The Cruise of the Dazzler | Page 6

close to the water, where he
could still watch with dim eyes the ebb and flow of the tide, and the
ships pass out and in, and where he could revive old memories of the
days when he, too, went down to the sea in ships.
To reach his shanty from the Hill one had to pass through the Pit, and
thither the three boys were bound. They had often gone for kites in the
daytime, but this was their first trip after dark, and they felt it to be, as
it indeed was, a hazardous adventure.
In simple words, the Pit was merely the cramped and narrow quarters
of the poor, where many nationalities crowded together in
cosmopolitan confusion, and lived as best they could, amid much dirt
and squalor. It was still early evening when the boys passed through on
their way to the sailorman's shanty, and no mishap befell them, though
some of the Pit boys stared at them savagely and hurled a taunting
remark after them, now and then.
The sailorman made kites which were not only splendid fliers but
which folded up and were very convenient to carry. Each of the boys
bought a few, and, with them wrapped in compact bundles and under
their arms, started back on the return journey.
"Keep a sharp lookout for the b'ys," the kite-maker cautioned them.
"They 're like to be cruisin' round after dark."
"We 're not afraid," Charley assured him; "and we know how to take
care of ourselves."
Used to the broad and quiet streets of the Hill, the boys were shocked

and stunned by the life that teemed in the close-packed quarter. It
seemed some thick and monstrous growth of vegetation, and that they
were wading through it. They shrank closely together in the tangle of
narrow streets as though for protection, conscious of the strangeness of
it all, and how unrelated they were to it.
Children and babies sprawled on the sidewalk and under their feet.
Bareheaded and unkempt women gossiped in the doorways or passed
back and forth with scant marketings in their arms. There was a general
odor of decaying fruit and fish, a smell of staleness and putridity. Big
hulking men slouched by, and ragged little girls walked gingerly
through the confusion with foaming buckets of beer in their hands.
There was a clatter and garble of foreign tongues and brogues, shrill
cries, quarrels and wrangles, and the Pit pulsed with a great and steady
murmur, like the hum of the human hive that it was.
"Phew! I 'll be glad when we 're out of it," Fred said.
He spoke in a whisper, and Joe and Charley nodded grimly that they
agreed with him. They were not inclined to speech, and they walked as
rapidly as the crowd permitted, with much the same feelings as those of
travelers in a dangerous and hostile jungle.
And danger and hostility stalked in the Pit. The inhabitants seemed to
resent the presence of these strangers from the Hill. Dirty little urchins
abused them as they passed, snarling with assumed bravery, and
prepared to run away at the first sign of attack. And still other little
urchins formed a noisy parade at the heels of the boys, and grew bolder
with increasing numbers.
"Don't mind them," Joe cautioned. "Take no notice, but keep right on.
We 'll soon be out of it."
"No; we 're in for it," said Fred, in an undertone. "Look there!"
On the corner they were approaching, four or five boys of about their
own age were standing. The light from a street-lamp fell upon them and
disclosed one with vivid red hair. It could be no other than "Brick"

Simpson, the redoubtable leader of a redoubtable gang. Twice within
their memory he had led his gang up the Hill and spread panic and
terror among the Hill-dwelling young folk, who fled wildly to their
homes, while their fathers and mothers hurriedly telephoned for the
police.
At sight of the group on the corner, the rabble at the heels of the three
boys melted away on the instant with like manifestations of fear. This
but increased the anxiety of the boys, though they held boldly on their
way.
The red-haired boy detached himself from the group, and stepped
before them, blocking their path. They essayed to go around him, but
he stretched out his arm.
"Wot yer doin' here?" he snarled. "Why don't yer stay where yer
b'long?"
"We 're just going home," Fred said mildly.
Brick looked at Joe. "Wot yer got under yer arm?" he demanded.
Joe contained himself and took no heed of him. "Come on," he said to
Fred and Charley, at the same time starting to brush past the
gang-leader.
But with a quick blow Brick