be infanticide.

“now then, ram-stam and chok-foo,” said edgar berrington, putting down his spoon, “clear away the rat’s-tail soup, and bring on the roast puppy.”

grinning from ear to ear, and with almost closed eyes, the chinese servitors obeyed.

while they cleared the table and laid the second course, the conversation became general. previously it had been particular, referring chiefly to the soup and the free circulation of the salt.

“so, then,” observed joe baldwin, leaning back in his chair, “we must make up our minds to be content with what we have got. well, it an’t so bad after all! let me see. how much did you say the total is, mister eddy?”

“close upon eight thousand five hundred pounds.”

“a tidy little sum,” observed rooney, with an air of satisfaction.

“eight thousand—eh?” repeated joe; “hum, well, we’ll cut off the five hundred for expenses and passage home, and that leaves eight thousand clear, which, according to agreement, gives each of us two thousand pounds.”

maxwell, who still looked pale and thin from the effects of his late accident, nodded his head slowly, and growled, “two thousand—jus’ so.”

“an’ that, molly, my dear,” said rooney, “if properly invisted, gives you an’ me a clair income—only think, an income, molly—of wan hundred a year! it’s true, cushla! that ye won’t be able to rowl in yer carridge an’ walk in silks an’ satins on that income, but it’ll pay the rint an’ taxes, owld girl, an’ help teddy to a collidge eddication—to say nothin’ o’ pipes an’ baccy. ochone!—if we’d only not lost the first haul, we’d have bin millerinaires be this time. i wouldn’t have called the quane me grandmother.”

“come, rooney, be grateful for what you’ve got,” said edgar. “enough is as good as a feast.”

“ah! sur, it’ll be time to say that when we’ve finished the puppy,” replied the irishman, as chok-foo placed on the board a savoury roast which bore some resemblance to the animal named, though, having had its head and legs amputated, there could be no absolute certainty on the point. whatever it was, the party attacked it with relish, and silence reigned until it was finished, after which conversation flowed again—somewhat languidly at first. when, however, pipes were got out by those who smoked, and chairs were placed in the verandah, and no sound was heard around save the yelling of chinese children who were romping in the chinese kennel that skirted the pagoda, and the champing of the jaws of ram-stam and chok-foo as they masticated inside—then came the feast of reason, not to mention the flow of soul.

“i wonder what our friends at whitstable will say to this ventur’ of ours,” said maxwell.

“have you many friends there?” asked edgar.

“many?—of course i has. w’y, i suppose every english diver must have friends there.”

“where is it?” asked edgar.

“why, sir, don’t you know whitstable?” exclaimed joe baldwin, in surprise.

“you forget, joe,” replied edgar, with a smile, “that although i have learnt how to dive, and have read a good deal about the history of diving, i am only an amateur after all, and cannot be supposed to know everything connected with the profession. all i know about whitstable is that it is a port somewhere in the south of england.”

“right, sir,” said joe, “but it’s more than that; it lies on the coast of kent, and is famous for its oyster-beds and its divers. how it came to be a place of resort for divers i don’t know, but so it is, an’ i have heard say it was divin’ for oysters in days of old that gave the natives a taste for the work. anyhow, they’ve got the taste very decided somehow, an’ after every spell o’ dirty weather they’re sure to have telegrams from all parts of the coast, and you’ll see lloyds’ agents huntin’ up the divers in the public-houses an’ packin’ ’em off wi’ their gear right and left by rail to look after salvage.

“these men,” continued joe, “are most of ’em handicraftmen as well as divers, because you know, sir, it would be of no use to send down a mere labourer to repair the bottom of a ship, no matter how good he was at divin’; so, you’ll find among ’em masons, and shipbuilders, and carpenters, and engineers—”

“ah!” interrupted edgar, “i was just wondering how they would manage if it were found necessary to have the engines of a sunk steamer taken to pieces and sent up.”

“well, sir,” rejoined joe, “they’ve got men there who can dive, and who know as much about marine engines as you do yourself. and these men make lots of tin, for a good diver can earn a pound a day, an’ be kept in pretty regular employment in deep water. in shallow water he can earn from ten to fifteen shillings a day. besides this, they make special arrangements for runnin’ extra risks. then the savin’ they sometimes effect is amazin’. why, sir, although you do know somethin’ of the advantages of diving, you can never know fully what good they do in the world at large. just take the case of the agamemnon at sebastopol—”

“och!” interrupted rooney, whose visage was perplexed by reason of his pipe refusing to draw well, “wasn’t (puff) that a good job intirely (puff! there; you’re all right at last!) he was a friend o’ mine that managed that job. tarry, we called him—though that wasn’t his right name. this is how it was. the fleet was blazin’ away at the fortifications, an’ of coorse the fortifications—out o’ politeness if nothin’ else—was blazin’ away at the fleet, and smoke was curlin’ up like a chimbley on fire, an’ big balls was goin’ about like pais in a rattle, an’ small shot like hail was blowin’ horizontal, an’ men was bein’ shot an’ cut to pieces, an’ them as warn’t was cheerin’ as if there was any glory in wholesale murther—bah! i wouldn’t give a day at donnybrook wid a shillelah for all the sieges of sebastopool as ever i heard tell of. well, suddintly, bang goes a round shot slap through the hull of the agamemnon, below the water-line! here was a pretty to do! the ordinary coorse in this case would have bin to haul out of action, go right away to malta, an’ have the ship docked and repaired there. but what does they do? why, they gets from under fire for a bit, and sends down my friend tarry to look at the hole. he goes down, looks at it, then comes up an’ looks at the commodore,—bowld as brass.

“‘i can repair it,’ says tarry.

“‘well, do,’ says the commodore.

“so down he goes an’ does it, an’ very soon after that the agamemnon went into action again, and blazed away at the walls o’ the owld place harder than ever.”

“that was a good case, an’ a true one,” said joe baldwin, with an approving nod.

“and these divers, mr edgar,” continued joe, “sometimes go on their own hook, like we have done this time, with more or less luck. there was one chum of mine who took it into his head to try his chances at the wreck of the royal charter, long after all hope of further salvage had been abandoned, and in a short time he managed to recover between three and four hundred pounds sterling.”

“an immense amount of money, they do say, was recovered from the royal charter by divers,” observed maxwell.

“that is true, and it happens,” said edgar, sadly, “that i know a few interesting facts regarding that vessel. i know of some people whose hearts were broken by the loss of relatives in that wreck. there were many such—god comfort them! but that is not what i meant to speak of. the facts i refer to are connected with the treasure lost in the vessel. just before leaving london i had occasion to call on the gentleman who had the management of the recovered gold, and he told me several interesting things. first of all, the whole of the gold that could be identified was handed at once over to its owners; but this matter of identification was not easy, for much of the gold was found quite loose in the form of sovereigns and nuggets and dust. the dust was ordered to be sent up with the ‘dirt’ that surrounded it, and a process of gold-washing was instituted, after the regular diggings fashion, with a bowl and water. tons of ‘dirt’ were sent up and washed in this way, and a large quantity of gold saved. the agent showed me the bowl that was used on this occasion. he also showed me sovereigns that had been kept as curious specimens. some of them were partly destroyed, as if they had been caught between iron-plates and cut in half; others were more or less defaced and bent, and a few had been squeezed almost into an unrecognisable shape. in one place, he told me, the divers saw a pile of sovereigns through a rent in an iron-plate. the rent was too small to admit a man’s arm, and the plates could not be dislodged. the divers, therefore, made a pair of iron tongs, with which they picked out the sovereigns, and thus saved a large sum of money. one very curious case of identification occurred. a bag of sovereigns was found with no name on it. a claimant appeared, but he could tell of no mark to prove that he was the rightful owner. of course it could not be given up, and it appeared as if the unfortunate man (who was indeed the owner) must relinquish his claim, when in a happy moment his wife remembered that she had put a brass ‘token’ into the bag with the gold. the bag was searched, the token was found, and the gold was immediately handed to them.”

“molly, my dear,” said rooney machowl at this point, “you make a note o’ that; an’ if ever you have to do with bags o’ goold, just putt a brass token or two into ’em.”

“ah! shut up, rooney,” said mrs machowl, in a voice so sweet that the contrast between it and her language caused edgar and joe to laugh.

“well, then,” continued edgar, “in many other curious ways gold was identified and delivered to its owners: thus, in one case, an incomplete seal, bearing part of the legs of a griffin, was found on a bag of two thousand sovereigns, and the owner, showing the seal with which he had stamped it, established his claim. of course in all cases where bars of gold were found with the owners’ names stamped on them, the property was at once handed over; but after all was done that could be done by means of the most painstaking inquiry, an immense amount of gold necessarily remained unclaimed.”

“and i s’pose if it wasn’t for us divers,” said maxwell, “the whole consarn would have remained a dead loss to mankind.”

“true for ye,” responded rooney; “it’s not often ye come out wid such a blaze of wisdom as that, david! it must be the puppy as has stirred ye up, boy, or, mayhap, the baccy!”

“take care you don’t stir me up, lad, else it may be worse for you,” growled maxwell.

“och! i’m safe,” returned the irishman, carelessly; “i’d putt molly betwain us, an’ sure ye’d have to come over her dead body before ye’d git at me.—it wasn’t you, was it, david,” continued rooney, with sudden earnestness, “that got knocked over by a blast at the works in ringwall harbour two or three years ago?”

“no, it warn’t me,” responded maxwell; “it was long tom skinclip. he was too tall for a diver—he was. they say he stood six futt four in his socks; moreover he was as thin as a shadow from a bad gas-lamp. he was workin’ one day down in the ’arbour, layin’ stones at the foundations of the noo breakwater, when they set off a blast about a hundred yards off from where he was workin’, an’ so powerful was the blast that it knocked him clean on his back. he got such a fright that he signalled violently to haul up, an’ they did haul ’im up, expectin’ to find one of his glasses broke, or his toobes bu’sted. there was nothin’ wotsomedever the matter with ’im, but he wouldn’t go down again that day. ’owsever, he got over it, an’ after that went down to work at a wreck somewhere in the eastern seas—not far from ceylon, i’m told. when there ’e got another fright that well-nigh finished him, an’ from that day he gave up divin’ an’ tuck to gardening, for which he was much better suited.”

“what happened to him?” asked edgar.

“i’m not rightly sure,” answered maxwell, refilling his pipe, “but i’ve bin told he had to go down one day in shallow water among sea-weed. it was a beautiful sort o’ submarine garden, so to speak, an’ long tom skinclip was so fond o’ flowers an’ gardens nat’rally, that he forgot hisself, an’ went wanderin’ about what he called the ‘submarine groves’ till they thought he must have gone mad. they could see him quite plain, you see, from the boat, an’ they watched him while he wandered about. the sea-weed was up’ard of six feet high, tufted on the top with a sort o’ thing you might a’most fancy was flowers. the colours, too, was bright. among the branches o’ this submarine forest, or grove, small lobsters, an’ shrimps, an’ other sorts o’ shell-fish, were doin’ dooty as birds—hoppin’ from one branch to another, an’ creepin’ about in all directions.

“after a time long tom skinclip he sat down on a rock an’ wiped the perspiration off his brow—at least he tried to do it, which set the men in the boat all off in roars of laughter, for, d’ee see, skinclip was an absent sort of a feller, an’ used to do strange things. no doubt when he sat down on the rock he felt warm, an’ bein’ a narvish sort o’ chap, i make no question but he was a-sweatin’ pretty hard, so, without thinkin’, he up with his arm, quite nat’ral like, an’ drawed it across where his brow would have bin if the helmet hadn’t been on. it didn’t seem to strike him as absurd, however, for he putt both hands on ’is knees, an’ sat lookin’ straight before ’im.

“he hadn’t sat long in this way when they see’d a huge fish—about two futt long—comin’ slowly through the grove behind ’im. it was one o’ them creeters o’ the deep as seems to have had its head born five or six sizes too big for its tail—with eyes an’ mouth to match. it had also two great horns above its eyes, an’ a cravat or frill o’ bristles round its neck. its round eyes and half-open mouth gave it the appearance o’ bein’ always more or less in a state of astonishment. p’r’aps it was—at the fact of its havin’ bin born at all! anyhow, it swum’d slowly along till it cotched sight o’ skinclip, when it went at him, an’ looked at the back of his helmet in great astonishment, an’ appeared to smell it, but evidently it could make nothin’ of it. then it looked all down his back with an equal want of appreciation. arter that it came round to the front, and looked straight in at skinclip’s bull’s-eye! they do say it was a sight to see the start he gave!

“he jump up as smart a’most as if he’d bin in the open air, an’ they obsarved, when he turned round, that a huge lobster of some unbeknown species was holdin’ on to his trousers with all its claws like a limpet! the fish—or ripslang, as one of the men called it, who said he knowed it well—turned out to be a pugnaceous creetur, for no sooner did it see skinclip’s great eyes lookin’ at it in horror, than it set up its frill of spikes, threw for’ard the long horns, an’ went slap at the bull’s-eye fit to drive it in. skinclip he putt down his head, an’ the ripslang made five or six charges at the helmet without much effect. then it changed its tactics, turned on its side, wriggled under the helmet, an’ looked in at skinclip with one of its glarin’ eyes close to the glass. at the same time the lobster gave him a tree-mendious tug behind. this was more than skinclip could stand. they see’d him jump round, seize the life-line, an’ give it four deadly pulls, but his comrades paid no attention to it. the lobster gave him another tug, an’ the ripslang prepared for another charge. it seemed to have got some extra spikes set up in its wrath, for its whole body was bristlin’ more or less by this time.

“again skinclip tugged like a maniac at the line. the ripslang charged; the lobster tugged; the poor feller stepped back hastily, got his heels entangled in sea-weed, and went down head first into the grove!

“the men got alarmed by this time, so they pulled him up as fast as they could, an’ got him inboard in a few minutes; but they do say,” added maxwell, with emphasis, “that that ripslang leaped right out o’ the water arter him, an’ the lobster held on so that they had to chop its claws off with a hatchet to make it let go. they supped off it the game night, and long tom skinclip, who owned an over strong appetite, had a bad fit of indisgestion in consikence.”