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Managing & Organizations

2
3
Managing & Organizations
An Introduction to Theory and Practice

Fifth Edition

Clegg
Kornberger
Pitsis
Mount

Los Angeles
London
New Delhi
Singapore
Washington DC
Melbourne

4
SAGE Publications Ltd

1 Oliver’s Yard

55 City Road

London EC1Y 1SP

SAGE Publications Inc.

2455 Teller Road

Thousand Oaks, California 91320

SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd

B 1/I 1 Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area

Mathura Road

New Delhi 110 044

SAGE Publications Asia-Pacific Pte Ltd

3 Church Street

#10-04 Samsung Hub

Singapore 049483

Stewart R. Clegg, Martin Kornberger, Tyrone S. Pitsis and Matt Mount ©

2019
First edition published 2004
Second edition published 2008
Third edition published 2011
Fourth edition published 2016
This fifth edition published 2019

5
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act, 1988, this publication may be reproduced, stored or
transmitted in any form, or by any means, only with the prior permission
in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction, in
accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing
Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be
sent to the publishers.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018951147

British Library Cataloguing in Publication data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-5264-6009-7

ISBN 978-1-5264-6010-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-5264-8796-4 (pbk & interactive ebk) (IEB)

Editor: Kirsty Smy

Development editor: Nina Smith

Editorial assistant: Martha Cuneen

Assistant editor, digital: Chloe Statham

Production editor: Sarah Cooke

Copyeditor: Sharon Cawood

Proofreader: Neil Dowden

Indexer: Silvia Benvenuto

Marketing manager: Alsion Borg

Cover design: Francis Kenney

Typeset by: C&M Digitals (P) Ltd, Chennai, India

Printed in the UK

6
Contents
Your Guide to using this book
About the Authors
Acknowledgements
Part One MANAGING PEOPLE IN ORGANIZATIONS
1 Managing and Organizations
2 Managing Individuals
3 Managing Teams and Groups
4 Managing Leading, Coaching and Motivating
5 Managing Human Resources
Part Two MANAGING ORGANIZATIONAL PRACTICES
6 Managing Cultures
7 Managing Conflict
8 Managing Power, Politics and Decision-making in
Organizations
9 Managing Communications
10 Managing Knowledge and Learning
11 Managing Innovation and Change
12 Managing Social Responsibility Ethically
Part Three MANAGING ORGANIZATIONAL STRUCTURES
AND PROCESSES
13 Managing Principles
14 Managing Organizational Design
15 Managing Globalization
Bibliography
Index

7
Your Guide to using this Book

This free interactive eBook provides a range of learning resources

designed to help you understand key management concepts and how to
apply these in practice to help you succeed in your studies.

Interactive icons appear throughout the book to let you know that extra
learning resources are available. You can study on the go and use these
resources on your laptop, tablet or smartphone.

To access these, just log in to your FREE interactive eBook and click on
the icons for:

What Would You Do? videos

Watch authors Stewart and Tyrone discuss and debate real-life

scenarios and provide useful pointers for your own decision making.

Videos

Watch online videos from TED Talks and YouTube to get a better
understanding of key concepts.

Weblinks

Go further and expand your understanding of each topic with

weblinks to key organizations and online articles.

Further reading

Access free SAGE journal articles to help you delve deeper and
support your assignments.

Multiple Choice Questions

Test your knowledge and prepare for your exams with multiple

8
 choice questions.

Flashcards

Test your understanding and revise key terms with glossary

flashcards.

Not a fan of eBooks?

The interactive eBook provides the most seamless way to move between
your textbook and the digital resources, but you can also access them here:

https://study.sagepub.com/managingandorganizations5e

For Lecturers
A selection of tried and tested teaching resources have been honed and
developed to accompany this text and support your course.

Visit https://study.sagepub.com/managingandorganizations5e to set up

or use your instructor login to access:

An Instructor Manual providing ideas and inspiration for seminars

and tutorials, and guidance on how to use the exercises and case
studies in your own teaching.
PowerPoint slides for each chapter that can be adapted and edited to
suit your own teaching needs.
Testbank questions offering a wide variety of multiple choice, short
and long answer assessment questions to use with your students.

9
Additional case studies to enhance students’ understanding.

10
Visit https://testbankfan.com
now to explore a rich
collection of testbank or
solution manual and enjoy
exciting offers!
About the Authors

Stewart R. Clegg
is Distinguished Professor of Management and Organization Studies
at the University of Technology Sydney. He has published widely in
the management, organizations and politics literatures in many of the
leading journals. He is a Visiting Professor at EM-Lyon, France and
at Nova School of Business and Economics in Lisbon, Portugal.
Widely acknowledged as one of the most significant contemporary
theorists of power relations, he is also one of the most influential
contributors to organization studies.

Martin Kornberger
is an undisciplined mind: he received his PhD in Philosophy from the
University of Vienna in 2002 and has since held positions in strategy,
organization theory, marketing and design at universities in Australia,
Austria, Denmark, Sweden, the UK and France. With one foot in the
library and the other in the laboratory, his research and teaching focus
on the discovery of ideas and practices that stretch the imagination of
managers and scholars alike.

Tyrone S. Pitsis
is Professor of Strategy, Technology & Society at Durham University
Business School. He is also Director of the Global Doctor of Business
Administration programme between Durham and emlyon. His
research is at the intersection between strategy design, innovation and
complex projects, with a focus on transformative technologies. He is
consistently rated as one of the top teachers and is a sought-after
speaker. He has been the recipient of several awards for his research
and was also awarded the Practice Theme Committee of the Academy
of Management leadership award for his contribution to AOM’s
strategic aims of promoting and recognizing the impact members
make through their scholarship. Having worked since he was 14,
Tyrone originally began his working life as a chef, starting off as a
kitchen hand and working his way up to executive chef in award-
winning restaurants and hotels. He now cooks as little as possible but
still loves to eat. Aside from his family, Tyrone could not imagine life
without music.

11
Matt Mount
is Assistant Professor of Strategy and Innovation at Deakin Business
School, Melbourne. He received his PhD in Management Science
from the University of York. He is an expert in areas of strategy and
innovation process and his research has appeared in top academic and
practitioner journals such as MIT Sloan Management Review,
Regional Studies, and California Management Review among others.
He is member of the Editorial Board for the Journal of Management
Studies and regularly reviews for journals such as Organization
Science, Research Policy, Strategic Management Journal, and
Journal of Product Innovation Management. He is also an active
strategic management consultant, working on a number of large-scale
projects and serving on the advisory board for international
organizations.

12
Acknowledgements

The fifth edition could not have been completed without some
acknowledgements being due. On this occasion, we would like to thank
the following people for their invaluable assistance and feedback on this
new and revised edition of Managing and Organizations: An Introduction
to Theory and Practice. Good colleagues offer good feedback and as we
developed these new chapters we received excellent advice from Miguel
Pina e Cunha, Armenio Rego, Ace Simpson and Marco Berti.
Administratively, we were extremely ably directed by Nina Smith and
Sarah Cooke at Sage and assisted by Lisa Be in Sydney. We appreciated
being advised on an error in the fourth edition, that no longer recurs, which
was pointed out to us by Mateusz Piotrowski and Carolyn Downs. To all
these people – and to any that we might inadvertently have overlooked –
many thanks!

13
Part One Managing People in
Organizations

1 Managing and Organizations 3

2 Managing Individuals 37
3 Managing Teams and Groups 75
4 Managing Leading, Coaching and Motivating 107
5 Managing Human Resources 141

Interactive eBook Icon Key

14
1 Managing and Organizations Opening,
Thinking, Contextualizing

Learning Objectives
This chapter is designed to enable you to:

identify the impact that changes in the contemporary world are having
on managing and organization
be introduced to trends in the digital organizations in which much
contemporary managing and organization occurs
understand managing and organization as sensemaking
grasp the managerial rationalities that constitute much contemporary
managing and organization
familiarize yourself with some significant global shifts for future
managing and organization.

Before You Get Started

‘When digital transformation is done right, it’s like a caterpillar

turning into a butterfly, but when done wrong, all you have is a
really fast caterpillar.’

George Westerman | Principal Research Scientist with the MIT Sloan

Initiative on the Digital Economy

Introduction
This introductory chapter seeks to familiarize you with some of the major
trends of recent times that pervade the context of contemporary managing
and organizations. Some of these will be familiar; others you may not have
thought about. Managing and organizations are dynamic elements of the
contemporary world, changing rapidly. Little stays the same, other than the

15
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
without lookin’ fer pillers. Tom won’t try no more gammonin’ to be a
yahoo. He’s full ’s a tick ov sich sport, he is.’

Other attempts were from time to time made to frighten Cruppy out
of the district, but they were of no avail. The holidays were
approaching,
69 and he had made up his mind to hold out at least until
then in hopes of getting a shift from Dead Finish.

But one night, in melancholy mood, watching a piece of salt beef

boil, and leaning over every now and again to take the scum off the
pot, he heard the tramp of horses outside. Opening the door
cautiously, he saw Mandy riding her own pony en cavalier, and
leading another one ready saddled.

‘Come along,’ she said, without dismounting. ‘They’re on their tails

proper now. Wanter git the corn shelled for Tuberville. No more
schoolin’ fer the kids. They’re a-goin’ to put the set on ye to-night,
hut an’ all. Pap, and Brombee, an’ the Simmses, an’ Pringles, an’ the
whole push is out. They got four teams o’ bullocks an’ all the ropes
an’ chains in the country, an’ they’re a-goin’ to hyste school an’ you
over the sidin’. It’ll be just one! two! three! an’ wallop ye all goes!
Roll up yer swag slippy an’ come along.’

Cruppy, seeing at once that a crisis, not altogether unexpected, had

arrived, did as he was told.

‘Now,’ said Mandy, leading the way into a dense clump of peppermint
suckers, ‘le’s wait an’ see the fun. They reckoned as how, sleepin’ so
sound, you wouldn’t know nothin’ till you struck bottom in the crik.
But they’re euchred agin.’

As the night wore on noises broke its stillness, and dark forms
moved athwart the little open space, whilst from far below in the
gully came the faint clank of chains and the muffled tramp of cattle.

‘Look,’
70 whispered Mandy admiringly, ‘ain’t they cunnin’? There’s Pap,
an’ ole Brombee, an’ young Tom, a-sneakin’ the big rope roun’ the
hut. You’d niver ha’ woke, sleepin’ sound as ye does.’

Even as she spoke a shrill whistle was heard. Then from below came
a tremendous volleying of whips, accompanied by hoarse yells of
‘Gee, Brusher! Darling up! Wah Rowdy! Spanker! Redman!’ As the
noose tightened, the school first cracked, then toppled. The din
below redoubled, and with a crash the building disappeared bodily
over the brow of the hill.

‘That’s domino!’ remarked Mandy calmly. ‘There won’t be no more

schoolin’ at Dead Finish. Come along; I’ll set ye on the track. Ye kin
leave the horse an’ saddle at Duffy’s when you gits to the township.
I shook ’em from ole Brombee. Won’t he bite when he finds it out.
But you,’ she went on, ‘needn’t be scared. You seen him to-night
doin’ his best to break your neck. Well, so long! Give us a cheeker
afore ye goes; an’ don’t forget Mandy Brown o’ Dead Finish.’
 ‘ N U M B E R O N E N O RT H
71

R A I N B O W.’
‘Another duffer!’

‘Rank as ever was bottomed!’

‘Seventy-five feet hard delving, and not a colour!’

The speakers were myself, the teller of this story, and my mate,
Harry Treloar.

We were sitting on a heap of earth and stones representing a

month’s fruitless, dreary labour. The last remark was Harry’s.

‘That makes, I think,’ continued he, ‘as nearly as I can guess, about
a dozen of the same species. And people have the cheek to call this
a poor man’s diggings!’

‘The prospectors are on good gold,’ I hazard.

‘So are the publicans,’ retorts he, ‘and the speculators, and the
storekeepers, and, apparently, everybody but the poor men—
ourselves, to wit. This place is evidently for capitalists. We’re nearly
“dead-brokers,” as they say out here. Let’s harness up Eclipse and
go over to old Yamnibar. We may make a rise there. It’s undignified,
I allow, scratching amongst the leavings of other men and other
years; dangerous, also, but that’s nothing. And many a good man
has had to do the same before us.’

No
72 life can equal that of a digger’s if he be ‘on gold,’ even
moderately so; if not, none so weary and heart-breaking.

It’s all very well to talk, as some street-bred novelists do, of ‘hope
following every stroke of the pick, making the heaviest toil as
nought,’ and all that kind of thing; but when one has been pick-
stroking for months without seeing a colour; when one’s boots are
sticking together by suasion of string or greenhide; when every meal
is eaten on grudged credit; when one works late and early, wet and
dry, and all in vain, then hope becomes of that description which
maketh the heart sick, very sick, indeed. Treloar was, in general, a
regular Mark Tapley and Micawber rolled into one. But for once, fate,
so adverse, had proved too much for even his serenely hopeful
temper.

He was an Anglo-Indian. Now he is Assistant Commissioner at

Bhurtpore, also a C.S.I.; and, when he reads this, will recollect and
perhaps sigh for the days when he possessed a liver and an
appetite, and was penniless.

Our turnout was rather a curious one. The season was dry, and, feed
being scarce, Treloar had concluded that, at such a time, a bullock
would be better able to eke out a living than a horse. Therefore, a
working bullock drew our tilted cart about the country.

‘You see, my boy,’ said Treloar, when deciding on the purchase, ‘an
ox is a beggar that always seems to have something to chew. Turn a
horse out where there’s no grass, and he’ll probably go to the deuce
before morning. But your ox, now, after a good look around, seeing
he’s
73 struck a barren patch, ’ll draw on his reserves, bring up
something from somewhere, and start chewing away like one
o’clock. That comforts his owner. I vote for the ox. He may be slow,
but he generally appears to have enough in his stomach to keep his
jaws going; and, in a dry time, that is a distinct advantage.’

So Eclipse was bought, I merely stipulating that Treloar should

always drive.

I have an idea, that, after a while, as the old ‘worker’ sauntered

along, regarding the perspiring Harry, and his exhortations and
exclamations, often in Hindustani, with a mild stare of surprise, as
he slowly stooped for a dry tussock, or reached aloft for an
overhanging branch, the latter somewhat repented him of his
experiment. But he never said so. And, to do him justice, Eclipse was
not a bad ‘ox’; and, when he could get nothing better, justified
Harry’s expectations by seeming able to chew stones. But his motto
was decidedly festina lente.

Yamnibar, ‘Old Yamnibar,’ at last. Behind us, on the far inland river,
we had left a busy scene of activity. Hurrying crowds of men, the
whirr of a thousand windlasses, the swish of countless cradles, and
the ceaseless pounding by night and by day of the battery stamps.
And now what a contrast!

A wide, trackless valley, covered with grave-like mounds, on which

grass grew rankly; with ruined buildings and rotting machinery, and,
here and there, pools of stagnant water, whilst the only thing save
the sweep of the wind that reached our ears was a distant
rhythmical
74 moaning, coming very sadly in that desolate place—the
sounding of the sea on the rock-bound coast not far away.

The only signs of life, as Eclipse, pausing now and again, and taking
a ruminative survey of the valley, drew us by degrees down the
sloping hills, were the buglings of a squad of native companions
flying heavily towards the setting sun.

‘What a dismal hole!’ I muttered, as the ‘ox,’ spying some green

rushes, bolted at top speed—about a mile an hour—towards them.
‘Let’s try and find a golden one,’ laughed my mercurial friend. ‘Here
we have a whole gold-field to ourselves. Just think of it! “Lords of
the fowl and the brute”—Eclipse and Kálee and the bralgas. Take the
old chap out of the gharri, and we’ll pitch our camp.’

I ought to have spoken of Kálee long ago. Indeed, when one comes
to think of it, I ought to have called this story after her. But man is
an ungrateful animal—worse than most dogs. Not that the great
deerhound with the faithful eyes, who might have stepped out of
one of Landseer’s pictures, was forgotten—far from it. But for her we
should possibly now, both of us, be bundles of dry bones, with all
sorts of underground small deer making merry amongst them.

She ought, according to her merits, to hold pride of place here. But
she was quiet and unobtrusive as she was faithful and affectionate,
whereas Eclipse was nothing of the kind, only a noisy blusterer,
thinking of no one but himself. Therefore, as happens so often with
us,
75 has he stolen a march on a failing memory for prior recognition.

But the ‘ox’ is grass, and Kálee still lives in the great Eastern Empire,
and has two servants to wait upon her. O Dea certe!

‘Behold!’ said Treloar, as we lay and smoked in the moonlight, after

supper, in front of our tent, which we had pitched between the door-
posts of what had evidently been a building of some size, but of
which they were the sole remains. ‘Behold, my friend, the end of it
all! But a few years are passed, and where, now, are the busy
thousands that toiled and strove and jostled each other, below there,
in earth’s bowels, in the fierce race for gold? Look at it now! Think of
the great waves of human hopes and disappointments and joys that
have rolled to and fro across this miserable patch of earth! Think of
the brave hearts that came hot with the excitement of the quest,
and departed broken with the emptiness of it. Also, of those others,
who never departed, but lie at rest beneath that yellow clay. Just a
little while, in the new-born one, is centred alike the glow of success
and the cold chill of failure; all the might of swift fierce endeavour,
every passion, good and bad, that convulses our wretched souls.
And then, after a brief season, its pristine form defaced and scarred,
comes the rotting solitude of the tomb! Why ’tis, in some sort, the
story of our corporal life and death!

‘“Over the Mountains of the Moon,

Down the Vale of Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,” the shade replied,
“For there lies El Dorado.”

Behold,
76
my friend, the Valley of the Shadow that has passed,
wherein many a bold soul has gone down to Hades, “unhouselled,
disappointed, unaneled.” Do their ghosts wander yet, I ask?’

‘O, bother!’ I mutter sleepily. ‘I’m tired. Let’s turn in.’

Fortunately such outbursts were rare. But when the fit came on, I
knew too well the uselessness of attempting to stop it.

Awakened towards the small hours by the roarings of Eclipse,

triumphantly apprising the world at large that his belly was full, I
found the lantern still burning, and could see Treloar’s eye ‘in a fine
phrenzy rolling,’ as he scribbled rapidly. Years afterwards I read in
the Bombay Pioneer ‘How the Night Falls on Yamnibar,’ and thought
it passable.

It was anything but pleasant work, this groping about old workings.
It was also very dangerous. Many were the close shaves we had of
being buried, sometimes alive, at others flattened out.

The soil, for the first twenty or thirty feet, was of a loose, friable
description. Thence to the bottom, averaging eighty feet, was
‘standing ground,’ i.e., needed no timbering. But, in many cases, the
slabbing from the upper parts had rotted away and fallen down,
followed by big masses of earth, which blocked up the entrance to
the drives where our work lay.
Then after, with great trouble, clearing the bottom, generally yellow
pipeclay, and exploring the dark, cramped passages for pillars, we
had,
77 before beginning to displace these, to support the roof by
artificial ones. Timber had at the time of the rush been plentiful; as
a consequence pillars were scarce. Also, the field, having in its prime
been a wonderfully rich one, it had been repeatedly fossicked over.
This made them scarcer still.

Often after a heavy job of clearing out and heaving-up mullock,

water, and slabs, all the time in imminent peril of a ‘fall’ from some
part of the shaft, would we discover, on exploring the drives, that
they were simply groves of props—not a natural support left
standing.

Such a network of holes and burrows as the place was! I can

compare it to nothing but a Brobdingnagian rabbit-warren.

The flat had been undermined, claim breaking into claim, until the
wonder was that the whole top crust didn’t cave in. In some places
this had happened, and one looked down into a dismal chaos of soil,
rotten timber, and surface water.

As I have remarked, it was risky work this hunting for the few
solitary grains amongst the rotten treasure-husks left by others,
especially without a local knowledge of the past, which would have
been so invaluable to us. But there came to be, nevertheless, a sort
of dreary fascination in it.

We had heard that, on this same field, years after its total
abandonment, a two hundred ounce nugget had been found by a
solitary fossicker in a pillar left in an old claim.

Very
78 often, I believe, did the picture of that big lump rise before us
as we crawled and twisted and wriggled about like a pair of great
subterranean yellow eels, not knowing the moment a few odd tons
of earth might fall and bury us.
One day an incident rather out of the common befell. Lowering
Treloar cautiously down an old shaft to, as usual, make a preliminary
survey, I presently heard a splash and a cry of ‘Heave-up!’ Up he
came, a regular Laocoon, in the close embraces of a thumping, lively
carpet snake, whose frogging ground he had intruded upon.

He had, by luck, got a firm grip of the reptile round the neck, and
was not bitten. He was, however, badly scared.

Doubtfully he listened as, while releasing him from the coils, I

assured him that the thing was perfectly harmless.

Was I quite certain on this point? he wished to know. Of course I

was; and I quoted all the authorities I could think of.

Then, before despatching it, would I let it bite me? As an ardent

ophiologist, he took the utmost interest in such a fact, and would
like to become as confident as myself of it.

But I pointed out earnestly that this was simply trifling, and that we
had no time to spare. Practical demonstration is a very capital thing
in many cases. But ver non semper viret, and our friend of the
curiously-patterned skin might not be always innocuous.

We took three ounces out of a pillar in Snake Shaft. That night, on

returning to our camp, we found an old man there. He was the first
person
79 we had seen for a month; and so were inclined to be cordial.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about the new-comer,
except that he had a habit of tightly shutting one eye as he looked
at you.

I have called him old because his hair was grey; but he was still a
very powerful man, and likely to prove a tough one at close
quarters.

‘Come and have some supper, mate,’ said Treloar.

‘Call me Brummy, an’ keep yer dorg orf,’ replied the other, as he
poured out a pannikin of tea. ‘I don’t fancy a big beast like yon a-
breathin’ inter the back o’ a feller’s neck.’

And, indeed, Kálee’s attentions were marked. She sniffed around and
around the new-comer, bristled all her hair up, and carried on a
monologue which sounded unpleasant.

‘No,’ he resumed in answer to a question, as Treloar sent Kálee to

her kennel. ‘I was never on this here field before. Down about the
Lachlan’s my towri. Everybody theer knows Brummy. I’m goin’ to do
a bit of fossickin’ now I got this far. Ain’t a-thinkin’ o’ interferin’ wi’
you. Surfiss is my dart—roun’ about the old tailin’s and puddlers.
Down below’s too risky in a rotten shop like this. I leaves that game
to the young ’uns. An’’ (with a sly grin) ‘old Brum does as well as the
best on ’em in the long run.’

Soon after this he went away and pitched a ragged fly further along
the flat.

Next day, as we were having a smoke and a spell after rigging two
new
80 windlass standards, he came up to us, and in a furtive sort of
manner, began to try and discover the position of those claims which
we had already prospected. Having no motive for concealment, we
told him as well as we could, also pointing out most of them from
where we sat.

He appeared quite pleased as we finished, and marched off with his

old tin dish banging and rattling against the pick on his shoulder.

‘That old man,’ remarked Harry presently, ‘is a dangerous old man.
Moreover, he is a liar.’

‘How do you know that?’ I asked.

‘The first,’ he replied, ‘I feel—as Kálee did. Now for the second count
in the indictment. Did you not hear him tell us that this was his first
visit to Yamnibar? Well, when he asked so carelessly if we had tried
the big shaft over yonder—the one where you can see the remains
of a horse-whim—and you said that we had not, a momentary gleam
of satisfaction passed across his face. We’ll try that hole to-morrow
morning. Luckily, our new standards are finished.’

‘Pooh!’ I said. ‘My dear fellow, your legal training has made you too
suspicious. The poor old beggar may have an idea of prospecting
that very shaft himself.’

‘He probably has,’ replied Treloar quietly. ‘Only don’t forget that he
doesn’t like underground work.’

However, my companion had his own way, which, except in such

matters as that of the snake-test, he generally did; and next
morning saw us fixing our windlass at the summit of the big heap of
mullock which towered above its fellows.

We
81 seldom got anything in such claims. They had mostly been
worked by rich companies, and every ounce of wash-dirt removed.

It was pretty late by the time we had removed sufficient of the

débris from the bottom of the shaft—too late to do more that night.

As we walked over to our camp, we caught a glimpse of ‘Brummy’

following us.

‘He’s been watching,’ said Treloar.

‘Nonsense!’ I replied impatiently. ‘You’re becoming a monomaniac.’

That evening our neighbour came over to our fire; and in

consequence Kálee, in low threatening communion with herself, had
to be put upon the chain.

‘Goin’ to try the big un?’ he asked presently.

‘Yes,’ said Harry; ‘there may be something there. One can never tell.’

‘Not much danger!’ he blurted out. ‘The coves as worked Number

One North Rainbow weren’t the chaps to leave much behind ’em.
Leastways’—he quickly added, seeing his mistake, ‘so I’ve heerd say.’

Treloar gave me a look which meant ‘How now?’ but neither of us

took further notice.

‘I’ve heard tell, too,’ he continued, ‘as that claim’s häänted.’

‘Oh!’ said Treloar airily, and as if in constant association with them,

‘we don’t mind ghosts. It’s the living, not the dead, that force us
betimes to keep a sharp look-out.’

‘Well,
82 mates,’ retorted Brummy, rather sulkily, ‘I ain’t quite cunnin’
enuff yet to chew tacks, but I ain’t not altogether a born hidjiot; an’
if anybody was to offer me a thousand poun’ to go down that ’ere
shaft, where you got your win’less rigged, an’ up them drives, I
wouldn’t do it.’

‘I was down it to-day,’ I remarked, ‘and didn’t notice anything out of

the common.’

‘Mebbe not, mebbe not—yet,’ said he. ‘But the yarns I’ve listened to
—on the Lachlan, over yander—consarning that ’ere Rainbow claim
’d make your ’air stick up stiff.’

During the night, feeling restless and unable to sleep, I got up and
went outside. The weather was very hot, and, for some time, I sat
and listened to the faint wash of the sea, longing for a plunge in its
cool depths. Suddenly, in the great expanse of gloom, my eyes
caught the glimmer of a light. As nearly as I could guess, it was
moving slowly towards the shaft we were to descend in the morning.

‘There goes your aged friend,’ said a voice at my shoulder, which

made me start with the unexpectedness of it.
‘Too hot and close to sleep,’ explained Treloar. ‘Come out for a breath
of air.’

‘Let’s shepherd the old chap, and see what his little game is. Bring
the lantern. Needn’t show a light. We know the way well enough. I
expect he’s after ghosts.’

As, breathless, we arrived at our windlass, Treloar gave a grunt of

disappointment
83 on seeing that everything was exactly as we had left
it—rope coiled neatly round the barrel, green-hide bucket hanging
over the mouth.

‘It must have been a Jack-o’-lantern,’ said he; ‘or perhaps the old
sinner’s gone down some other shaft. Yes, by Jingo! look there!’ he
exclaimed, pointing to where, a couple of hundred of yards distant, a
flash of light was visible for a moment. ‘He’s gone down the Snake
Shaft! Those ladders are as rotten as pears; and he’ll break his
wicked old neck if he isn’t careful. I wish him joy of all he’ll find
there, even if he gets to the bottom safely. What came we out for to
see? Let’s make back.’

It was my turn down next morning, and when I got to the end of the
hundred and odd feet of the häänted shaft, I lit my candle, and, at
random, entered one of the four roomy drives that had been put in
so many long years ago.

So extensively had it been quarried, that I was only obliged to stoop

slightly. Not a trace of earthen pillar here. A valuable property this,
and a clean-swept one. Travelling warily along, I suddenly stumbled
over a ridge of mullock, into what was evidently another drive
altogether.

My course, so far, had been downwards. The new tunnel sloped

slightly upwards.

Evidently both claims had been driving for a ‘gutter.’ One of them
had got to the end of its tether before reaching it. The surface limits
of ‘golden holes’ are pretty strictly defined; but roguery, as well as
miscalculation,
84 has been known to produce curious effects in
adjoining claims. Not that, just then, I bothered myself with any
such speculations. I was on the look-out for a lump of that rich
water-worn conglomerate which had made Yamnibar, in the days of
its youth, the talk of the world. Sitting down to rest a minute, the
candlelight fell brightly on the shining steel of a pick.

I had noticed how freshly the earth smelled, and wondered thereat.
The pick was fresh too. One could swear that it had not left its
owner’s grip five minutes. Without a doubt it had been used to
remove the thin curtain of earth between the rival drives.

Looking more closely, fresh knee and footprints were plentiful.

What the deuce did it mean?

Crawling along the new drive, which was much smaller than the
Rainbow’s, I at length emerged into a shaft that struck me as
familiar.

The ‘Snake,’ or I was a Dutchman!

I knew it by the ladders, for one thing; for another, by a piece of

timber at the entrance to the opposite drive—the one in which we
had made our three-ounce rise.

I tried the rungs of the rude ladders. Not half so rotten as we had
taken them to be. Also covered with fresh earth left by recent boots.

Only fifty feet to the top, and up I went safely enough. Treloar was
sitting smoking, with his back towards me as I approached.

I startled him finely when I spoke.

‘This
85 is the hole the old man wants,’ he remarked, after hearing my
story. ‘He knew he couldn’t very well get down our rope and climb
up it again. But he knew that one of the ‘Snake’ drives ran nearly
into one of these. I suspect he must once have been employed in
one or other of the claims. Either that, or he’s been fossicking here
before. You know we’ve come across plenty of traces of such.
Cunning old dodger! But what can he be after? I tell you what. We’ll
both go down and try another of the drives. We’ll leave Kálee on top
to watch. I’ll bet you she’ll sing out pretty soon.’

I said nothing, for I was beginning to have doubts respecting

‘Brummy’s’ veracity.

This time I lowered Treloar first. Then, whilst he held the rope taut, I
slipped comfortably down.

We chose the opposite drive to the one I had explored, and moved
in, Treloar leading.

‘Hello!’ said he presently, ‘someone’s been here before us. See,

there’s been a good-sized pillar taken out. Why, here’s some of the
dirt left yet! And—good God!’ he suddenly exclaimed, ‘what’s this?’

Pushing up alongside him, and holding my candle forward, I saw,

lying at full length, a human skeleton. And yet it was not a complete
skeleton. Here and there, rags and tatters of flesh, dry and hard as
leather, stuck to the frame. A pair of heavy boots, with the ankle
bones protruding, lay detached, and remnants of clothing were still
visible. But the head was what fixed our gaze, the first horror of the
thing
86 over. The fore part of the skull had been smashed completely
in. Near by lay a small driving-pick, thickly encrusted as with rust.

‘Neither rats, nor mice, nor snakes did that,’ whispered Treloar,
pointing to the awful fracture.

‘Surely,’ I replied, with a shiver, ‘this can’t be the thing old Brummy’s
searching for. No wonder he insisted on the place being haunted.’
‘Not that poor valueless shell,’ answered my friend, who was now
kneeling, ‘but this! and this! and this!’ holding up, as he spoke, three
fine nuggets, whose dull gleam had caught his eye in the heap of
loose drift on which the skeleton partially lay.

‘Never!’ I exclaimed. ‘He never would have had the pluck to face
back again if that is some of his work.’

‘If it is,’ said Treloar, quickly springing to his feet, thereby bumping
the roof with his head, ‘we shall soon hear of it. Back, man! Back for
your life! Hark! By G—d! there’s Kálee now. Good dog, hold him!’ as
if it were possible for her to hear at that depth.

Pushing and scrambling along, we got to the entrance of the drive,

where the muffled sounds resolved themselves in a furious
hullaballoo of barks and curses. Then, as we paused for a moment,
swish, swish, down came the windlass rope, falling all of a heap.
Just as we were on the point of pushing out, what feeble light there
was at the bottom changed into total darkness, and, with a terrific
smash,
87 a heavy mass fell at our feet. Then silence, broken only by
low groans and hoarse fierce growls.

With trembling hands we relit our candles, and saw more distinctly.

Upon the rope coils lay ‘Brummy,’ quite still. Squatted on his breast,
the great hound watched him narrowly—so narrowly that her lolling
red tongue nearly touched the face of the prostrate man. Blood
oozed slowly from his mouth and ears.

With reluctance the dog obeyed her master’s call, and, apparently
uninjured, crouched in a corner, panting loudly, while we examined
Brummy.

‘Habet!’ said Treloar, as we turned him over. ‘Back’s broken! See

here’ (producing a loaded revolver from a hip-pocket), ‘the old man
meant business. It’s only guessing, mind. But he probably thought
we should attempt to escape up the Snake Shaft, and would have
shot us off the ladders like magpies. Well done, Goddess Kálee.
You’ve proved yourself worthy of your name for once, anyhow.’

With a good deal of trouble we got the rope through the drive into
the Snake Shaft and on to our windlass again. It had been cut clean
off with a tomahawk. We hove the man and the dog up. We let the
other thing alone for a while. But the one we had thought dead was
still alive, with a little life. As the cool air blew on his face he opened
his eyes. It was all he could do. Black, beady eyes, once sharp and
piercing, now fast dulling with the death-film. And he lay there and
watched
88 me, staring fixedly. It was a bright sunshiny day, the birds
were singing cheerily about us, and the wash of the sea was very
faint. From the expression on his face I thought he was listening to
it. Presently Treloar returned from the camp with some brandy, and
poured a spoonful between the clenched teeth.

The spirit revived him a little, and he spoke. He said,—

‘Curse you!’

More brandy, and he spoke again.

‘Is he there yet?’

‘He’s there yet,’ answered Treloar. ‘How long ago was it?’

‘Ten year.’

‘What did you kill him for?’

More brandy; and then, as his eyes brightened, he laughed, actually

laughed up at us, saying, in a strong voice,—

‘Why, you fool, for the big lump, o’ coorse! A ’underd an’ eighty
ounces! Too big to share, I reckon. I’d a-smashed a dozen men for it
in them days, let alone a poor softy like Jim.’
‘There must be thirty or forty ounces down there,’ I remarked. ‘Why
didn’t you take that too?’

‘Never you mind,’ he said. ‘I come back for it now. And if it hadn’t
been for that theer infernal dorg I’d ha’ had it.’

‘And how about us?’ asked Treloar, as, obeying the look in his eyes,
he gave him another drink.
88a

Upon the rope coils lay “Brummy,” quite still. (Page 87)
The dying man smiled significantly, but said nothing. There was a
long
89 pause, during which Brummy shut his eyes, and breathed
stertorously, whilst Kálee, drawing herself noiselessly along on her
belly, came closer, and looked into his face, but with no anger in her
gaze now.

‘There’s one thing I can’t understand,’ said Treloar, in a low voice,

‘and that is how he contrived to get up this shaft again with the
gold.’

Quietly as he spoke, Brummy heard him, and muttered—

‘Would ye like to know?’

‘No, no!’ exclaimed Treloar earnestly. ‘We have wasted far too much
precious time already in vain talk. Can we do anything to make your
mind easier? You know you can’t last much longer. In God’s name try
and prepare yourself to meet Him.’

Very slowly came the reply, in short gasps,—

‘I’m easy enough. If I could choke the pair o’ ye by winkin’ I’d do it.
I’m gittin’ cold a’ready. But I’m cursin’ ye to mysen all the time. If I
kin git back I’ll häänt ye.’

Another long silence, and then he murmured,—

‘Take that dorg away, Jim, or I’ll put the pick into yer! There, you got
it now, ole man! Ah, would yer?’

Then the flickering light in the eyes failed altogether, and, I take it, a
very defiant, murderous old soul went forth to meet its Maker.

Kálee, smelling at the body, sat upon her haunches and wailed
loudly and dismally after the manner of her kind, answered from the
flat by Eclipse, marvelling at the disturbance of his friend, with
sonorous bellowings.
This
90 was the requiem of him as he passed to join the other shades
of Yamnibar. Slain by a dog and the cunning of his own hand.

As for the gold that ‘Jim’ had lain by so quietly, and watched so
patiently through the years, we never got any of it.

The three nuggets figured in the police-court inquiry, with other

things, under the title of ‘Exhibit A.’

That was the last glimpse we had of them.

Departmental red tape enwrapped them so closely that no amount

of solicitation could render them visible again—to us.

Easier would it be to draw leviathan from the waters with a bit of

twine and a crooked pin than to draw ‘treasure trove’ from the
coffers of a treasury—colonial or otherwise.

To this day they are possibly accumulating dust, pigeon-holed with

the depositions in the case. But I doubt it, I doubt it.
 T H E P R OT E C T I O N O F T H E
91

‘ S PA R R O W H AW K .’
Many people have their special antipathies. There are instances on
record of one fainting at the scent of heliotrope; of another
becoming hysterical at the mewing of a cat; and so on, and so on,
ad infinitum. The Scotch, as a rule, are anything but a nervously
susceptible nation, taken either collectively or individually. Nor have I
heard that those members of it who follow the sea as a calling are
more so than their shorekeeping compatriots.

Still, to the present day, and probably to the day of his departure,
John M‘Cracken, retired master mariner, of Aberdeen, becomes
signally and powerfully moved by the cry of the domestic duck,
rendered universally and approximately as ‘Quack!’ His red face
grows redder, his light blue eyes glower menacingly, and his hands
open and close nervously, as if longing for some missile wherewith
to annihilate the unconscious fowl—or its human imitator.

The Sparrowhawk, barque, M‘Cracken master, was chartered to

convey returning Chinese passengers from Singapore to Amoy.

I92think the regulations as to space, numbers, etc., etc., could not, in

those days, have been very strict. Be this as it may, Skipper
M‘Cracken filled up until he could fill no more. The ’tween deck was
like a freshly-opened sardine tin; on the main deck they lay in
double tiers. Many roosted in the tops. The boats on the davits and
the long-boat on the skids swarmed with the home-going children of
the Flowery Land. The better class, merchants, tradesmen, etc., had
secured everything aft, from the captain’s cabin to the steward’s
pantry, for which accommodation fabulous sums found their way into
the pockets of M‘Cracken and his mates. For’ard, the crew had
vacated the forecastle in consideration of sundry handfuls per man
of dollars, which they had subsequently discovered to be ‘chop.’

The mild-eyed heathen in his leisure moments had amused himself

by punching pellets of good silver out of them, and filling the holes
up with lead. From taffrail to bowsprit-heel, from waterways to
keelson, the Sparrowhawk seethed and stank with a sweltering mass
of yellow humanity. Every soul had a square of matting and a water-
jar, also an umbrella. They also all had money—more or less. The
fellows aft, with the flowing silk gowns and long finger-nails, owned
chests of it, all in silver specie, stowed snugly away in the lazarette.
The herd carried their little fortunes, hardly earned by years of
incessant toil as sampan men, porters, or what not, in the great
border city on the sea, hidden upon their persons.

The vessel looked grotesque to a degree. She was flying light, and
towered
93 loftily out of the water. Upon her deck, amidships, rose two
big arrangements after the nature of boilers. These were for cooking
rice, and were occasionally the scenes of fierce fighting, during
which the Europeans would clamber into the rigging, leaving a clear
field, and applaud vociferously. They were a harmless people, and
fought like sheep-dogs, rarely doing one another much harm.

From the barque’s side protruded curious cage-like structures

connected with the sanitary affairs of the multitude. This last lay
everywhere, pervaded everything. If you wanted a rope you had to
dislodge half-a-dozen grunting, naked bodies. Trimming the yards o’
nights the watches tripped and fell amongst the prostrate ranks.
The passengers, however, bore it all placidly. They had paid
M‘Cracken so many dollars per head for a piece of his deck, and the
situation of it was quite immaterial. Moreover, were they not
homeward bound after years of separation from wives and little ones
with fortunes made beyond the sea? Men in such circumstances are
apt to be good-tempered. A heavy squall would probably have
caused the loss of the Sparrowhawk and all on board. But Captain
M‘Cracken took the risk—and the dollars. He slept on an old sail
folded across the cuddy skylight. His mattress he had leased along
with his state-room to one of the merchants who, he understood,
was a convert to Christianity. The wind kept light, with showers at
intervals. At the first drop, up would go every umbrella; and, looking
from aloft, the sight was a queer one.

On
94 leaving Singapore the skipper had been warned that pirates were

still to be met with in Chinese waters, and, short though the passage
was, advised to arm, at all events in some sort, his ship and crew.
This he did. At a marine store he bought, second-hand, a couple of
cannon—three pounders—also several dozen of grape shot. In
exchange for a worn mizzen-topsail and the fat saved by the cook
(of usage the latter’s perquisite) on the passage out, he procured
some old Tower muskets, a few boarding-pikes, and three horse-
pistols for his own and his officers’ especial use. These last had
flintlocks and mouths like a bell. Thus equipped, he declared himself
ready for any piratical attack.

The ship’s agents smiled meaningly, and winked at each other; but,
knowing their man, forbore further advice, well recognising the
inutility of it. A Scotchman who owns a full half interest in his ship,
who hails from Aberdeen, and habitually comes ashore in latitude 0
with a Glengarry cap on, no umbrella, and naked feet, is not a being
to stand argument.

One night the moon rose full, and right aft. She rose, too, with a big
black spot in her disc that had no right to be there.
There was too much samshoo aboard for a very sharp look-out to be
kept for’ard. That native spirit gets into men’s eyes and weakens
them. But aft the skipper caught sight of the object.

‘It’ll be a junk, I’m thinkin’!’ he said presently, after working away for
a while with his glass; ‘an a muckle ane at that. She’s fetchin’ a
breezie wi’ her, whilk’s a comfort.’

Some
95 of the long-nailed aristocrats were lounging about the poop.
They needed no glass to make out the approaching vessel.
Gathering in a group, they cackled noisily, pointing and gesticulating
among themselves.

Then, coming up to the captain, one—it was his Christian friend—

plucked him by the arm and uttered laconically, with extended digit,
‘Prat!’

‘Weel, Johnnie,’ replied old M‘Cracken coolly, as he gathered the

other’s meaning, ‘pireet, or no pireet, gin he come a wee closer, we’ll
just pepper the hide o’ him wi’ cauld airn.’

Without more ado, the Chinaman dived into his cabin and in a
minute or two reappeared with a most hideous idol and a bundle of
perfumed paper. Placing the thing right under the skipper’s nose, he
lit a yard of paper and began to screech an invocation. As of good
Presbyterian stock, M‘Cracken was irritated and shocked.

‘Mon, mon,’ he exclaimed, ‘what wad ye be at! Hae ye niver been

tauld that a’ graven eemages is an abomination in the sicht o’ the
Lord? An’ I thocht ye was a Christian.’ So saying, he seized the joss
and flung it far overboard into the silvery water, just rippling under
the coming breeze. The worshipper uttered a yell of dismay. But
there was no time to lose, and, rushing below, he brought up
another god, ten times as hideous as the first one, and, descending
to the main deck, aroused the ship with his devotions.
Then arose the sound of a multitude waking in fear—an impressive
sound and a catching. Up the open hatchways from the steaming,
fœtid
96 ’tween decks they streamed in hundreds, like disturbed ants,
with cries of alarm and grief, and strong callings upon their gods. In
a minute the ship was alive with lights burning before idols of every
description. A thousand half-naked figures crouched cowering from
the break of the poop right for’ard. Aft, a handful of rugged Scotch
seamen gazed quietly at the black spot over the water. Presently the
two little guns were crammed half up to the muzzle with powder and
grape, and placed each in a socket cut out for it after leaving
Singapore. The remainder of the weapons were, with a stock of
ammunition, divided amongst the crew. Hot irons were put in the
galley fire; and the skipper, having thus placed his ship in a thorough
state of defence, felt complacent, and half-inclined to shorten sail,
wait for the pirates to come up, and then give them a lesson. Old
seaman though he was, he was a new hand in these Eastern waters.

Confiding his notion to the second mate, who was also carpenter,
also sailmaker, a grizzled ancient shellback of much experience and
endless voyaging, the other laughed aloud, but not mirthfully.

‘If,’ said he, ‘yon’s a “prat,” as Johnnie there ca’s it, we’ll a’ be meat
for the fishes afore the sun’s risen!’

‘Hoots!’ exclaimed the skipper angrily, ‘whaur’s yer pluck, Davie,

mon! I didna think ye’d be for showin’ the white feather a’ready, an’
ye a Newburgh lad as weel’s mysel’! What’s a handfu’ o’ naked
salvages like yon, in compare wi’ us an’ oor arteelery?’

‘An’ hoo mony men micht she carry yonder, div ye think?’ queried the
other,
97 taking a squint at the junk, whose huge oblong sails shone
whitely under the moonbeams.

‘Mebbe a score or sae,’ replied M‘Cracken, ‘airmed maistley wi’

spears, an’ skeens, sic, as I’ve been tauld, bein’ their usual
weepons.’
The other chuckled hoarsely as he said, ‘If she’s a pireet, she’ll hae
at the vera leest a guid twa ’unnered aboord, a’ airmed wi’ muskets
an’ swords, forbye things they ca’ gingals, takin’ a sax-ounce ball, to
say nothin’ o’ stinkpots an’ ither deviltries. Mon, I’ve seen ’em wi’
guns they cannonies there wadna mak’ rammars for. But if that chap
has ony, I doubt we sud ha’ heard frae him ere the noo.

‘I was ance,’ continued he, ‘lyin’ in Hongkong Harbour, when they cut
oot the Cashmere, a bouncin’ ocean steamer, in the braid daylicht,
an’ murthered ivery soul on boord o’ her. Na, na, skipper; let her but
get a haud on us, and ye’ll see the deil gang o’er Jock Wabster sure
aneuch.’

The skipper listened silently. Then, wetting his finger and holding it
up, he said,—

‘Perhaps, after a’, Davie, mon, ye might ’s weel set they t’g’nt
stun’s’ls, gin ye can get them up, wi’ sic an awfu’ rabble as is aboot
the deck.’

The breeze had died away again. There was only just enough of it to
keep the sails full. The fresh canvas, however, sent the Sparrowhawk
through the water half a knot faster, and she was beginning to
perceptibly leave the junk astern, when suddenly out from her sides
flashed
98 a long row of sweeps, under whose impulse she recovered
her lost ground very quickly. If there had been any doubt about the
character of the stranger, there remained none now; and the uproar,
which had partially ceased, arose with tenfold vigour.

Some of the passengers went down into the lazarette and

commenced to stow as many dollars as they could about their
clothing. Others divided their attention between their idols and the
skipper, running frantically from one to the other. Curiously enough
the junk appeared satisfied to maintain her distance, although, had
she so desired, she could with her sweeps have easily overhauled
the barque.
Now, from away on the port hand, where lay the outline of the
Chinese coast, black beneath the moon, came a gentle mist hanging
low and thick upon the water. As it gradually enveloped the ship,
hiding all but close objects from view, she was kept away three or
four points. But, presently, with the haze, what wind there was left
her, the sails gave a few ominous flaps, and then hung limply down.
At this moment a Chinaman, uttering a loud yell of fright, pointed
over the starboard quarter. There, close aboard, loomed up a dark
mass almost, high as she was, on a level with the Sparrowhawk’s
poop-railing. It was the junk.

‘The het poker, quick!’ shouted the captain. Some one brought it
and, unheeding the skipper, dabbed it straightway on the touch-hole
of the little cannon pointing directly, as it happened, at the pirate.

The
99 powder being damp, fizzed for a minute, and, just as M‘Cracken
sung out, ‘More pouther; she’s fluffed ’i the pan!’ with a roar the
thing went off. Off and up as well, for it sprung six feet in the air,
and descended with a crash into the binnacle.

‘Fetch the ither ane,’ shouted M‘Cracken, ‘an’ gie ’em anither dose i’
the wame. Hear till ’em,’ he continued, as a most extraordinary noise
arose from the junk now just abreast of the mizzen-rigging. ‘Hear till
’em scraighin’, the thievin’ heathen pireets. They havena muckle likin’
for sic a med’cin’. It gives them the mirligoes. Pit yer fut on her, Tam
Wulson, whiles I send her aff,’ he went on, addressing a sailor, as the
other gun was brought over and shipped.

‘Pit yer ain fut on her, captain,’ answered the man. ‘I dinna
a’thegither like the notion. She’ll lat oot like ony cuddy, judgin’ frae
her mate.’ But the skipper was too excited to argue, and, applying
the hot iron, spit—fizzle—bang, and the piece went up, and, this
time, clean overboard.

A thousand capering madmen were yelling at the top of their voices

on board the Sparrowhawk; but high and shrill above even that
clamour could be heard the screech from the junk at that last
discharge. The fog was still thick around the latter, and the ship’s
sails being aback, she was making a stern board towards the enemy,
to whom M‘Cracken, exulting, determined to administer a coup de
grâce.

‘Noo then, a’thegither,’ he cried, and the old muskets and the bell-
muzzled pistols roared and kicked and sent a leaden shower
somewhere,
100 while, amidst an indescribable medley of yells and
cheers, the defeated pirate vanished into the mist.

Someone cried out that she had sunk. But presently the sound of
her sweeps could be heard in the distance.

Then the skipper, flushed and elated with victory, snapped his
fingers in the second mate’s face, as he exclaimed,—

‘That for yer Chinese pireets, Davie M‘Phairson! Whaurs a’ their

muskets an’ gingals an’ sic-like the noo? Gin they had ony, they were
ower frichted to make use o’ them I expeck! But,’ growing serious,
‘my name’s nae Sandy M‘Cracken gin I dinna chairge Tam Wulson
two pun ten shillin’—whilk is the price o’ her at cost—for lettin’ the
wee bit cannonie gang overboord. I tellt him to keep her down wi’
his feet, and he wadna.’

. . . . . . . . . .

Swatow at last; and the Sparrowhawk surrounded with a thousand

sampans whose occupants welcomed their returned friends and
relatives by trying to emulate Babel.

M‘Cracken was deified. His cabin could not hold the presents—
mostly in kind—that he received. Also, his grateful passengers,
having set apart a day for special rejoicing and thanksgiving,
returned, and, willy nilly, decorated the Sparrowhawk after the
manner of their land with banners and lanterns, and had a high old
time on board under the leadership of the convert, who bewailed his
backsliding, and privately asked M‘Cracken to baptise him anew.

The
101 story of the fight ran all up and down the seaboard. Hongkong

heard of it, or a version of it, and the Gazette published a long story
headed in big caps: ‘Another Piratical Outrage.—The Sparrowhawk
turns on her Pursuer—Conspicuous Bravery of the Captain and Crew
—The Pirate Beaten off with Great Loss.’ Singapore heard it, and the
Straits Times followed suit with ‘Four Junks and Terrible Slaughter.’
This latter item, as we shall presently see, being pretty near the
mark.

. . . . . . . . . .

But what cripple is this that, in a couple of days, comes staggering

up to the Swatow anchorage with her mat sails full of holes and her
decks covered with scarcely dry blood, and whose crew dance and
screech a wild defiance at the Sparrowhawk as she passes on to the
inner harbour?

Presently off comes a mandarin and a guard of soldiers and hales

M‘Cracken ashore, protesting and threatening.

The British Consul is just dead of enteric fever. There is, however, a
French one, and in his room the complaint of Sum Kum On, master
of the Delight of the Foaming Seas, is heard. The tribunal is a mixed
one, consisting of two mandarins and the Consul. The first witness
called is Sum Kum On. He states that his vessel is a coaster,
engaged mostly in the poultry trade. That, on the present trip, he
left Kin Fo, a small port four days’ sail from Swatow, laden with a
deck cargo of ducks for the Swatow and Chee Foo markets. Had on
board one passenger, a wealthy tea-grower of Honan, who, carrying
with
102 him many dollars, was naturally nervous, and afraid of pirates.
Sighting the big vessel, the tea-grower, now in court, and prepared
to give evidence, prayed him (Sum Kum On) to keep close to it for
protection from said pirates.
He did so. But in the calm and mist he unwittingly, and without evil
intent (being, as their Highnesses could see, only a poor trader)
came too near, when to his amazement showers of bullets and great
cannon balls tore his sails to pieces; and, but for the coops being
piled high on deck, assuredly every soul must have perished.

In spite of explanations and shouts for mercy he was repeatedly

fired into, all his cargo killed, sixty new coops of the best bamboo
knocked to atoms; one of his crew desperately wounded, his vessel
irretrievably damaged. His claim was for five hundred dollars; and he
retired, secure in the knowledge that the Heaven-Born Son of the
great foreign nation who, that day, with the Twin Lights of Justice,
occupied the judgment-seat, would mete out compensation with an
unsparing hand.

The dealer gave evidence much to the same effect. Then the
wounded sailor, whose scalp had been furrowed by a ball, ghastly
with bandages and the gore which he had liberally smeared over his
features, told his tale. To wind up with, the unlucky jumping cannon,
which had pitched on to the deck of the junk, was produced as
evidence of identity. Outside, in piles, lay other witnesses—hundreds
of fine fat ducks, stiff and ‘high.’

Around the building the fickle crowd could be heard raging for the
blood
103 of the unfortunate M‘Cracken, so lately their hero. The Consul,
who spoke English well, was obviously ill at ease. The two
mandarins glared sourly at the poor skipper.

‘I think, captain, you’d better pay at once,’ said the Consul. ‘Evidently
a most unfortunate mistake has been made; and that is the only
way out of it that I can see.’

‘I’ll see him dom’d afore I do!’ exclaimed the skipper. ‘Five hundred
dollars! Why, it’s a hundred pun sterlin’ o’ oor money! An’ a’ for a
wheen dukes an’ a crackit heid! Na, na! Tell the skirlin’ fule I’ll gie
him fifty dollars, and that’s mair than a’ his gear’s worth. I’ll gang to
preesin suner than pay as muckle siller as he’s askin’!’

Outside the ‘Children of far Cathay’ could be heard yelling louder

than ever for the heart, liver, and entrails of the white devil. The
Consul’s face grew graver as he listened to the wounded sailor, just
below the open window haranguing the crowd.

‘What’s a’ that claver aboot?’ asked the skipper.

‘They are demanding,’ replied the Consul, ‘that these gentlemen’—

indicating the mandarins—‘should have you crucified at once. And,
upon my word, captain, if you don’t soon make up your mind, they’ll
do it. I am powerless to assist you in any way beyond finding you
the money.’

M‘Cracken turned blue. It was like parting with his life, the parting
with that hundred pounds. But he could see no escape. As the
Consul quickly told him, this was no question of imprisonment, but
one
104 of cash down. So he paid; and, presently, followed by a coolie

carrying the little cannon, made his way to the boat between lines of
grinning soldiery, over whose shoulders the rabble, derisive now,
quacked itself hoarse. And amongst the noisiest of them he caught
sight of his Christian passenger.

The Sparrowhawk took no freight from Swatow. She sailed for

Rangoon speedily; but there it was just as bad. The joke was too
good not to circulate. In every eastern port she and her people were
greeted with volleys of ‘quacks’ by the native population both on
land and water. Legions of imps, black and copper-coloured, and all
quacking with might and main, formed the skipper’s retinue if he
went ashore anywhere between Yokohama and Bombay.

Native masters of country wallahs, lying within hail, would grin, and
ask him for the protection of the Sparrowhawk to their next port of
call. It became unbearable. India, China and Japan seemed to turn
into duck-pens at his approach.
So he took the Sparrowhawk out of those waters altogether, and
shortly afterwards gave up the sea. But, although there are no ducks
within a mile of his house on the Aythen, there are urchins—Scotch
urchins—and he has not perfect peace. The story is too well known.

As for his crew, even yet, if one should, with intent, imitate the cry
of that fowl disastrous where two or three of them happen to be
foregathered, they will come at you with the weapons nearest.
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