seful in other ways. I went almost every
day for two weeks to the summit of the hill where I had seen a
splendid view of the bay, to see if the Aven was still in port. One
day I saw her spread her sails and I watched her until she was but a
speck on the horizon.

Our host by this time, I think, knew we had run away, for on one
occasion he followed me when I making my observation, but if he
suspected anything he never took any steps to have us arrested, and in
fact treated us with great kindness. When we left he gave us a large
package of food and some clean stockings and shirts which his wife had
made for us.

It was nightfall when we entered Valparaiso. Near the plaza Victoria
we paused before an English boarding house sign. As we stood looking,
a middle-aged man came out and asked us our business. Before we could
reply he said: "I bet you are the two boys from the Aven." Our
frightened looks told him we were. He invited us in and gave us
supper.

We soon learned to our dismay that this man was the notorious Cockney
Spider, keeper of a runaway sailor's boarding house. At night Cockney
would start out to some vessel in the bay of Valparaiso, everything
having been pre-arranged, take off those sailors desiring to runaway,
secrete them in the house and when opportunity offered, ship them
again. The amount of bounty paid by ships short of men was often
large, and as Cockney always arranged to have poor runaways deep in
debt for board and lodging, the sailor on being re-shipped was worse
off, and Cockney the gainer. He often took desperate chances in
stealing sailors, as the coast guard and other officials were sharp.
Many in that traffic were captured, but Cockney always escaped.

After we spent the night in his home he asked me if I could write.
Replying in the affirmative, I was installed as chief book-keeper of
the notorious runaway sailor boarding house. My duties were to
register the sailors brought to the house, keep a record of their
meals, charge so much a night for lodging, and present their bill when
they were ready to leave. I held the position for two weeks, when one
night Cockney came home intoxicated and told me that he had shipped
Mitchell that night on a French bark. A sailor gave me a sly wink and
whispered, "Your turn will come next, he intends to ship you on a
whaler." My experience with the ice on the Aven had given me a horror
of frozen seas, and that night I stole away from the boarding house.