“And after some more talk we agreed that the wisdom of rats had been grossly overrated, being in fact no greater than that of men.

“The story of the ship was known, by this, all up the Channel from Land’s End to the Forelands, and we could get no crew on the south coast.  They sent us one all complete from Liverpool, and we left once more—­for Bankok.

“We had fair breezes, smooth water right into the tropics, and the old Judea lumbered along in the sunshine.  When she went eight knots everything cracked aloft, and we tied our caps to our heads; but mostly she strolled on at the rate of three miles an hour.  What could you expect?  She was tired—­that old ship.  Her youth was where mine is—­where yours is—­you fellows who listen to this yarn; and what friend would throw your years and your weariness in your face?  We didn’t grumble at her.  To us aft, at least, it seemed as though we had been born in her, reared in her, had lived in her for ages, had never known any other ship.  I would just as soon have abused the old village church at home for not being a cathedral.

“And for me there was also my youth to make me patient.  There was all the East before me, and all life, and the thought that I had been tried in that ship and had come out pretty well.  And I thought of men of old who, centuries ago, went that road in ships that sailed no better, to the land of palms, and spices, and yellow sands, and of brown nations ruled by kings more cruel than Nero the Roman and more splendid than Solomon the Jew.  The old bark lumbered on, heavy with her age and the burden of her cargo, while I lived the life of youth in ignorance and hope.  She lumbered on through an interminable procession of days; and the fresh gilding flashed back at the setting sun, seemed to cry out over the darkening sea the words painted on her stern, ’Judea, London.  Do or Die.’

“Then we entered the Indian Ocean and steered northerly for Java Head.  The winds were light.  Weeks slipped by.  She crawled on, do or die, and people at home began to think of posting us as overdue.

“One Saturday evening, I being off duty, the men asked me to give them an extra bucket of water or so—­for washing clothes.  As I did not wish to screw on the fresh-water pump so late, I went forward whistling, and with a key in my hand to unlock the forepeak scuttle, intending to serve the water out of a spare tank we kept there.

“The smell down below was as unexpected as it was frightful.  One would have thought hundreds of paraffin-lamps had been flaring and smoking in that hole for days.  I was glad to get out.  The man with me coughed and said, ‘Funny smell, sir.’  I answered negligently, ’It’s good for the health, they say,’ and walked aft.

“The first thing I did was to put my head down the square of the midship ventilator.  As I lifted the lid a visible breath, something like a thin fog, a puff of faint haze, rose from the opening.  The ascending air was hot, and had a heavy, sooty, paraffiny smell.  I gave one sniff, and put down the lid gently.  It was no use choking myself.  The cargo was on fire.