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"Runnin' a bloomin' store an' scrappin' with the Chinks," was the reply. "It's a bally bad game, out here." "Rotten!" echoed Hans. Hamblin made a break for the German. "You thief!" he shouted. "Hold on," cried Jack, "let me tell you about it," and he proceeded to inform the Englishman of the exact situation of affairs. "I thought he was a bloomin' moocher," said Hamblin, in a moment.
Vetch marks the terror concealed in the words, and when the dreaded giant is out of earshot, says, "For God's sake, let's go on alone, Alick. You see what sort of a cove that Gabbett is he'd kill his father before he'd fast one day." They made for the bush, but the giant turned and strode towards them. Vetch skipped nimbly on one side, but Gabbett struck the Moocher on the forehead with the axe.
He made a violent, vain effort to retain his consciousness, but with a faint cry fell back, striking his head against the edge of the bunk. The noise roused the burglar in an instant. There was someone in the berth! The three looked into each other's eyes, in guilty alarm, and then Gabbett dashed round the partition. "It's Dawes!" said the Moocher. "We had forgotten him!"
"I played moocher," he continued, by which he meant truant, "and then they whopped I, and a went home to mother, and she kept un at home, the old vool!" "Well, Gearge, thee must work hard, and I'll teach thee, Gearge, I'll teach thee!" said little Abel, proudly. "And by-and-by, Gearge, we'll get a slate, and I'll teach thee to write too, Gearge, that I will!"
Gabbett tore a cutlass from a soldier, shook his huge head, and calling on the Moocher to follow, bounded up the ladder, desperately determined to brave the fire of the watch. The Moocher, close at the giant's heels, flung himself upon the nearest soldier, and grasping his wrist, struggled for the cutlass.
The names of these eight were Gabbett, Vetch, Bodenham, Cornelius, Greenhill, Sanders, called the "Moocher", Cox, and Travers. The leading spirits were Vetch and Gabbett, who, with profound reverence, requested the "Dandy" to join.
Of these, the giant who had the previous night asserted his authority in the prison seemed to be the chief. His name was Gabbett. He was a returned convict, now on his way to undergo a second sentence for burglary. The other two were a man named Sanders, known as the "Moocher", and Jemmy Vetch, the Crow.
The next day Gabbett and Vetch swim across, and Vetch directs Gabbett to cut a long sapling, which, being stretched across the water, is seized by Greenhill and the Moocher, who are dragged over. "What would you do without me?" said the Crow with a ghastly grin. They cannot kindle a fire, for Greenhill, who carries the tinder, has allowed it to get wet.
The Moocher, spattered with the blood and brains of his unfortunate comrade, had already set his foot upon the lowest step of the ladder, when the cutlass was dashed from his hand by a blow from a clubbed firelock, and he was dragged roughly backwards.
A holiday in Holland serves as a corrective to exaggerated Imperialistic notions. There are no poor in Holland. They may be an unhappy people, knowing what a little country it is they live in; but, if so, they hide the fact. To all seeming, the Dutch peasant, smoking his great pipe, is as much a man as the Whitechapel hawker or the moocher of the Paris boulevard.
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