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Box 618

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.

No. MCCCXXXV. JANUARY 1927.

VOL. CCXXI.

A SLEEPING DRAUGHT.

BY WESTON MARTYR.

THE ship was pushing steadily through the solid blackness of a night as stifling and oppressive as only a night in the doldrums can be. It was time for me to turn in; but I stood in my pyjamas outside my cabin door and eyed that oven-like interior with loathing. Its steel walls blazed raw-white in the glare of the unshaded electrics, and I knew the engine-room bulkhead beside my bunk was hot enough to burn the naked hand. A multitude of fat but active cockroaches disported joyously in this salubrious environment; and a sour nauseating whiff from the gaping mouth of a hold ventilator bore witness that our cargo of sugar was heating. These things caused me to think regretfully of that clean and spacious liner's stateroom, with its whirring fans, the booking of which I had abandoned so recklessly

VOL. CCXXI.-NO. MCCCXXXV.

at the bidding of my friend, the master of this unclean and ancient tramp. Across a gap of years we two had met again on the steps of the shipping office at Port Louis, and, after explanations, he had suddenly slapped me on the back and cried, "What! going Home in a gilded steam-hotel? Why, we're sailing for London River the first thing in the morning. Now, why not come with me? He assured me that I should thereby see life, save money, and be some one for him to talk to; and I had accordingly saved my money, and was now seeing life-as it is lived aboard a strictly utilitarian and economical tramp upon the high seas. I was finding it a life chock-full of interest-and discomfort.

There were compensations, though. For instance, "Passengers are not allowed on this

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"Logwood sounds lively enough for me. But what do you mean by a live cargo. Cattle?'

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deck is a notice which bars lot was better than a live ...one from the most desirable cargo." portions of any passenger ship; but this s.s. Wisby Hall was mine owa, all of her, to do as I liked with. So I turned from that distressful cabin and climbed the ladder to the lower bridge in search of a draught of air. A cane chair creaked, and out of the darkness came the Skipper's voice. Ah!" said he, "I can't sleep either. I think this is the coolest spot in the ship; but, if you want to get clear of the smell, the crow's-nest is the place."

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I'll never touch sugar again as long as I live," I grumbled. "It's making me feel sick, and I can't sleep. I only wish I'd known the ship was going to smell like this before I joined her. You ought to have told me, and then I shouldn't have come."

"Yes, it's pretty bad now it's started to sweat," said the Skipper. "It's a nasty cargo to live with is sugar-but I've known worse."

"I don't believe it," said I; and I fear the ill-humour caused by my bodily discomforts showed a little in my voice.

"Oh! You get used to sugar in time and don't notice it," said my host soothingly.

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Well, cattle are bad, too. So are sheep. The smell from them's so bad sometimes it almost blinds you. Really blinds you, I mean. It's the ammonia in their droppings, I think."

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Lord!" said I, "I'm beginning to feel glad we've only got sugar aboard."

Yes. But I wasn't thinking of cattle," went on the Skipper. "It's human cargoes I don't like. Passengers are bad enough, and I wouldn't command a liner for any money. But it's a cargo of coolies we once had aboard this ship that I'm talking about. Chinese they were-800 of 'em-and they were the limit."

The Skipper paused for a little, and presently he surprised me by sighing profoundly in the darkness. I held my peace, and waited. But nothing happened, so I became diplomatic. They must have been bad," said I, "if the thought of them makes you feel like that still."

"Bad!" said the Skipper, as if the adjective hurt him. "Bad. Why, they were, without a doubt, the very toughest gang of roughs on record. If you sweep up the scrapings from the jails of all China, it stands to reason you are going to get a precious collection of bad eggs. And if, on top of

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