ON THE OCEAN WAVE 83 



'omeward bound ; we're going out. You'd best rustle 

 it an' get ashore.' 



He turned into the galley. Never had I ventured 

 to hope that he would let me out of his sight before 

 he had turned me over to the quartermaster. His care- 

 lessness was due, no doubt, to his certainty that I had 

 ' slipped my cayble.' I dashed out of the passageway 

 as if fearful of being carried off, but, once shrouded 

 in the kindly night, paused to peer about me. 



There were a score of places that offered a tempo- 

 rary hiding ; but a stowaway through the Suez Canal 

 must be more than temporarily hidden. I ran over in 

 my mind the favourite lurking-places on ocean liners. 

 Inside a mattress in the steerage? First-class only. 

 In the hold? Hatches all battened down. On the 

 fidleys or in the coal-bunkers? Very well in the depth 

 of winter, but sure death in this climate. In the fore- 

 castle? Indian crew. In the rubbish under the fore- 

 castle head? Sure to be found in a few hours by 

 tattle-tale natives. In the chain locker? The anchor 

 might be dropped anywhere in the canal, and I should 

 be dragged piecemeal through the hawsehole. 



Still pondering, I climbed to the spot where I had 

 first been accosted. From the starboard side, forward, 

 came the voice of the fourth mate, clambering on board. 

 In a few moments officers and men would be flocking 

 up from below. Noiselessly I sprang up the ladder 

 to the hurricane deck. That and the bridge were still 

 deserted. I crept to the nearest lifeboat and dragged 

 myself along the edge that hung well out over the canal. 

 The canvas cover was held in place by a cord that 

 ran alternately through eyeholes in the cloth and around 

 iron pins under the gunwale. I tugged at the cord for 



