e had three artists who were
equal to the best. Tom Dawson, the Tivoli comedian, who was afterward
killed in France, was one of us and always willing to provide half a
dozen songs, with his india-rubber face stretched to suit each part.
He was a prime favorite. Then we had an operatic tenor who could sing
a solo from almost any Italian opera, but his talent was not
appreciated--some one would be bound to call "Pretty Joey!" in the
middle of his most impassioned passages. He got plenty of applause
when he sang about "the end of a perfect day," even though the day had
been as beastly as a severe storm could make it for a thousand-odd men
cooped up so closely that only a third of them could see the sky at one
time. His efforts to educate our musical taste completely failed, for
the announcement that he was going to sing in Italian always raised
cries of "Steaka-de-oyst!" "Fiji banana!" etc.

Another real artist played the mandolin, and when he appeared with it
first of all he was greeted with cries of "Gertie!" As he played,
however, he held the boys spellbound and never after failed to get an
encore, though many still held that a mandolin was only a "sissy"
instrument. But the star performer, to every one's surprise, was
Jerry. Here was one thing he could do, at any rate! His recitation of
"Gunga Dhin" brought tears to our eyes, and thereafter no programme was
complete without this item.

Toward the end of the voyage the concerts lost popularity, as there
were only three or four artists; and there was no stock of music on
board, so their two or three songs became as wearisome as a much-played
gramophone record. The boxing and wrestling matches always held the
crowd, and there was no lack of competition, for the runner-up was
always _sure_ that he would have won but for bad luck and was ever
ready for another try. These were no "pussy" shows, for we had some
professionals among us: "Sailor Duffy," one of our second lieutenants,
was middleweight champion of Victoria, and one of the ship's crew was
champion wrestler of London. There were others who required
convincing, at any rate, that they were not as good as the champions,
and anyway there were always plenty of disputes during the day that by
general consent were settled in the ring at night. This was how we
passed the long weeks to Colombo, our first port of call.

To the white man having to make his home at Colombo it may not be
paradise, but to the sea-w