Hesat down in a deck chair and lighted a cigar as an aid to his mental processes. Three projects presented themselves to his mind, each of which included, of course, the throwing overboard of the liquor and the secure hiding of the arms, except a pistol for himself, and one for Florrie.
The first was to release them all, and, backed by his pistol, his uniform, and the power of the government, to treat them as mutineers, and shoot them if they defied or disobeyed him.
To this was the logical objection that they were already more than mutineers—that there was no future for them; that, even though he overawed and conquered them, compelling them to work the boat shoreward, each passing minute would find them more keen to revolt; and that, if they rushed him in a body, he could only halt a few—the others would master him.
The second plan was born of his thoughts before breakfast. It was to release one cook, one engineer, and one helmsman at a time; to guard them until sleep was necessary, then to shut off steam, lock them up, and allow the boat to drift while they slept. Against this plan was the absolute necessity, to a seaman's mind, of a watch—even a one-man watch—and this one man could work mischief while he slept—could even, if handy with tools, file out a key that would unlock the shackles.
The third plan was to starve them into contrition and subjection, torturing them the while with the odors of food cooked for himself and Florrie. But this was an inhuman expedient, only to be considered as a last resource; and, besides, it would not affect the man doing the cooking, who could keep himselfwell fed and obdurate. And, even though they surrendered and worked their way back toward prison, would their surrender last beyond a couple of good meals? He thought not. Yet out of this plan came another, and he went down the companion.
"Florrie," he called, "can you cook?"
She appeared at the stateroom door without her bandages, smiling at his query, and for the moment Denman forgot all about his plans. Though the pink tinge still overspread her face, the blisters were gone, and, in the half light of the cabin, it shone with a new beauty that had not appeared to him in the garish sunlight when at breakfast—when he was intent upon watching the men. His heart gave a sudden jump, and his voice was a little unsteady as he repeated the question.
"Why, yes, Billie," she answered, "I know something about cooking—not much, though."
"Will you cook for yourself and me?" he asked. "If so, I'll keep the men locked up, and we'll wait for something to come along."
"I will," she said; "but you must keep them locked up, Billie."
"I'll do that, and fit you out with a pistol, too. I'll get you one now."
He brought her a revolver, fully loaded, with a further supply of cartridges, and fitted the belt around her waist. Then, his heart still jumping, he went on deck.
"Love her?" he mused, joyously. "Of course. Why didn't I think of it before?"
But there was work to be done, and he set himself about it. He searched the storerooms and inspected the forecastle. In the first he found several cases of liquor—also a barrel of hard bread. In the forecastle he found that the water supply was furnished by a small faucet on the after bulkhead. Trying it,he found a clear flow. Then he selected from his bunch of keys the one belonging to the forecastle door, and put it in the lock—outside. Next, with a few cautionary remarks to the men, he unlocked their wrist irons one by one; and, after making each man place his hands in front, relocked the irons.
"Now, then," he said, standing up over the last man, "you can help yourselves and Jenkins to bread and water. One by one get up on your feet and pass into the forecastle. If any man needs help, I will assist him."
Some managed to scramble to their feet unaided, while others could not. These Denman helped; but, as he assisted them with one hand, holding his pistol in the other, there was no demonstration against him with doubled fists—which is possible and potential. Mumbling and muttering, they floundered down the small hatch and forward into the forecastle. The last in the line was Sampson, and Denman stopped him.
"I've a job for you, Sampson," he said, after the rest had disappeared. "You are the strongest man in the crowd. Go down the hatch, but aft to the storeroom, and get that barrel of hard bread into the forecastle. You can do it without my unlocking you."
"Very good, sir," answered Sampson, respectfully, and descended.
Denman watched him from above, as, with his manacled hands, he twirled the heavy barrel forward and into the men's quarters.
"Shut the door, turn the key on them, and come aft here," he commanded.
Sampson obeyed.
"Now, lift up on deck and then toss overboard every case of liquor in that storeroom."
"Very good, sir." And up came six cases, as easily in his powerful grip as though they had been bandboxes, and then he hoisted his own huge bulk to the deck.
"Over the side with them all," commanded Denman.
Sampson picked them up, and, whether or not it came from temper, threw them from where he stood, above and beyond the rail; but the fifth struck the rail, and fell back to the deck. He advanced and threw it over.
"Carry the other one," said Denman, and Sampson lifted it up. It was a low, skeleton rail, and, as the big man hobbled toward it, somehow—neither he nor Denman ever knew how—his foot slipped, and he and the box went overboard together. The box floated, but when Sampson came to the surface it was out of his reach.
"Help!" he gurgled. "I can't swim."
Without a thought, Denman laid his pistol on the deck, shed his coat, and dove overboard, reaching the struggling man in three strokes.
"Keep still," he commanded, as he got behind and secured a light but secure grip on Sampson's hair. "Tread water if you can, but don't struggle. I'll tow you back to the boat."
But, though Sampson grew quiet and Denman succeeded in reaching the dark, steel side, there was nothing to catch hold of—not a trailing rope, nor eyebolt, nor even the open deadlights, for they were high out of reach. The crew were locked in the forecastle, and there was only Florrie. There was no wind, and only the long, heaving ground swell, which rolled the boat slightly, but not enough to bring those tantalizing deadlights within reach; and at last, at the sound of dishes rattling in the galley, Denman called out.
"Florrie!" he shouted. "Florrie, come on deck. Throw a rope over. Florrie—oh, Florrie!"
Shecame hurriedly, and peered over the rail with a startled, frightened expression. Then she screamed.
"Can you see any ropes lying on deck, Florrie?" called Denman. "If you can, throw one over."
She disappeared for a moment, then came back, and cried out frantically: "No, there is nothing—no ropes. What shall I do?"
"Go down and get the tablecloth," said Denman, as calmly as he could, with his nose just out of water and a big, heavy, frightened man bearing him down.
Florrie vanished, and soon reappeared with the tablecloth of the morning's breakfast. It was a cloth of generous size, and she lowered it over.
"Tie one corner to the rail, Florrie," said Denman, while he held the irresponsible Sampson away from the still frail support. She obeyed him, tying the knot that all women tie but which no sailor can name, and then Denman led his man up to it.
Sampson clutched it with both hands, drew it taut, and supported his weight on it. Fortunately the knot did not slip. Denman also held himself up by it until he had recovered his breath, then cast about for means of getting on board. He felt that the tablecloth would not bear his weight and that of his water-soaked clothing, and temporarily gave up the plan of climbing it.
Forward were the signal halyards; but they, too, were of small line, and, even if doubled again and again until strong enough, he knew by experience thewonderful strength of arm required in climbing out of the water hand over hand. This thought also removed the tablecloth from the problem; but suggested another by its association with the necessity of feet in climbing with wet clothes.
He remembered that forward, just under the anchor davit, was a small, fixed ladder, bolted into the bow of the boat for use in getting the anchor. So, cautioning Sampson not to let go, he swam forward, with Florrie's frightened face following above, and, reaching the ladder, easily climbed on board. He was on the high forecastle deck, but the girl had reached it before him.
"Billie," she exclaimed, as she approached him. "Oh, Billie—"
He caught her just as her face grew white and her figure limp, and forgot Sampson for the moment. The kisses he planted on her lips and cheek forestalled the fainting spell, and she roused herself.
"I thought you would drown, Billie," she said, weakly, with her face of a deeper pink than he had seen. "Don't drown, Billie—don't do that again. Don't leave me alone."
"I won't, Florrie," he answered, stoutly and smilingly. "I'm born to be hanged, you know. I won't drown. Come on—I must get Sampson."
They descended—Denman picking up his pistol on the way—and found Sampson quietly waiting at the end of the tablecloth. With his life temporarily safe, his natural courage had come to him.
"I'm going to tow you forward to the anchor ladder, Sampson. You'll have to climb it the best way you can; for there isn't a purchase on board that will bear your weight. Hold tight now."
He untied Florrie's knot, and slowly dragged the big man forward, experiencing a check at the breakof the forecastle, where he had to halt and piece out the tablecloth with a length of signal halyards, but finally got Sampson to the ladder. Sampson had some trouble in mounting, for his shackles would not permit one hand to reach up to a rung without letting go with the other; but he finally accomplished the feat, and floundered over the rail, where he sat on deck to recover himself. Finally he scrambled to his feet.
"Mr. Denman," he said, "you've saved my life for me, and whatever I can do for you, except"—his face took on a look of embarrassment—"except going back on my mates, as I said, I will do, at any time of my life."
"That was what I might have suggested," answered Denman, calmly, "that you aid me in controlling this crew until we reach Boston."
"I cannot, sir. There is prison for life for all of us if we are taken; and this crowd will break out, sir—mark my words. You won't have charge very long. But—in that case—I mean—I might be of service. I can control them all, even Forsythe, when I am awake."
"Forsythe!" grinned Denman. "You can thank Forsythe for your round-up. If he hadn't remained sober enough to attempt to break into Miss Fleming's room while you were all dead drunk, I might not have knocked him out, and might not have roused myself to tie you all hand and foot."
"Did he do that, sir?" asked Sampson, his rugged features darkening.
"He did; but I got there in time to knock him out."
"Well, sir," said Sampson, "I can promise you this much. I must be locked up, of course—I realize that. But, if we again get charge, I must be asleep part of the time, and so I will see to it that youretain possession of your gun—and the lady, too, as I see she carries one; also, sir, that you will have the run of the deck—on parole, of course."
"That is kind of you," smiled Denman; "but I don't mean to let you take charge. It is bread and water for you all until something comes along to furnish me a crew. Come on, Sampson—to the forecastle."
Sampson preceded him down the steps, down the hatch, and to the forecastle door, through which Denman admitted him; then relocked the door and bunched the key with his others. Then he joined Florrie, where she had waited amidships.
"Now, then, Florrie girl," he said, jubilantly, "you can have the use of the deck, and go and come as you like. I'm going to turn in. You see, I was awake all night."
"Are they secured safely, Billie?" she asked, tremulously.
"Got them all in the forecastle, in double irons, with plenty of hard-tack and water. We needn't bother about them any more. Just keep your eyes open for a sail, or smoke on the horizon; and if you see anything, call me."
"I will," she answered; "and I'll have dinner ready at noon."
"That's good. A few hours' sleep will be enough, and then I'll try and polish up what I once learned about wireless. And say, Florrie. Next time you go below, look in the glass and see how nice you look."
She turned her back to him, and he went down. In five minutes he was asleep. And, as he slipped off into unconsciousness, there came to his mind the thought that one man in the forecastle was not manacled; and when Florrie wakened him at noon the thought was still with him, but he dismissed it. Jenkinswas helpless for a while, unable to move or speak, and need not be considered.
Florriehad proved herself a good cook, and they ate dinner together, then Denman went on deck. The boat was still rolling on a calm sea; but the long, steady, low-moving hills of blue were now mingled with a cross swell from the northwest, which indicated a push from beyond the horizon not connected with the trade wind. And in the west a low bank of cloud rose up from, and merged its lower edge with, the horizon; while still higher shone a "mackerel sky," and "mare's tail" clouds—sure index of coming wind. But there was nothing on the horizon in the way of sail or smoke; and, anticipating another long night watch, he began preparations for it.
Three red lights at the masthead were needed as a signal that the boat—a steamer—was not under command. These he found in the lamp room. He filled, trimmed, and rigged them to the signal halyards on the bridge, ready for hoisting at nightfall. Then, for a day signal of distress, he hoisted an ensign—union down—at the small yard aloft.
Next in his mind came the wish to know his position, and he examined the log book. Forsythe had made an attempt to start a record; and out of his crude efforts Denman picked the figures which he had noted down as the latitude and longitude at noon of the day before. He corrected this with the boat's course throughout the afternoon until the time of shutting off the oil feed, and added the influence of a current, which his more expert knowledge told himof. Thirty-one, north, and fifty-five, forty, west was the approximate position, and he jotted it down.
This done, he thought of the possibility of lighting the boat through the night, and sought the engine room. He was but a theoretical engineer, having devoted most of his studies to the duties of a line officer; but he mastered in a short time the management of the small gas engine that worked the dynamo, and soon had it going. Electric bulbs in the engine room sprang into life; and, after watching the engine for a short time, he decided that it required only occasional inspection, and sought the deck.
The cross sea was increasing, and the bank to the northwest was larger and blacker, while the mare's tails and mackerel scales had given way to cirrus clouds that raced across the sky. Damp gusts of wind blew, cold and heavy, against his cheek; and he knew that a storm was coming that would try out the low-built craft to the last of its powers. But before it came he would polish up his forgotten knowledge of wireless telegraphy, and searched the wireless room for books.
He found everything but what he wanted most—the code book, by which he could furbish up on dots and dashes. Angry at his bad memory, he studied the apparatus, found it in working order, and left the task to go on deck.
An increased rolling of the boat threatened the open deadlights. Trusting that the men in the forecastle would close theirs, he attended to all the others, then sought Florrie in the galley, where she had just finished the washing of the dishes. Her face was not pale, but there was a wild look in her eyes, and she was somewhat unsteady on her feet.
"Oh, Billie, I'm sick—seasick," she said, weakly. "I'm a poor sailor."
"Go to bed, little girl," he said, gently. "We'regoing to have some bad weather, but we're all right. So stay in bed."
He supported her aft through the wardroom to her stateroom door in the after cabin. "I'll get supper, Florrie, and, if you can eat, I'll bring you some. Lie down now, and don't get up until I call you, or until you feel better."
He again sought the deck. The wind now came steadily, while the whole sky above and the sea about were assuming the gray hue of a gale. He closed all hatches and companions, taking a peep down into the engine room before closing it up. The dynamo was buzzing finely.
A few splashes of rain fell on him, and he clothed himself in oilskins and rubber boots to watch out the gale, choosing to remain aft—where his footsteps over her might reassure the seasick girl below—instead of the bridge, where he would have placed himself under normal conditions.
The afternoon wore on, each hour marked by a heavier pressure of the wind and an increasing height to the seas, which, at first just lapping at the rail, now lifted up and washed across the deck. The boat rolled somewhat, but not to add to his discomfort or that of those below; and there were no loose articles on deck to be washed overboard.
So Denman paced the deck, occasionally peeping down the engine-room hatch at the dynamo, and again trying the drift by the old-fashioned chip-and-reel log at the stern. When tired, he would sit down in the deck chair, which he had wedged between the after torpedo and the taffrail, then resume his pacing.
As darkness closed down, he sought Florrie's door, and asked her if she would eat something. She was too ill, she said; and, knowing that no words could comfort her, he left her, and in the galley ate his own supper—tinned meat, bread, and coffee.
Again the deck, the intermittent pacing, and resting in the chair. The gale became a hurricane in the occasional squalls; and at these times the seas were beaten to a level of creamy froth luminous with a phosphorescent glow, while the boat's rolling motion would give way to a stiff inclination to starboard of fully ten degrees. Then the squalls would pass, the seas rise the higher for their momentary suppression, and the boat resume her wallowing, rolling both rails under, and practically under water, except for the high forecastle deck, the funnels, and the companions.
Denman did not worry. With the wind northwest, the storm center was surely to the north and east-ward of him; and he knew that, according to the laws of storms in the North Atlantic, it would move away from him and out to sea.
And so it continued until about midnight, when he heard the rasping of the companion hood, then saw Florrie's face peering out. He sprang to the companion.
"Billie! Oh, Billie!" she said, plaintively. "Let me come up here with you?"
"But you'll feel better lying down, dear," he said. "Better go back."
"It's so close and hot down there. Please let me come up."
"Why, yes, Florrie, if you like; but wait until I fit you out. Come down a moment."
They descended, and he found rubber boots, a sou'wester, and a long oilskin coat, which she donned in her room. Then he brought up another chair, lashed it—with more neckties—to his own, and seated her in it.
"Don't be frightened," he said, as a sea climbed on board and washed aft, nearly flooding their rubber boots and eliciting a little scream from the girl."We're safe, and the wind will blow out in a few hours."
He seated himself beside her. As they faced to leeward, the long brims of the sou'westers sheltered their faces from the blast of rain and spume, permitting conversation; but they did not converse for a time, Denman only reaching up inside the long sleeve of her big coat to where her small hand nestled, soft and warm, in its shelter. He squeezed it gently, but there was no answering pressure, and he contented himself with holding it.
He was a good sailor, but a poor lover, and—a reeling, water-washed deck in a gale of wind is an embarrassing obstacle to love-making. Yet he squeezed again, after ten minutes of silence had gone by and several seas had bombarded their feet. Still no response in kind, and he spoke.
"Florrie," he said, as gently as he could when he was compelled to shout, "do you remember the letter you sent me the other day?"
"The other day," she answered. "Why, it seems years since then."
"Last week, Florrie. It made me feel like—like thirty cents."
"Why, Billie?"
"Oh, the unwritten roast between the lines, little girl. I knew what you thought of me. I knew that I'd never made good."
"How—what do you mean?"
"About the fight—years ago. I was to come back and lick him, you know, and didn't—that's all."
"Are you still thinking of that, Billie? Why, you've won. You are an officer, while he is a sailor."
"Yes, but he licked me at school, and I know you expected me to come back."
"And you did not come back. You never let mehear from you. You might have been dead for years before I could know it."
"Is that it, Florrie?" he exclaimed, in amazement. "Was it me you thought of? I supposed you had grown to despise me."
She did not answer this; but when he again pressed her hand she responded. Then, over the sounds of the storm, he heard a little sob; and, reaching over, drew her face close to his, and kissed her.
"I'm sorry, Florrie, but I didn't know. I've loved you all these years, but I did not know it until a few days ago. And I'll never forget it, Florrie, and I promise you—and myself, too—that I'll still make good, as I promised before."
Poor lover though he was, he had won. She did not answer, but her own small hand reached for his.
And so they passed the night, until, just as a lighter gray shone in the east, he noticed that one of the red lamps at the signal yard had gone out. As the lights were still necessary, he went forward to lower them; but, just as he was about to mount the bridge stairs, a crashing blow from two heavy fists sent him headlong and senseless to the deck.
When he came to, he was bound hand and foot as he had bound the men—with neckerchiefs—and lay close to the forward funnel, with the whole thirteen, Jenkins and all, looking down at him. But Jenkins was not speaking. Forsythe, searching Denman's pockets, was doing all that the occasion required.
WhenSampson had entered the forecastle after his rescue by Denman, he found a few of his mates in their bunks, the rest sitting around in disconsolate postures, some holding their achingheads, others looking indifferently at him with bleary eyes. The apartment, long and triangular in shape, was dimly lighted by four deadlights, two each side, and for a moment Sampson could not distinguish one from another.
"Where's my bag?" he demanded, generally. "I want dry clothes."
He groped his way to the bunk he had occupied, found his clothes bag, and drew out a complete change of garments.
"Who's got a knife?" was his next request; and, as no one answered, he repeated the demand in a louder voice.
"What d'you want of a knife?" asked Forsythe, with a slight snarl.
"To cut your throat, you hang-dog scoundrel," said Sampson, irately. "Forsythe, you speak kindly and gently to me while we're together, or I'll break some o' your small bones. Who's got a knife?"
"Here's one, Sampson," said Hawkes, offering one of the square-bladed jackknives used in the navy.
"All right, Hawkes. Now, will you stand up and rip these wet duds off me? I can't get 'em off with the darbies in the way."
Hawkes stood up and obeyed him. Soon the dripping garments fell away, and Sampson rubbed himself dry with a towel, while Hawkes sleepily turned in.
"What kept you, and what happened?" asked Kelly. "Did he douse you with a bucket o' water?"
Sampson did not answer at once—not until he had slashed the side seams of a whole new suit, and crawled into it. Then, as he began fastening it on with buttons and strings, he said, coldly:
"Worse than that. He's made me his friend."
"His friend?" queried two or three.
"His friend," repeated Sampson. "Not exactlywhile he has me locked up," he added; "but if I ever get out again—that's all. And his friend in some ways while I'm here. D'you hear that, Forsythe?"
Forsythe did not answer, and Sampson went on: "And not only his friend, but the woman's too. Hear that, Forsythe?"
Forsythe refused to answer.
"That's right, and proper," went on Sampson, as he fastened the last button. "Hide your head and saw wood, you snake-eyed imitation of a man."
"What's up, Sampson?" wearily asked Casey from a bunk. "What doused you, and what you got on Forsythe now?"
"I'll tell you in good time," responded Sampson. "I'll tell you now about Denman. I threw all the booze overboard at his orders. ThenItumbled over; and, as I can't swim, would ha' been there yet if he hadn't jumped after me. Then we couldn't get up the side, and the woman come with a tablecloth, that held me up until I was towed to the anchor ladder. That's all. I just want to hear one o' you ginks say a word about that woman that she wouldn't like to hear. That's for you all—and foryou, Forsythe, a little more in good time."
"Bully for the woman!" growled old Kelly. "Wonder if we treated her right."
"We treated her as well as we knew how," said Sampson; "that is, all but one of us. But I've promised Denman, and the woman, through him, that they'll have a better show if we get charge again."
"Aw, forget it!" grunted Forsythe from his bunk. "She's no good. She's been stuck on that baby since she was a kid."
Sampson went toward him, seized him by the shirt collar, and pulled him bodily from the bunk. Then, smothering his protesting voice by a grip on histhroat, slatted him from side to side as a farmer uses a flail, and threw him headlong against the after bulkhead and half-way into an empty bunk. Sampson had uttered no word, and Forsythe only muttered as he crawled back to his own bunk. But he found courage to say:
"What do you pick on me for? If you hadn't all got drunk, you wouldn't be here."
"You mean," said Sampson, quietly, "that if you hadn't remained sober enough to find your way into the after cabin and frighten the woman, we wouldn't ha' been here; for that's what roused Denman."
A few oaths and growls followed this, and men sat up in their bunks, while those that were out of their bunks stood up. Sampson sat down.
"Is that so, Sampson?" "Got that right, old man?" "Sure of it?" they asked, and then over the hubbub of profane indignation rose Forsythe's voice.
"Who gave you that?" he yelled. "Denman?"
"Yes—Denman," answered Sampson.
"He lied. I did nothing of the—"
"You lie yourself, you dog. You're showing on your chin the marks of Denman's fist."
"You did that just now," answered Forsythe, fingering a small, bleeding bruise.
"I didn't hit you. I choked you. Denman knocked you out."
"Well," answered Forsythe, forgetting the first accusation in the light of this last, "it was a lucky blow in the dark. He couldn't do it in the daylight."
"Self-convicted," said Sampson, quietly.
Then, for a matter of ten minutes, the air in the close compartment might have smelled sulphurous to one strange to forecastle discourse. Forsythe, his back toward them, listened quietly while they calledhim all the names, printable and unprintable, which angry and disgusted men may think of.
But when it had ended—when the last voice had silenced and the last man gone to the water faucet for a drink before turning in, Forsythe said:
"I'll even things up with you fellows if I get on deck again."
Only a few grunts answered him, and soon all were asleep.
They wakened, one by one, in the afternoon, to find the electric bulbs glowing, and the boat rolling heavily, while splashes of rain came in through the weather deadlights. These they closed; and, better humored after their sleep, and hungry as well, they attacked the barrel of bread and the water faucet.
"He's started the dynamo," remarked Riley, one of the engineers. "Why don't he start the engine and keep her head to the sea?"
"Because he knows too much," came a hoarse whisper, and they turned to Jenkins, who was sitting up, regarding them disapprovingly.
"Because he knows too much," he repeated, in the same hoarse whisper. "This is a so-called seagoing destroyer; but no one but a fool would buck one into a head sea; and that's what's coming, with a big blow, too. Remember the English boat that broke her back in the North Sea?"
"Hello, Jenkins—you alive?" answered one, and others asked of his health.
"I'm pretty near all right," he said to them. "I've been able to move and speak a little for twenty-four hours, but I saved my energy. I wasn't sure of myself, though, or I'd ha' nabbed Denman when he came in here for the pistols."
"Has he got them?" queried a few, and they examined the empty bunk.
"He sure has," they continued. "Got 'em all. Oh, we're in for it."
"Not necessarily," said Jenkins. "I've listened to all this powwow, and I gather that you got drunk to the last man, and he gathered you in."
"That's about it, Jenkins," assented Sampson. "We all got gloriously drunk."
"And before you got drunk you made this pin-headed, educated rat"—he jerked his thumb toward Forsythe—"your commander."
"Well—we needed a navigator, and you were out of commission, Jenkins."
"I'm in commission now, though, and when we get on deck, we'll still have a navigator, and it won't be Denman, either."
"D'you mean," began Forsythe, "that you'll take charge again, and make—"
"Yes," said Jenkins, "make you navigate. Make you navigate under orders and under fear of punishment. You're the worst-hammered man in this crowd; but hammering doesn't improve you. You'll be keelhauled, or triced up by the thumbs, or spread-eagled over a boiler—but you'll navigate. Now, shut up."
There was silence for a while, then one said: "You spoke about getting on deck again, Jenkins. Got any plan?"
"Want to go on deck now and stand watch in this storm?" Jenkins retorted.
"No; not unless necessary."
"Then get into your bunk and wait for this to blow over. If there is any real need of us, Denman will call us out."
This was good sailorly logic, and they climbed back into their bunks, to smoke, to read, or to talk themselves to sleep again. As the wind and sea arose they closed the other two deadlights, and when darknessclosed down they turned out the dazzling bulbs, and slept through the night as only sailors can.
Just before daylight Jenkins lifted his big bulk out of the bunk, and, taking a key from his pocket, unlocked the forecastle door. He stepped into the passage, and found the hatch loose on the coamings, then came back and quietly wakened them all.
"I found this key on the deck near the door first day aboard," he volunteered; "but put it in my pocket instead of the door."
They softly crept out into the passage and lifted the hatch; but it was the irrepressible and most certainly courageous Forsythe who was first to climb up. He reached the deck just in time to dodge into the darkness behind the bridge ladder at the sight of Denman coming forward to attend to the lamps; and it was he who sent both fists into the side of Denman's face with force enough to knock him senseless. Then came the others.
"That'lldo, Forsythe," said Sampson, interrupting the flow of billingsgate. "We'll omit prayers and flowers at this funeral. Stand up."
Forsythe arose, waving two bunches of keys and Denman's revolver.
"Got him foul," he yelled, excitedly. "All the keys and his gun."
"All right. Just hand that gun to me—what! You won't?"
Forsythe had backed away at the command; but Sampson sprang upon him and easily disarmed him.
"Now, my lad," he said, sternly, "just find the key of these darbies and unlock us."
Forsythe, muttering, "Got one good smash at him,anyhow," found the key of the handcuffs, and, first unlocking his own, went the rounds. Then he found the key of the leg irons, and soon all were free, and the manacles tossed down the hatch to be gathered up later. Then big Jenkins reached his hand out to Forsythe—but not in token of amnesty.
"The keys," he said, in his hoarse whisper.
"Aren't they safe enough with me?" queried Forsythe, hotly.
Jenkins still maintained the outstretched hand, and Forsythe looked irresolutely around. He saw no signs of sympathy. They were all closing in on him, and he meekly handed the two bunches to Jenkins, who pocketed them.
Meanwhile, Sampson had lifted Denman to his feet; and, as the boat still rolled heavily, he assisted him to the bridge stairs, where he could get a grip on the railing with his fettered hands. Daylight had come, and Denman could see Florrie, still seated in the deck chair, looking forward with frightened eyes.
"Jenkins, step here a moment," said Sampson; "and you other fellows—keep back."
Jenkins drew near.
"Did you hear, in the fo'castle," Sampson went on, "what I said about Mr. Denman saving my life, and that I promised him parole and the possession of his gun in case we got charge again?"
Jenkins nodded, but said: "He broke his parole before."
"So would you under the same provocation. Forsythe called him a milk-fed thief. Wouldn't you have struck out?"
Jenkins nodded again, and Sampson continued:
"All right. My proposition is to place Mr. Denman under parole once more, to give him and the lady the run of the deck abaft the galley hatch, andto leave them both the possession of their guns for self-defense, in case"—he looked humorously around at the others—"these inebriates get drunk again."
"But the other guns. He has them somewhere. We want power of self-defense, too."
"Mr. Denman," said Sampson, turning to the prisoner, "you've heard the conditions. Will you tell us where the arms are, and will you keep aft of the galley hatch, you and the lady?"
"I will," answered Denman, "on condition that you all, and particularly your navigator, keep forward of the galley hatch."
"We'll do that, sir; except, of course, in case of working or fighting ship. Now, tell us where the guns are, and we'll release you."
"Haven't we something to say about this?" inquired Forsythe, while a few others grumbled their disapproval of the plan.
"No; you have not," answered Jenkins, his hoarse whisper becoming a voice. "Not a one of you. Sampson and I will be responsible for this."
"All right, then," responded Forsythe. "But I'll carry my gun all the time. I'm not going to be shot down without a white man's chance."
"You'll carry a gun, my son," said Sampson, "when we give it to you—and then it won't be to shoot Mr. Denman. It's on your account, remember, that we're giving him a gun. Now, Mr. Denman, where are the pistols and toothpicks?"
"The pistols are in my room, the cutlasses in the room opposite. You have the keys."
"Aft all hands," ordered Jenkins, fumbling in his pockets for the keys, "and get the weapons."
Away they trooped, and crowded down the wardroom companion, Sampson lifting his cap politely to the girl in the chair. In a short time they reappeared, each man loaded down with pistols and cutlasses.They placed them in the forecastle, and when they had come up Sampson released Denman's bonds.
"Now, sir," he said, "you are free. We'll keep our promises, and we expect you to keep yours. Here is your gun, Mr. Denman."
"Thank you, Sampson," said Denman, pocketing the revolver and shaking his aching hands to circulate the blood. "Of course, we are to keep our promises."
"Even though you see things done that will raise your hair, sir."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Denman, with sudden interest.
"Can't tell you anything, sir, except what you may know, or will know. This boat isnotbound for the African coast. That's all, sir."
"Go below the watch," broke in Jenkins' husky voice. "To stations, the rest."
"Whathappened, Billie?" asked Florrie as Denman joined her.
"Not much, Florrie," he replied, as cheerfully as was possible in his mood. "Only a physical and practical demonstration that I am the two ends and the bight of a fool."
"You are not a fool, Billie; but what happened? How did they get out?"
"By picking the lock of the door, I suppose; or, perhaps, they had a key inside. That's where the fool comes in. I should have nailed the door on them."
"And what do they mean to do?"
"Don't know. They have some new project in mind. But we're better off than before, girl. We'reat liberty to carry arms, and to go and come, provided we stay this side of the galley hatch. They are to let us alone and stay forward of the hatch. By the way," he added. "In view of the rather indeterminate outlook, let's carry our hardware outside."
He removed his belt from his waist and buckled it outside his oilskin coat. Then, when he had transferred the pistol from his pocket to the scabbard, he assisted the girl.
"There," he said, as he stood back and looked at her, admiringly, "with all due regard for your good looks, Florrie, you resemble a cross between a cowboy and a second mate."
"No more so than you," she retorted; "but I've lost my place as cook, I think." She pointed at the galley chimney, from which smoke was arising. Denman looked, and also became interested in an excited convention forward.
Though Jenkins had sent the watch below and the rest to stations, only the two cooks had obeyed. The others, with the boat still rolling in the heavy sea, had surrounded Jenkins, and seemed to be arguing with him. The big man, saving his voice, answered only by signs as yet; but the voices of the others soon became audible to the two aft.
"I tell you it's all worked out, Jenkins—all figured out while you were dopy in your bunk."
Jenkins shook his head.
Then followed an excited burst of reason and flow of words from which Denman could only gather a few disjointed phrases: "Dead easy, Jenkins—Run close and land—Casey's brother—Can hoof it to—Might get a job, which'd be better—Got a private code made up—Don't need money—Can beat his way in—My brother has a wireless—Take the dinghy; we don't need it—I'll take the chance if you have alife-buoy handy—Chance of a lifetime—Who wants beach combing in Africa—You see, he'll watch the financial news—I'll stow away in her—I tell you, Jenkins, there'll be no killing. I've made my mind up to that, and will see to it."
The last speech was from Sampson; and, on hearing it, Jenkins waved them all away. Then he used his voice.
"Get to stations," he said. "I'll think it out. Forsythe, take the bridge and dope out where we are."
They scattered, and Forsythe mounted to the bridge, while Jenkins, still a sick man, descended to the forecastle.
"What does it all mean, Billie?" asked the girl.
"Haven't the slightest idea," answered Denman, as he seated himself beside her. "They've been hinting at big things; and Sampson said that they might raise my hair. However, we'll know soon. The wind is going down. This was the outer fringe of a cyclone."
"Why don't they go ahead?"
"Too much sea. These boats are made for speed, not strength. You can break their backs by steaming into a head sea."
Daniels, the cook, came on deck and aft to the limits of the hatch, indicating by his face and manner that he wished to speak to Denman.
Denman arose and approached him.
"Will you and the lady eat breakfast together, sir?" he asked.
"I believe so," answered Denman. Then, turning to Florrie: "How will it be? May I eat breakfast with you this morning?"
She nodded.
"Then, sir," said Daniels, "I'll have to serve it in the after cabin."
"Why not the wardroom? Why not keep out of Miss Fleming's apartment?"
"Because, Mr. Denman, our work is laid out. Billings attends to the wardroom, and swears he won't serve this lady, or get within reach of her."
"Serve it in the after cabin, then," said Denman, turning away to hide the coming smile, and Daniels departed.
Not caring to agitate the girl with an account of Billings' drunken overtures and his own vicarious repulse of them, he did not explain to her Billings' trouble of mind; but he found trouble of his own in explaining his frequent bursts of laughter while they ate their breakfast in the cabin. And Florrie found trouble in accepting his explanations, for they were irrelevant, incompetent, and inane.
After breakfast they went on deck without oilskins, for wind and sea were going down. There was a dry deck; and above, a sky which, still gray with the background of storm cloud, yet showed an occasional glimmer of blue, while to the east the sun shone clear and unobstructed; but on the whole clean-cut horizon there was not a sign of sail or smoke.
Eight bells having struck, the watches were changed; but except possibly a man in the engine room getting up steam—for smoke was pouring out of the four funnels—no one was at stations. The watch on deck was scattered about forward; and Forsythe had given way to Jenkins, who, with his eye fixed to a long telescope, was scanning the horizon from the bridge.
Denman, for over forty-eight hours without sleep, would have turned in had not curiosity kept him awake. So he waited until nine o'clock, when Forsythe, with Munson's help, took morning sights, and later until ten, when Forsythe handed Jenkinsa slip of paper on which presumably he had jotted the boat's approximate position. Immediately Jenkins rang the engine bells, and the boat forged ahead.
Denman watched her swing to a starboard wheel; and, when the rolling gave way to a pitching motion as she met the head sea, he glanced at the after binnacle compass.
"Northwest by north, half north," he said. "Whatever their plan is, Jenkins has been won over. Florrie, better turn in. I'm going to. Lock your door and keep that gun handy."
But they were not menaced—not even roused for dinner; for Daniels had gone below, and Billings, on watch for the morning, could not wake Denman, and would not approach Miss Florrie's door. So it was late in the afternoon when they again appeared on deck.
The weather had cleared, the sea was smoothing, and the boat surging along under the cruising turbines; while Hawkes had the wheel, and Forsythe, still in officer's uniform, paced back and forth.
Evidently Jenkins, in the light of his physical and mental limitations, had seen the need of an assistant. Old Kelly, the gunner's mate, was fussing around a twelve-pounder; the rest were out of sight.
Denman concluded that some kind of sea discipline had been established while he slept, and that Kelly had been put in charge of the gunnery department and been relieved from standing watch; otherwise, by the former arrangement, Kelly would have been below while Forsythe and Hawkes were on deck.
The horizon was dotted with specks, some showing smoke, others, under the glass, showing canvas. Denman examined each by the captain's binoculars, but saw no signs of a government craft—all were peaceably going their way.
"Why is it," asked Florrie, as she took the glass from Denman, "that we see so many vessels now, when we lay for days without seeing any?"
"We were in a pocket, I suppose," answered Denman. "Lane routes, trade routes, for high and low-powered craft, as well as for sailing craft, are so well established these days that, if you get between them, you can wait for weeks without seeing anything."
"Do you think there is any chance of our being rescued soon?"
"I don't know, Florrie; though we can't go much nearer the coast without being recognized. In fact, I haven't thought much about it lately—the truth is, I'm getting interested in these fellows. This is the most daring and desperate game I ever saw played, and how they'll come out is a puzzle. Hello! Eight bells."
The bell was struck on the bridge, and the watches changed, except that Jenkins, after a short talk with Forsythe, did not relieve him, but came aft to the engine-room hatch, where he held another short talk with Sampson and Riley, who, instead of going below, had waited.
Only a few words came to Denman's ears, and these in the hoarse accents of Jenkins as he left them: "Six days at cruising speed, you say, and two at full steam? All right."
Jenkins continued aft, but halted and called the retreating Sampson, who joined him; then the two approached the galley hatch and hailed Denman.
"Captain Jenkins can't talk very well, sir," said Sampson, with a conciliatory grin; "but he wants me to ask you what you did to him. He says he bears no grudge."
"Can't tell you," answered Denman, promptly. "It is a trick of Japanese jujutsu, not taught in theschools, and known only to experts. I learned it in Japan when my life was in danger."
Jenkins nodded, as though satisfied with the explanation, and Sampson resumed:
"Another thing we came aft for, Mr. Denman, is to notify you that we must search the skipper's room and the wardroom for whatever money there is on board. There may be none, but we want the last cent."
"What on earth," exclaimed Denman, "do you want with money?" Then, as their faces clouded, he added: "Oh, go ahead. Don't turn my room upside-down. You'll find my pile in a suit of citizen's clothes hanging up. About four and a half."
"Four and a half is a whole lot, sir," remarked Sampson as they descended the wardroom hatch.
"Got any money down below, Florrie?" inquired Denman, joining the girl.
She shook her head. "No. I lost everything but what I wear."
The tears that started to her eyes apprised Denman that hers was more than a money loss; but there is no comfort of mere words for such loss, and he went on quickly:
"They are going through the cabin for money. They'll get all I've got. Did you see any cash in the captain's desk?"
"Why, yes, Billie," she said, hesitatingly. "I wanted a place to put my combs when I wore the bandage, and I saw some money in the upper desk. It was a roll."
"He's lost it, then. Always was a careless man. Did you count it?"
"No. I had no right to."
But the question in Denman's mind was answered by Sampson when he and Jenkins emerged from thehatch. "Five hundred," he said. "Fine! He won't need a quarter of it, Jenkins."
"Five hundred!" repeated Denman to the girl. "Jail-breaking, stealing government property, mutiny—against me—piracy, and burglary. Heaven help them when they are caught!"
"But will they be?"
"Can't help but be caught. I know nothing of their plans; but I do know that they are running right into a hornet's nest. If a single one of those craft on the horizon recognizes this boat and can wireless the nearest station, we'll be surrounded to-morrow."
But, as it happened, they were not recognized, though they took desperate chances in charging through a coasting fleet in daylight. And at nightfall Jenkins gave the order for full speed.
Foran hour Denman remained with Florrie to witness the unusual spectacle of a forty-knot destroyer in a hurry.
The wind was practically gone, though a heavy ground swell still met the boat from the northwest; and as there was no moon, nor starlight, and as all lights were out but the white masthead and red and green side lights, invisible from aft, but dimly lighting the sea ahead, the sight presented was unusual and awe-inspiring.
They seemed to be looking at an ever-receding wall of solid blackness, beneath which rose and spread from the high bow, to starboard and port, two huge, moving snowdrifts, lessening in size as the bow lifted over the crest of a sea it had climbed, and increasing to a liquid avalanche of foam that sent spanglesup into the bright illumination of the masthead light when the prow buried itself in the base of the next sea.
Astern was a white, self-luminous wake that narrowed to a point in the distance before it had lost its phosphorescent glow.
Florrie was interested only in the glorious picture as a whole. Denman, equally impressed, was interested in the somewhat rare spectacle of a craft meeting at forty knots a sea running at twenty; for not a drop of water hit the deck where they stood.
They went below at last; but Denman, having slept nearly all day, was long in getting to sleep. A curious, futile, and inconsequential thought bothered him—the thought that the cheerful Billings had ceased his singing in the galley.
The monotonous humming of the turbines brought sleep at last; but he awakened at daylight from a dream in which Billings, dressed in a Mother Hubbard and a poke bonnet, was trying to force a piece of salt-water soap into his mouth, and had almost succeeded when he awoke. But it was the stopping of the turbines that really had wakened him; and he dressed hurriedly and went on deck.
There was nothing amiss. No one was in sight but Jenkins, who leaned lazily against the bridge rail. In the dim light that shone, nothing could be seen on the horizon or within it.
So, a little ashamed of his uncalled-for curiosity, he hurried down and turned in, "all standing," to wait for breakfast and an explanation.
But no explanation was given him, either by events or the attitude of the men. Those on deck avoided the after end of the boat—all except old Kelly, whose duties brought him finally to the after guns and tubes; but, while civilly lifting his cap to Miss Florrie, he was grouchy and taciturn in his manneruntil his work was done, then he halted at the galley hatch on his way forward to lean over and pronounce anathema on the heads of the cooks because of the quality of the food.
While waiting for breakfast, Denman had listened to an angry and wordy argument between the two cooks, in which Daniels had voiced his opinion of Billings for waking him from his watch below to serve the prisoners.
When the watches were changed at eight bells that morning, he had heard Hawkes and Davis, the two seamen of the deck department, protesting violently to Jenkins at the promotion of Forsythe and Kelly, which left them to do all the steering.
Jenkins had not answered orally, but his gestures overruled the protest. Even Casey and Munson argued almost to quarreling over various "tricks of their trade," which Denman, as he listened, could only surmise were to form a part of the private code they had spoken of when haranguing Jenkins.
There was a nervous unrest pervading them all which, while leaving Florrie and Denman intact, even reached the engine room.
At noon Sampson and Dwyer were relieved, and the former turned back to shout down the hatch:
"I told you to do it, and that goes. We've over-hauled and cleaned it. You two assemble and oil it up this afternoon, or you'll hear from me at eight bells."
The voice of Riley—who was nearly as large a man as Sampson—answered hotly but inarticulately, and Denman could only ascribe the row to a difference of opinion concerning the condition of some part of the engines.
Sampson, though possibly a lesser engineer than the others of his department, yet dominated them as Jenkins dominated them all—by pure force ofpersonality. He had made himself chief engineer, and his orders were obeyed, as evidenced by the tranquil silence that emanated from the engine room when Sampson returned at four in the afternoon.
All day the boat lay with quiet engines and a bare head of steam, rolling slightly in a swell that now came from the east, while the sun shone brightly overhead from east to west, and only a few specks appeared on the horizon, to remain for a time, and vanish.
Meanwhile Florrie worried Denman with questions that he could not answer.
"Forsythe took sights in the morning," he explained at length, "and a meridian observation at noon. He has undoubtedly found another 'pocket,' as I call these triangular spaces between the routes; but I do not know where we are, except that, computing our yesterday and last night's run, we are within from sixty to a hundred miles of New York."
He was further mystified when, on going into his room for a cigar after supper, he found his suit of "citizen's clothes" missing from its hook.
"Not the same thief," he grumbled. "Sampson and Jenkins are too big for it."
He did not mention his loss to Florrie, not wishing to arouse further feminine speculation; and when, at a later hour in this higher latitude, darkness had come, and full speed was rung to the engine room, he induced her to retire.
"I don't know what's up," he said; "but—get all the sleep you can. I'll call you if anything happens."
He did not go to sleep himself, but smoked and waited while the humming turbines gathered in the miles—one hour, two hours, nearly three—until a quarter to eleven o'clock, when speed was reduced.
Remembering his embarrassment of the morning,Denman did not seek the deck, but looked through his deadlight. Nothing but darkness met his eye; it was a black night with rain.
He entered the lighted wardroom and looked at the telltale above; it told him that the boat was heading due north. Then he entered an opposite room—all were unlocked now—from which, slantingly through the deadlight, he saw lights. He threw open the thick, round window, and saw more clearly. Lights, shore lights, ahead and to port.
He saw no land; but from the perspective of the lights he judged that they ran east and west. Then he heard the call of the lead: "A quarter seventeen;" and a little later: "By the deep seventeen," delivered in a sing-song voice by Hawkes.
"The coast of Long Island," muttered Denman. "Well, for picked-up, school-book navigation, it is certainly a feat—to run over six hundred miles and stop over soundings."
The boat went on at reduced speed until Hawkes had called out: "By the mark ten," when the engines stopped, and there was a rush of footsteps on deck, that centered over the open deadlight, above which was slung to the davits the boat called by them the dinghy, but which was only a very small gasoline launch.
"In with you, Casey," said Jenkins, in his low, hoarse voice, "and turn her over. See about the bottom plug, too. Clear away those guys fore and aft, you fellows."
In a few moments came the buzzing of the small engine; then it stopped, and Casey said: "Engine's all right, and—so is the plug. Shove out and lower away."
"Got everything right, Casey? Got your money? Got the code?"
"Got everything," was the impatient answer.
"Well, remember—you're to head the boat out from the beach, pull the bottom plug, and let her sink in deep water. Make sure your wheel's amidships."
"Shove out and lower away," retorted Casey. "D'you think I never learned to run a naphtha launch?"
Denman heard the creaking sound of the davits turning in their beds, then the slackening away of the falls, their unhooking by Casey, and the chugging of the engine as the launch drew away.
"Good luck, Casey!" called Jenkins.
"All right!" answered Casey from the distance. "Have your life-buoys handy."
Denman had ducked out of sight as the launch was lowered, and he did not see Casey; but, on opening a locker in his room for a fresh box of cigars, he noticed that his laundry had been tampered with. Six shirts and twice as many collars were gone. On looking further, he missed a new derby hat that he had prized more than usual, also his suitcase.
"Casey and I are about the same size," he muttered. "But what the deuce does it all mean?"
He went to sleep with the turbines humming full speed in his ears; but he wakened when they were reduced to cruising speed. Looking at his watch in the light from the wardroom, he found that it was half-past two; and, on stepping out for a look at the telltale, he found the boat heading due south.
"Back in the pocket," he said, as he returned to his room.
But the engines did not stop, as he partly expected; they remained at half speed, and the boat still headed south when he wakened at breakfast-time.
Afterbreakfast, King, one of the machinists, and a pleasant-faced young man, came aft with an ensign, a hammer, chisel, and paint pot.
"This is work, sir," he said, as he passed, tipping his cap politely to Miss Florrie. "Should have been done before."
He went to the taffrail, and, leaning over with the hammer and chisel, removed the raised letters that spelled the boat's name. Then he covered the hiatus with paint, and hoisted the ensign to the flagstaff.
"Now, sir," he remarked, as he gathered up his tools and paint pot, "she's a government craft again."
"I see," commented Denman; and then to Florrie as King went forward: "They're getting foxy. We're steaming into the crowd again, and they want to forestall inspection and suspicion. I wonder if our being allowed on deck is part of the plan? A lady and an officer aft look legitimate."
At noon every man was dressed to the regulations, in clean blue, with neckerchief and knife lanyard, while Jenkins and Forsythe appeared in full undress uniform, with tasteful linen and neckwear.
That this was part of the plan was proven when, after a display of bunting in the International Signal Code from the yard up forward, they ranged alongside of an outbound tank steamer that had kindly slowed down for them.
All hands but one cook and one engineer had mustered on deck, showing a fair semblance of a full-powered watch; and the one cook—Billings—displayed himself above the hatch for one brief moment, clad in a spotless white jacket.
Then, just before the two bridges came together,Jenkins hurried down the steps and aft to Denman to speak a few words, then hasten forward. It was sufficiently theatrical to impress the skipper of the tanker, but what Jenkins really said to Denman was: "You are to remember your parole, sir, and not hail that steamer."
To which Denman had nodded assent.
"Steamer ahoy!" shouted Forsythe, through a small megaphone. "You are laden with oil, as you said by signal. We would like to replenish our supply, which is almost exhausted."
"Yes, sir," answered the skipper; "but to whom shall I send the bill?"
"To the superintendent of the Charlestown Navy Yard. It will very likely be paid to your owners before you get back. We want as much as a hundred tons. I have made out a receipt for that amount. Throw us a heaving line to take our hose, and I will send it up on the bight."
"Very well, sir. Anything else I can do for you, sir?"
"Yes; we want about two hundred gallons of water. Been out a long time."
"Certainly, sir—very glad to accommodate you. Been after that runaway torpedo boat?"
"Yes; any news of her on shore? Our wireless is out of order."
"Well, the opinion is that she was lost in the big blow a few days ago. She was reported well to the nor'ard; and it was a St. Lawrence Valley storm. Did you get any of it?"
"Very little," answered Forsythe. "We were well to the s'uth'ard."
"A slight stumble in good diction there, Mr. Forsythe," muttered the listening Denman. "Otherwise, very well carried out."
But the deluded tank skipper made no strictureson Forsythe's diction; and, while the pleasant conversation was going on, the two lines of hose were passed, and the receipt for oil and water sent up to the steamer.
In a short time the tanks were filled, the hose hauled back, and the starting bells run in both engine rooms.
The destroyer was first to gather way; and, as her stern drew abreast of the tanker's bridge, the skipper lifted his cap to Florrie and Denman, and called out: "Good afternoon, captain, I'm very glad that I was able to accommodate you."
To which Denman, with all hands looking expectantly at him, only replied with a bow—as became a dignified commander with two well-trained officers on his bridge to attend to the work.
The boat circled around, headed northwest, and went on at full speed until, not only the tanker, but every other craft in view, had sunk beneath the horizon. Then the engines were stopped, and the signal yard sent down.
"Back in the pocket again," said Denman to Florrie. "What on earth can they be driving at?"
"And why," she answered, with another query, "did they go to all that trouble to be so polite and nice, when, as you say, they are fully committed to piracy, and robbed the other vessels by force?"
"This seems to show," he said, "the master hand of Jenkins, who is a natural-born gentleman, as against the work of Forsythe, who is a natural-born brute."
"Yet he is a high-school graduate."
"And Jenkins is a passed seaman apprentice."
"What is that?"
"One who enters the navy at about fifteen or sixteen to serve until he is twenty-one, then to leave the navy or reënlist. They seldom reënlist, for theyare trained, tutored, and disciplined into good workmen, to whom shore life offers better opportunities. Those who do reënlist have raised the standard of the navy sailor to the highest in the world; but those that don't are a sad loss to the navy. Jenkins reënlisted. So did Forsythe."
"But do you think the training and tutoring that Jenkins received equal to an education like Forsythe's—or yours?"
"They learn more facts," answered Denman. "The training makes a man of a bad boy, and a gentleman of a good one. What a ghastly pity that, because of conservatism and politics, all this splendid material for officers should go to waste, and the appointments to Annapolis be given to good high-school scholars, who might be cowardly sissies at heart, or blackguards like Forsythe!"
"But that is how you received your appointment, Billie Denman," said the girl, warmly; "and you are neither a sissy nor a blackguard."
"I hope not," he answered, grimly. "Yet, if I had first served my time as seaman apprentice before being appointed to Annapolis, I might be up on that bridge now, instead of standing supinely by while one seaman apprentice does the navigating and another the bossing."