The Argosy — page 63: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE VOYAGE OF THE PULO WAY.* A record of some strange doings at sea—The bold project of a tramp steamer’s captain and the sequel to its execution—A justifiable mutiny and its thrilling episodes. CHAPTER I.—CAPTAIN MACSHIEL DISLIKES PASSENGERS. Tt HE singular eccentricity of fate in weaving the web of human fortunes was never better exemplified than in my own life. There wasI, a drudge in the office of Messrs. Latheson & Co., the well known merchants of Hong Kong, receiving for my drudgery the not enormous stipend of twenty dollars a week. ‘There was no future for me, or, at least, no future to which I looked forward with any degree of pleasure. Ledgers, invoices, and the eternal scratching of pens! Sick or well, there was no escaping the dingy desk or the high stool. Today was just the same as yesterday ; tomor- row would be the same as today; and so on through the years, till disease or accident brought the fooling to an end and Happy Valley received me feet foremost. Such, I say, was about all the prospect I had in life, when fate, being in one of her whimsical moods, gave the wheel of fortune an erratic twist which shot me into the midst of a series of astounding adventures and com- pletely changed the whole course of my life. How it happened, what those adventures were, and sundry other incidents connected with them, I will set down in the order in which they occurred, hoping that the singularity of my experiences may atone somewhat for my other deficiencies. I had been in Messrs. Latheson’s Hong Kong house for something over three years, and I have every reason to believe that during that time I gave my employers entire satisfaction. Indeed, our chief took rather a liking to me, and often honored me with his confidence ; and once, when the firm had effected an enormous deal in rice, I was sent to Saigon to superintend mat- ters. It meant nothing, of course, beyond a certain inward glow of satisfac- tion, for which my own ambitions were primarily responsible. Yet it took the keen edge off the surprise which was so soon to follow. I remember rolling up to the office that morning feeling as though I would barter ten years of my life for six months’ freedom. My head ached, my eyeballs throbbed; a nervous tremor, for which I could not account, most disagreeably affected my members. Iclambered on to my stool, chewed my pen reflectively, and stared vacantly at the book before me; and even as I sat a-dreaming one of my brother drudges came up behind and caught mea thump on the back that sent me sprawling across the desk. ‘“ Here, wake up!’’ he cried. ‘‘ The chief wants to see you.”’ My nerves were in such a state that I could have shrieked aloud, but * Copyright, 17897, by Carlton Dawe. ConmiclaoolK< (S@)