Day after day of the voyage thus glided away, the time being beguiled by the various incidents which occurred, until at length the ship began to draw near toward the land.  As the time passed on, the interest which the passengers felt in their approach toward the land began to be very strong.  Some of them were crossing the Atlantic for the first time; and they, of course, anticipated their first view of the shores of the old world with great anticipations of delight.  The first land to be “made,” as the sailors say, that is to be seen, was Cape Clear ­the southern point of Ireland.  There is a lighthouse on this point; and so well had the captain kept his reckoning, and so exact had been his calculations in his progress over the mighty waste of waters, that on the morning of the last day he could venture to predict to an hour when the light would come into view.  He said it would be between nine and ten.  When Maria and the two children went to their berths, Maria asked the chambermaid to come and tell them when the light was in sight.  She accordingly did so.  Rollo, in order to know how near the captain was in his calculations, asked her what o’clock it was.  She said twenty-five minutes after eight.  How astonishing must be the accuracy of the instruments and the calculations which can enable a man to guide a ship across so utterly trackless a waste, aiming at a lighthouse three thousand miles away, and not only come out exactly upon it, but come there, too, so exactly at the time predicted by the calculation!

When the children went on deck the next morning, the southern coast of Ireland was all in full view.  Those who feel an interest in seeing the track of the ship, will find, by turning to a map of Great Britain and Ireland, that her course in going in from the Atlantic toward Liverpool lay at first along the southern coast of Ireland, and then along the western coast of Wales.  This route, though it seems but a short distance on the map, requires really a voyage of several hundred miles, and more than a day in time, for the performance of it.  The voyage of the ship is, therefore, by no means ended when she reaches the land at Cape Clear.  There is still a day and a night more for the passengers to spend on board the vessel.  The time is, however, very much beguiled during this last day’s sail by the sight of the land and the various objects which it presents to view ­the green slopes, the castle-covered hills, the cliffs, the lines of beach, with surf and breakers rolling in upon them; and sometimes, when the ship approaches nearer to the shore than usual, the pretty little cottages, covered with thatch, and adorned with gardens and shrubbery.

The children stood by the railing of the deck for some time after they came up from below, gazing at the shores, and admiring the various pictures of rural beauty which the scene presented to the eye.  At length, becoming a little tired, they went and sat down upon one of the settees, where they could have a more comfortable position, and still enjoy a good view.  Not long afterward, the captain, who had been walking up and down the deck for some time, came and sat down by them.

“Well, children,” said he, “are you glad to get to the end of the voyage?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jennie.  “I am glad to get safe off of the great sea.”

“And I suppose that you must be very glad, sir,” added Rollo, “to get to the end of your responsibility.”

“Ah, but I have not got to the end of my responsibility yet, by any means,” said the captain.

As he said this, he rose from his seat, and looked out very attentively forward for a minute or two.  At length he seemed satisfied, and sat down again.

“Well, you have got through all the danger, at any rate,” said Rollo, “now that we are inside the land.”

“On the contrary,” said the captain, “we are just coming into the danger.  There is very little danger for a good ship, whether it is a sailing ship or a steamer, out in the open sea.  It is only when she comes among the rocks, and shoals, and currents, and other dangers which thicken along the margin of the land, that she has much to fear.  Ships are almost always cast away, when they are cast away at all, near or upon the land.”

“Is that the way?” replied Rollo.  “I thought they were cast away at sea.  I am sure it looks a great deal safer here than it does out in the middle of the ocean.”

“I suppose so, to your eyes,” replied the captain.  “But you will see, by reflecting on the subject, that it is, in fact, just the contrary.  If a very violent storm comes up when the ship is out in the open sea, it can ordinarily do no harm, only to drive the ship off her course, or perhaps carry away some of her spars or sails.  If there is no land in the way, she is in very little danger.  But it is very different if a gale of wind comes up suddenly in such a place as this.”

“And how is it here?” asked Rollo.

“Why, in the case of a good steamer like this,” said the captain, “it makes no great difference here; for we go straight forward on our course, as long as we can see, let it blow as it will.  But a sailing vessel would very probably not be able to stand against it, but would be driven off toward any rocks, or sand banks, or shores that might happen to be in the way.”

“And so she would certainly be wrecked,” said Rollo.

“No, not certainly,” replied the captain.  “As soon as they found that the water was shoaling, they would anchor.”

“How do they know when the water is shoaling?” asked Rollo.

“By the lead,” replied the captain.  “Did you never sound with the lead and line?”

“No, sir,” replied Rollo.

“Well, they have a lead, and a long line,” rejoined the captain, “and they let the lead down to the bottom by means of the line, and so learn how deep the water is.  The lead is round and long.  It is about as large round, and about as long, as Jennie’s arm, from her elbow to her wrist, and there is a small cavity in the lower end of it.”

“What is that for?” asked Rollo.

“That is to bring up some of the sand, or mud, or gravel, or whatever it may be, that forms the bottom,” replied the captain.  “They put something into the hole, before they let the lead down, to make the sand or gravel stick.  When they see the nature of the bottom in this way, it often helps them to determine where they are, in case it is a dark night, or a foggy day, and they have got lost.  It is very easy to measure the depth of the sea in this way, where it is not over a few hundred fathoms.”

“How much is a fathom?” asked Rollo.

“Six feet,” replied the captain; “that is as far as a man can reach by stretching out both hands along a wall.  If the water is only a few hundred fathoms deep,” continued the captain, “we can sound; but if it is much deeper than that, it is very difficult to get the lead down.”

“Why, I should think,” said Rollo, “that the lead would go down to the bottom of itself, no matter how deep the water was.”

“It would,” said the captain, “were it not for the line.  But the line has some buoyancy; and, besides, it makes a great deal of friction in being drawn through the water; so that, when the line begins to get very long, it becomes very difficult for the lead to get it down.  As they let out the line from the ship, it goes more and more slowly, until at last it does not seem to move at all.”

“Then the lead must be on the bottom,” said Rollo.

“No, that is not certain,” said the captain.  “It may be only that the quantity of line that is out is sufficient to float the lead.  Besides that, the currents in the water, which may set in different directions at different depths, carry the line off to one side and the other, so that it lies very crooked in the water, and the weight of the lead is not sufficient to straighten it.”

“Then they ought to have a heavier lead, I should think,” said Rollo.

“Yes,” said the captain; “and for deep-sea soundings they do use very heavy sinkers.  Sometimes they use cannon balls as heavy as a man can lift.  Then they take great pains, too, to have a very light and small line.  Still, with all these precautions, it is very difficult, after some miles of the line are run out, to tell when the shot reaches the bottom.  In some of the deepest places in the sea, the line, when they attempt to sound, is all day running out.  I knew one case where they threw the shot overboard in the morning, and the line continued to run out, though slower and slower, of course, all the time, until night.  It changed its rate of running so gradually, that at last they could not tell whether it was running or not.  It seemed to float idly in the water, sinking slowly all the time; and yet they could not tell whether it was drawn in by the drifting of the portion of the line already down, or by the weight of the shot.  So they could not tell certainly whether they had reached bottom or not.

“There is another thing that is curious about it,” added the captain; “and that is, that, when a line is let out to such a length, they can never get it back again.”

“Why not?” asked Rollo.

“It is not strong enough,” said the captain, “to bear the strain of drawing such an immense length out of the water.  There is a very considerable degree of friction produced in drawing a line of any kind through the water; and when the line is some miles in length, and has, besides, a heavy ball at the end of it, the resistance becomes enormous.  Whenever they attempt to draw up a sounding line of such a length, it always parts at a distance of a few hundred fathoms from the surface, so that only a small part of the line is ever recovered.”

“I should not suppose it would be so hard to draw up the line,” said Rollo.  “I should have thought that it would come up very easily.”

“No,” said the captain.  “If you draw even a whiplash through the water, you will find that it draws much harder than it does on the grass; and if a boy’s kite were to fall upon a pond at a great distance from the shore, I don’t think he could draw it in by the string.  The string would break, on account of the friction of the string and of the kite in the water.  Sometimes, in naval battles, when a ship is pretending to try to escape, in order to entice another ship to follow her, away from the rest of the fleet, they tow a rope behind, and this rope, dragging in the water, retards the ship, and prevents her from going very fast, notwithstanding that all the sails are set, and she seems to be sailing as fast as she can.”

“That’s a curious way of doing it,” said Rollo; “isn’t it, Jennie?”

Jennie thought that it was a very curious way indeed.

“There is no difficulty,” said the captain, resuming his explanations, “in finding the depth of the sea in harbors and bays, or at any place near the shore; for in all such places it is usually much less than a hundred fathoms.  So when in a dark night, or in a fog, the ship is driven by the wind in a direction where they know there is land, they sound often; and when they find that the water is shoal enough, they let go the anchor.”

“And so the anchor holds them,” said Jennie, “I suppose, and keeps them from going against the land.”

“Yes,” said the captain, “generally, but not always.  Sometimes the bottom is of smooth rock, or of some other hard formation, which the flukes of the anchor cannot penetrate, and then the ship drifts on toward the land, dragging the anchor with her.”

“And what do they do in that case?” asked Rollo.

“Very often there is nothing that they can do,” said the captain, “except to let out more cable, cautiously, so as to give the anchor a better chance to catch in some cleft or crevice in the bottom.  Sometimes it does catch in this manner, and then the ship is stopped, and, for a time, the people on board think they are safe.”

“And are they safe?” asked Rollo.

“Perhaps so,” replied the captain; “and yet there is still some danger.  The anchor may have caught at a place where the cable passes over the edge of a sharp rock, which soon cuts it off, in consequence of the motion.  Then the ship must go on shore.

“At other times,” continued the captain, “the ground for the anchor is too soft, instead of being too hard; and the flukes, therefore, do not take a firm hold of it.  Then the anchor will drag.  Every sea that strikes the ship drives her a little in toward the shore, and she is, of course, in great danger.”

The captain would, perhaps, have gone on still further in his conversation with the children, had it not happened that just at this time, on rising to look out forward, he saw a large ship, under full sail, coming down the channel.  So he rose, and went up upon one of the paddle boxes, to see that a proper lookout was kept, to avoid a collision.

The seas which lie between England and Ireland are so wide, and they are so provided with lighthouses and buoys, that no pilot is necessary for the navigation of them; and the pilot boats, therefore, which contain the pilot who is to take the vessel into port, generally await the arrival of the ship off the month of the Mersey, at a place which the steamer reaches about twenty-four hours after making Cape Clear.  When the steamer in which Rollo made his voyage arrived at this place, almost all the passengers came on deck to witness the operation of taking the pilot on board.  There were ships and steamers to be seen on every side, proceeding in different directions ­some going across to Ireland, some southwardly out to sea; and there were others, still, which were, like the steamer, bound in to Liverpool.  Among these, there was a small vessel at a distance from the steamer, with a certain signal flying.  This signal was to show that this boat was the one which contained the pilot whose turn it was to take the steamer in.  The captain gave the proper orders to the helmsman, and the steamer gradually turned from her course, so as to approach the spot where the pilot boat was lying.  As she came near, a little skiff was seen at the stern of the pilot boat, with men getting into it.  In a moment more, the skiff pushed off and rowed toward the steamer.  A sailor stood on a sort of platform abaft the wheel house to throw the men in the skiff a rope when they came near.  The engine was stopped, and the monstrous steampipe commenced blowing off the steam, which, being now no longer employed to work the engine, it would be dangerous to keep pent up.  The steam, in issuing from the pipe, produced a dense cloud of smoke and a terrific roaring.

In the mean time, the skiff approached the ship, and the men on board of it caught the rope thrown to them by the sailor on the platform.  By this rope they were drawn up to the side of the ship at a place where there was a ladder; and then the pilot, leaving the skiff, clambered up and came on board.  The men in the skiff then pushed off and turned to go back toward the pilot boat.  The roaring of the steam suddenly ceased, the paddle wheels began again to revolve, and the ship recommenced her motion.  The pilot went up upon the paddle box and gave orders to the helmsman how to steer, while the captain came down.  His responsibility and care in respect to the navigation of the ship for that voyage was now over.

In fact, the passengers began to consider the voyage as ended.  They all went to work packing up their trunks, adjusting their dress, changing their caps for hats, and making other preparations for the land.

As the time drew nigh for going on shore, Jennie began to feel some apprehension on the subject, inasmuch as, judging from all the formidable preparations which she saw going on around her, she inferred that landing in Liverpool from an Atlantic steamer must be a very different thing from going on shore at New York after a voyage down the Hudson.  As for Rollo, his feelings were quite the reverse from Jennie’s.  He not only felt no solicitude on the subject, but he began to be quite ambitious of going ashore alone ­that is, without any one to take charge of him.

“We shall get along, Jennie, very well indeed,” said Rollo.  “I asked one of the passengers about it.  The custom-house officers will come and look into our trunks, to see if we have got any smuggled goods in them.  They won’t find any in ours, I can tell them.  Then all I have got to do is, to ask one of the cabmen to take us in his cab, and carry us to a hotel.”

“To what hotel?” asked Jennie.

“Why ­I don’t know,” said Rollo, rather puzzled.  “To the best hotel.  I’ll just tell him to the best hotel.”

“Well,” said Jennie, “and what then?”

“Well, ­and then,” ­said Rollo, looking a little perplexed again, and speaking rather doubtingly, ­“then, ­why, I suppose that father will send somebody there to find us.”

Jennie was not convinced; but she had nothing more to say, and so she was silent.

Rollo’s plan, however, of taking care of himself in the landing seemed not likely to be realized; for there were not less than three different arrangements made, on the evening of the arrival, for taking care of him.  In the first place, his father and mother were at the Adelphi Hotel, in Liverpool, awaiting the arrival of the steamer, and intending to go on board as soon as the guns should announce her coming.  In the second place, Mr. Chauncy, Maria’s brother, said that they should go with him and Maria.  He would take the children, he said, to a hotel, and then take immediate measures to find out where Mr. Holiday was.  In the third place, the captain came to Rollo just after sunset, and made a similar proposal.

Rollo, not knowing any thing about his father’s plan, accepted Mr. Chauncy’s offer; and then, when the captain came, he thanked him for his kindness, but said that he was going with Mr. Chauncy and Maria.

“Then you will go in the night,” said the captain; “for Mr. Chauncy is the bearer of despatches.”

Rollo did not understand what the captain meant by this, though it was afterward explained to him.  The explanation was this:  Every steamer, besides the passengers, carries the mails.  The mails, containing all the letters and papers that are passing between the two countries, are conveyed in a great number of canvas and leather bags, and sometimes in tin boxes; enough, often, to make several cartloads.  Besides these mails, which contain the letters of private citizens, the government of the United States has always a bag full of letters and papers which are to be sent to the American minister in London, for his instruction.  These letters and papers are called the government despatches.  They are not sent with the mails, but are intrusted usually to some one of the passengers ­a gentleman known to the government as faithful and trustworthy.  This passenger is called the bearer of despatches.

Now, the steamers, when they arrive at Liverpool, cannot usually go directly up to the pier, because the water is not deep enough there, except at particular states of the tide.  They accordingly have to anchor in the stream, at some distance from the shore.  As soon as they anchor, whether it is by day or by night, a small steamer comes alongside to get the mails and the despatches; for they must be landed immediately, so as to proceed directly to London by the first train.  The bearer of despatches, together with his family, or those whom he has directly under his charge, are, of course, allowed to go on shore in the small steamer with the despatch bag, but the rest of the passengers have to wait to have their trunks and baggage examined by the custom-house officers.  If the vessel gets to Liverpool in the night, they have to wait until the next morning.  This was what the captain meant by saying, that, if the children went on shore with Mr. Chauncy, they would go in the night; for he then expected to get to his anchoring ground so that the boat for the mails would come off to the ship at about half past twelve.

Accordingly, that evening, when bedtime came, Maria and the children did not go to bed, but they lay down upon the couches and in their berths, in their dayclothes, awaiting the summons which they expected to receive when the small steamer should come.  In the mean time, the ship went on, sometimes going very slowly, and sometimes stopping altogether, in order to avoid a collision with some other vessel which was coming in her way.  The night was foggy and dark, so that her progress, to be safe, was necessarily slow.  At length, Maria and the children, tired of waiting and watching, all three fell asleep.  They were, however, suddenly aroused from their slumbers about midnight by the chambermaid, who came into their state room and told them that Mr. Chauncy was ready.

They rose and hurried up on deck.  Their trunks had been taken up before them.  When they reached the deck, they found Mr. Chauncy there and the captain, and with them two or three rather rough-looking men, in shaggy coats, examining their trunks by the light of lanterns which they held in their hands.  The examination was very slight.  The men merely lifted up the things in the corners a little, and, finding that there appeared to be nothing but clothing in the trunks, they said, “All right!” and then shut them up again.  All this time the steampipe of the little steamer alongside kept up such a deafening roar that it was almost impossible to hear what was said.

The way of descent to get down from the deck of the great steamer to the little one was very steep and intricate, and it seemed doubly so on account of the darkness and gloom of the night.  In the first place, you had to climb up three or four steps to get to the top of the bulwarks; then to go down a long ladder, which landed you on the top of the paddle box of the steamer.  From this paddle box you walked along a little way over what they called a bridge; and then there was another flight of stairs leading to the deck.  As all these stairs, and also the sides of both the steamers, were painted black, and as the water looked black and gloomy too, the whole being only faintly illuminated by the lurid glare of the lanterns held by the men, the prospect was really very disheartening.  Maria said, when she reached the top of the bulwark and looked down, that she should never dare to go down there in the world.

She was, however, a sensible girl, and as she knew very well that there could not be any real danger in such a case, she summoned all her resolution and went on.  Men stood below, at the different landing-places, to help her, and her brother handed her down from above.  Mr. Chauncy, as soon as he saw that she had safely descended, was going to attend to the children, but just at that instant he missed his despatch bag.  He asked where it was.  Some said they believed it had gone down the slide.  There was a sort of slide by the side of the ladder, where the mails and trunks had been sent down.  Some said it had gone down this slide; others did not know.  So he directed the children to wait a moment while he went down to see.  He accordingly descended the ladder, and began to look about in a hurried manner to see if he could find it.  The men on board the steamer, in the mean while, were impatient to cut loose from the ship, the mail agent having called out to them to make haste, or they would be too late for the train.  Accordingly, some of them stood by the ladder, ready to take it down; while others seized the ropes and prepared to cast them off at a moment’s notice, as soon as they should hear that the despatch bag was found.  They did not know that the children were at the top of the ladder, waiting to come on board; for it was so dark that nothing could be seen distinctly except where the lanterns were directly shining, and the noise made by the roaring of the steamer was so great that very little could be heard.

Mr. Chauncy found the despatch bag very soon in the after part of the vessel, where somebody had put it in a safe place.  As soon as he saw it, he said, “Ah, here it is.  All right!”

“All right! all right!” said the sailors around him, repeating his words in a loud tone, when they heard him say that the despatch bag was found.  Mr. Chauncy immediately hurried back to go up the ladder to the children; but he was too late.  On hearing the words “all right!” the men had immediately drawn down the ladder, and cast off the fastenings, so that, by the time that Mr. Chauncy reached the paddle box, the noise of the steampipe had suddenly stopped, the paddle wheels were beginning to revolve, and the little steamer was gliding rapidly away from the vast and towering mass under which it had been lying.

“The children!” exclaimed Mr. Chauncy, “the children!”

“Never mind,” said the captain, in a very quiet tone.  “It’s too late now.  I’ll take care of them to-morrow morning.”

The captain spoke in a manner as calm and unconcerned as if the children being left in this way was not a matter of the slightest consequence in the world.  In fact, the commanders of these steamships, being accustomed to encounter continually all sorts of emergencies, difficulties, and dangers, get in the habit of taking every thing very coolly, which is, indeed, always the best way.

Then, turning to the children, he said, ­

“It’s all right, children.  Go below and get into your berths again, and I will send you on shore to-morrow morning when the rest of the passengers go.”

So Rollo and Jennie went below again.  The chambermaid was surprised to see them coming back; and when she heard an explanation of the case, she advised them to undress themselves and go to bed regularly.  This they did, and were soon fast asleep.

The next morning, very soon after sunrise, another steamer came off from the shore, bringing several custom-house officers to examine the passengers’ baggage.  By the time that this steamer had arrived, a great many of the passengers were up, and had their trunks ready on deck to be examined.  Among the rest was Hilbert with his trunk, though his father and mother were not yet ready.  Hilbert was very anxious to get on shore, and so he had got his trunk up, and was all ready on the deck half an hour before the steamer came.

When the tug came alongside, Hilbert, who was looking down upon her from the promenade deck, observed a neatly-dressed looking man on board of it, who seemed to be looking at him very earnestly.  This was Mr. Holiday’s servant.  His name was Alfred.  When Mr. Holiday had gone to bed the night before, he had given Alfred orders that in case the steamer should come in in the night, or at a very early hour in the morning, before it would be safe for him, as an invalid, to go out, he, Alfred, was to go on board, find the children, and bring them on shore.  Accordingly, when Alfred saw Hilbert, and observed that he was of about the same size as Rollo had been described to him to be, he supposed that it must be Rollo.  Accordingly, as soon as the tug was made fast, he came up the ladder, and immediately made his way to the promenade deck, to the place where Hilbert was standing.  As he approached Hilbert, he touched his hat, and then said, in a very respectful tone, ­

“Beg pardon, sir.  Is this Master Holiday?”

“Rollo, do you mean?” said Hilbert.  “No.  Rollo went ashore last night with the bearer of despatches.”

Hilbert knew that this was the arrangement which had been made, and he supposed that it had been carried into effect.

Alfred, who was a very faithful and trustworthy man, and was accustomed to do every thing thoroughly, was not fully satisfied with this information, coming as it did from a boy; but he waited some little time, and made inquiries of other passengers.  At last, one gentleman told him that he was sure that Rollo had gone on shore, for he saw him and his sister pass up out of the cabin when the mail tug came.  He was sitting up in the cabin reading at the time.  Alfred was satisfied with this explanation, and so he called a small boat which was alongside, and engaged the boatman to row him ashore.

Thus the second plan for taking care of Rollo and Jennie, in the landing, failed.

All this time Rollo and Jennie were both asleep ­for the chambermaid, thinking that they must be tired from having been up so late the night before, concluded to let them sleep as long as possible.  While they were sleeping, the waiters on board the ship were all employed in carrying up trunks, and boxes, and carpet bags, and bundles of canes and umbrellas, from all the state rooms, and spreading them about upon the decks, where the custom-house officers could examine them.  The decks soon, of course, presented in every part very bustling and noisy scenes.  Passengers were hurrying to and fro.  Some were getting their baggage together for examination; some were unstrapping their trunks; and others, having unstrapped theirs, were now fumbling in their pockets, in great distress, to find the keys.  It is always an awkward thing to lose a trunk key; but the most unfortunate of all possible times for meeting with this calamity is when a custom-house officer is standing by, waiting to examine what your trunk contains.  Those who could not find their keys were obliged to stand aside and let others take their turn.  As fast as the trunks were inspected, the lid of each was shut down, and it was marked with chalk; and then, as soon as it was locked and strapped again, a porter conveyed it to the tug, where the owner followed it, ready to go on shore.

In the midst of this scene the captain came on deck, and began to look around for the children whom he had promised to take care of.  He made some inquiries for them, and at length was told that they had gone ashore.

“At least, I think they have gone,” said his informant.  “I saw Mr. Holiday’s coachman here, inquiring for them, a short time ago.  And he seems to be gone.  I presume he has taken them ashore.”

“He can’t have taken them ashore,” said the captain.  “There is nothing to go ashore till this tug goes.  However, I presume he has got them under his charge somewhere.”

So the captain dismissed the subject from his mind; and after remaining a few minutes on deck, and seeing that every thing was going on well, he went below into his state room, in order to write a letter to the owners of the ship, to inform them of the safe termination of the voyage.

It was about this time that the chambermaid waked Rollo and Jennie.  They rose immediately, and were soon dressed.  On going up upon the deck, they were somewhat surprised to witness the bustling scenes that were enacting there; and they stood for a few minutes surveying the various groups, and watching with great interest the process of examining the baggage.  At length, after following the process through in the case of one of the passengers, who was just opening his trunk when they came up, Rollo turned to Jennie, and said, ­

“It is nothing at all, Jennie.  I can do it as well as any body.”

So he looked about till he found his trunk, and, leading Jennie there, he took his station by the side of it, and immediately proceeded to unstrap and unlock it.  He took out some of the largest things from the top of the trunk and put them on a settee near, so that the officer could easily examine the rest.  By the time he had done this, an officer was ready.

“Is this your trunk, my lad?” said the officer, at the same time lifting up the clothes a little at the corners.

“Yes, sir,” said Rollo.

“All right,” said the officer; and he shut down the lid, and marked the top with a P.

Rollo opened his trunk again to put the other things in, and then locked and strapped it.  A porter then took it and carried it on board the tender.  Rollo and Jennie followed him.

In about half an hour the tender put off from the steamer and went to the shore.  On the way, Jennie, who could not help feeling some anxiety about the result of these formidable proceedings, said, timidly, ­

“I don’t see what we are going to do, Rollo, when we get to the shore.”

“We will do what the rest do,” said Rollo.

As soon as the steamer touched the pier and began to blow off her steam, a terrific scene of noise and confusion ensued.  Rollo and Jennie stood near their trunk, overawed and silenced; but yet Rollo was not, after all, much afraid, for he felt confident that it would all come out right in the end.  He was right in this supposition; for as soon as some fifty of the most impatient and eager of the passengers had got their baggage, and had gone ashore, the tumult subsided in a great measure.  At length, a porter, after taking away a great many trunks near Rollo, asked him if that trunk, pointing to Rollo’s, was to go on shore.  Rollo said that it was.  So the porter took it up and went away, Rollo and Jennie following him.

They made their way through the crowd, and across the plank, to the pier.  When they had got upon the pier, the porter turned and said, “Do you want a carriage?” Rollo answered, “Yes;” and then the porter immediately put the trunk upon the top of a small carriage which was standing there in a line with many others.  He then opened the door, and Rollo and Jennie got in.

“How much to pay, sir?” said Rollo.

“Sixpence, if you please, sir,” said the porter.

Rollo, who had had the precaution to provide himself with silver change, so as to be ready, gave the man a sixpence.  Of course, it was an English sixpence.

“Thank you, sir,” said the porter.  “Where shall he drive?”

“To the hotel,” said Rollo.

“To what hotel?” said the porter.

“Why ­I don’t know,” said Rollo.  “To ­to the best hotel.”

“To the Adelphi,” said the porter to the coachman.  So saying, he shut the door, and the coachman drove away.

When they arrived at the door of the hotel, the landlord, who came out to see who had come, supposed at once that his new guests must be Mr. Holiday’s children; so he sent them up immediately to their father’s parlor, where the breakfast table had been set, and their father, and mother, and Thanny were waiting for them.  The joy of their parents at seeing them was unbounded, and they themselves were almost equally rejoiced in finding their long voyage brought thus to a safe and happy termination.

In respect to Tiger, however, the end of the voyage was unfortunately not so propitious.  In the confusion of the landing she was forgotten, and left behind; and Jennie was so excited and overjoyed at meeting her mother, that it was nearly noon before she thought of the kitten at all.  Her father then sent Alfred on board the ship to see if he could get her.  He came back with the cage, but he said that the kitten was nowhere to be found.  He made diligent inquiry, but he could obtain no tidings of her ­and no tidings were ever afterward heard.  Whether she fell overboard and was drowned; or whether the waiters on the ship took a fancy to her, and hid her away somewhere in the forecastle, in order to keep her for their pet and plaything in future voyages; or whether she walked over the plank to the pier, when the ship came alongside of it, and there got enticed away by the Liverpool cats into the various retreats and recesses which they resort to among the docks and sewers, ­could never be known.  At all events, neither Jennie nor Rollo ever saw or heard of her again.