here. But, as luck
had it, they had been too much occupied by the horrible affair in
progress, and our presence had escaped them. But it was a long while
before I could get the scene out of my head or think of our trip ashore
that day as anything but a horrible mistake.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"MAN OVERBOARD."

It was a great relief to us all to find that our visit to the Chinese
prison had not been noticed. We of course kept silence about it, not
even telling Mr Brooke, who was the most friendly of our officers, and
we had the satisfaction of finding that Ching obeyed our orders, and
kept his peace.

I used to be rather sorry for him, his position being so solitary on
board. For he could not make himself at home with the sailors in the
forecastle, and though as frank, good-hearted fellows as ever lived,
they seemed to look upon him only in one way, that of being a butt for
their sharp witticisms, an object upon whom they were to play practical
jokes.

Consequently I used often, when I found him standing alone by the
bulwarks watching the shore, to edge up to him, and stop to talk; our
conversation being directed by me toward some little unpleasantry in the
forecastle, which if he had complained about to the first lieutenant,
there would have been a severe reprimand.

I remember one of these occasions, when Ching came flying up out of the
hatch, followed by a roar of laughter, and as he reached the deck,
_clang-clang_ went something against the sides of the hatch; but Ching
paid no heed, running forward till he was right up by the side of the
bowsprit.

I followed quickly, feeling angry on the man's behalf.

"What's the matter?" I cried. "What have they been doing?"

"No know," he said rather pitifully, as he stood there trembling. "Done
something. Thlow tin-kettle after."

"But what for? What were you doing?"

"Doing? fass 'sleep, dleam 'bout big fly come and bite leg. Jump up and
lun. Then thlow kettle after."

"Here, let's look," I said; for as he shook his head there was the same
hollow sound again, just like that made by a tin sheep-bell.

"Why, they've tied it to you," I said sharply.

"Tie to Ching flock? Don't matter. Not bess blue silkee."

"Here, let me see," I cried. "Turn round."

He turned sharply, and something banged against the bulwark.

"What a shame!" I cried. "They've tied the old canister to your tail."

"Tie canny all along Ching tow-chang?" he cried.

"Yes