GOING TO SEA IN A CAGE.

AN OLD SAILOR'S STORY.

A ye, aye, sir! I've seen a good many queer things in my time, sure enough; but the queerest thing I ever saw was a bit of work aboard the old Mermaid, when we were homeward bound from Hong Kong and Singapore. Would you like to hear the story? Well, then, if you'll just come to an anchor for a minute or two on this coil of rope, I'll tell you all about it.

The very first day out from Hong Kong I took notice of one young lady, who was lying on a kind of basket-work sofa, on the sunny side of the poop-deck. She had the sweetest face I ever saw, but it went to my heart to see how thin and pale she looked. And well she might, poor thing! for it seems she had something wrong with her back, so as she couldn't walk or stand up, or anything; and she was going to England to see some great doctor or other, and try if he could cure her.

All the passengers were very good to her, I will say that for 'em; and as for us blue-jackets, every man Jack of us would have jumped overboard only to please her, when once we knew how it was. But she was too weak to talk or read much, and the chief thing she had to amuse her was a little grey Java sparrow, which she had with her in a cage. Whenever she came on deck, the bird's cage was brought up too, and put close beside her; and it was Bob Wilkins, the pantry-boy, who always had the carrying of it.

It was a pretty little thing that bird was, and as sensible as any man; fact, it was a deal more sensible than many men that I've met. When she had a headache (and terrible headaches she used to have, poor lass) that bird would be as quiet as a mouse. But when she was well enough to stand it, she'd have the cage brought to her, and open it with her own hands, and out the little fellow would pop, and flutter on to her shoulder, and eat out of her hand, just as natural as could be. And then she used to stroke its feathers with her poor thin fingers and smile such a strange, sad kind of smile, that many a time I've had to go away in a hurry for fear I should cry outright; and I can tell you I wasn't the only one, neither.

But fond as we all were of that bird, there was somebody else that was fonder still, and that was the captain's big tortoise-shell cat: and to see the way it kept its eye on that Java sparrow, and watched for a chance to get hold of it! you never saw the like.

Well, the captain was a kind man, and didn't want to hurt the poor cat, specially as it was a great pet of his wife's; so he tied it up to keep it out of mischief. But of course it took and squalled all night, till nobody could sleep a wink for the noise, and he had to let it loose again. So then he says to me—

"Thompson," says he, "just keep your eye on that cat, and if it ever comes on to the poop-deck, drive it off again."

"Aye, aye, sir," says I, and I kept a bright lookout, sure enough. But one day that cat was too sharp for me, after all.

It was getting towards afternoon, on our second day from Port Said, and Miss Ashton was lying on her couch on the poop-deck, with her bird's cage hanging from one of the lashings of the awning, close beside her. I'd just been down to fetch our third officer's telescope; and as I came up again, something brushed past me. I saw the cat spring up at the cage, the cord snapped, and down went bird, cage, cat, and all, slap-dash into the sea!

The next moment there came a big splash, and there was our pantry-boy, Bob Wilkins (the one that used always to carry the cage up on deck, you know), overboard after 'em. And as if that wasn't enough, Bill Harris the carpenter (who was a special chum of Bob's, and happened to be standing by at the time) catches hold of a life-buoy, and overboard he goes too. So there they all were, the cat after the bird, Bob after the cat, and Bill Harris after Bob.

"Man overboard!" sang out half a dozen of us.

"Stop her!" cried the first officer. "Stand by to lower the boat! Cast off the gripes! let go the davit-tackle!"

You should have seen how quick that boat was lowered, and how the men made her fly along! When we picked 'em up, (though they were a long way astern by this time) Bill was clinging to the life-buoy, and Bob had got hold of it with one hand and the cage with the other. The bird was fluttering about and looking precious scared, as if he didn't like going to sea in a cage; and the cat was sitting on Bill's shoulder, and holding on with every claw he had. The passengers sent round the hat for Bob Wilkins, and a pretty deal of money they got; but I can promise you he thought more of the thanks Miss Ashton gave him for the job than of all the money twice over.

But I was just going to leave out the best part of the whole story. They say it's "an ill wind that blows nobody good," and so it came out that time, sure enough. When the young lady saw Bob jump overboard, and thought he was going to be drowned in trying to save her bird, it gave her such a fright, that she, who couldn't even sit up without help, jumped right up on her feet and looked over the side after him! Well, sir, from that day forth, to the end of her voyage, she was always better able to move than before; and the great London doctor who cured her afterward (for she was cured at last) said that "nervous shock," as he called it, had been the saving of her, and that he'd had just such another case already. Now, that's as true as I sit here; and if you don't believe it, here comes Bob Wilkins, and you can ask him.

David Ker.