The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 21, 1897, Page 18

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, MARCH 21, 1897 SeaE CHAPTER “What’s this for?” says Allan. measly bad to-day.” “‘Samples for the cabin table,” said the steward, Gordon, dubbing the 111—CONTINUED. “Here’s stink enough. The pork’s flabby offal down on the dresser. “Ho," says the cook, “they’d best be cooked separate, Isuppose. The smoke'll break the young lady’s beart if they’re both boiled in them coppers.” “Iv's for “‘Cook ’em as you like. That’s your business,” sari Gordon. 1o’clock.” “Who's going to eat 'em?” *How big’s a man’s windpipe?”’ asked Gordon. They eyed him. “Would about that lump do?” asked Gordon, snatching up a knife and slightly scoring a corner of one of the pieces, ‘“fit a man’s windpipe?” ' ““An, would it?” muttered the cook; *'and if you'll let me guess whose pipe it is you're a-thinking of I wounldn’t mind teiling you that I'm game, s'elp me God, Lo ram it down with this—a clean job.” And seizing long black sharp-ended poker he flourished it at Gordon’s mouth, poising it as though be meant to do for the steward. Gordon rounded out of the little caboose with a half laagh. Mr. Tweed walked the weather side of the quarterdeck, his sextant ght cover. The seaman named Legz was at the helm. 1in duck and caico and wide straw hat, stood out like a puinted figure of marble, as it shightly rose and slightly fell against the hot, pele-blue sky in the north. Miss Vanderhoit was seated in a deck chair under the awning, beside a quarterboat. A book lay upon ber lap, bat her hands were clasped upon and her eyes were bent upon the sea. She viewed it listlessly. The monotony of that eternal girile was erowing shocking. It seemed to bina up ber very soul. She thought to herself: ““They speak of the freedom of the sea. But doesn’t its sense of freecom come only whea motion is swift, when the roar of the white water is strong and when one’s home is not very far off ?"" It was the men’sdinner hour. Miss Violet had often during the warm r from her comfortable quarterdeck chair observed a couple of men before noon stagger with sweating faces out of the galiey, bearing in their hands a sort of little wooden washing tub which sent up a great deal of steam. This she knew was the crew’s dinfer. She had some- times wondered how they ate; whether they spread a tablecioth, whether they planted a cruet-stand in their midst and placed knives and forks on eitber band for the hearts to cut and come again? Who carved? She sup. posed the boatswain took the head ofthe table. Sne had never felt so cu- rious, bowever, in this matter as to ask questions, and as, moreover, she had not caught so much as a ghmpse of the interior of the crew’s dweli- ing-house she had firured into conviction a comfortable little sea parlor in which the men dined just as she and Glew and the mates and her father did. After all, she mused, keeping her hands clasped npon her open book, with her eves fastened upon the sailors’ house, it is the monotony of the sea that rep It must have its good side. Plenty to eat and drink, and, as father says, most of the wonders of the world, islands, harbors, inland scenes of beauty to be visited at the cost of others. ‘While she was thus moralizing she beheld a head with a very savage and malicious look upon its face in the deckhouse doorway; the figure of the man was exposed to the waist and iwo great hands grasped for sup- port each side of the openinz. It was the head of the boatswain of the schooner, James Jones. carpenter and second mate, put as second mate he had never been called upon to serve. He was uncovered and his bair was wild. His expression was devilish. Though at some distance from the man the young lady could clearly distinguish a look of fury upon the sea. man’s face, as though he had just slain a shipmate and was in the act of leaping on deck. He stood in the doorway and continued to stare aft. Miss Vanderholt glanced uneasily at the skylight. She waited for her father and Capiain Glew to appear. The captain was bound to arrive in a minute or two, for already Mr. Tweed, who had glanced at the boatswain without ap- Pearing to see anyihing unusual in the man’s fixed hali-in half-out pos- ture and dark endeviled face, had picked up his sextant and was ogling the sun. Mr. Vanderholt was the first of the two to come on deck. His dauch- ter called to him sofily and said: ‘‘Father, did you ever see in all your life snch a wicked expression as that man wears?” “What man?” exclaimed Mr. Varderhoit, lancing his teeth with a silver toothpick and gazing along the decks wiih an expression of bland benevolence. “That man there in the door of the galley ,” said the girl. “He’s been standing like that for the last three or four minutes, hatless, looking aft, with that face of fury, as if they tied him in the doorway and were goading him.” “I certainly see a man in the doorway,” said Mr. Vanderholt, who was a little short-sighted. “Does he look angry?’ He spoke somewhat uneasily and tu ned his head to see if ibe captain was on deck. Glew at that moment rose through the hatch armed with his sextant. Vanderholt went up to him and said: “There is a man leaning in the door of the caboose—now I look again 1 see it is the boatswain—whose face, my daughter tells me, is formidable with temper. 1 do not clearly see all that way off. I hope it will mean no fresh trouble about the stores. Lat them know I have ordered pieces of the pork and bee to be boiled for our midday meal.” While he was speaking Glew's eyes were fixed npon the boatswain, who a3 the moment that Vanderholt ceased, withdrew. Glew's attitude was immediately and sensibly charged with malice and danger, with pas- sions guickly growing and contending by the odd crouchingair he carried while be had watched the boatswain and listened to his employer. “That James,” he said, “iis the right sort of a forecastle scoundrel to breed a mutiny, and if he troubles me to-day we must have him out of it, Mr. Vanderholt, in the spproved old method. Mr. Tweed, can you lay your hands readily upon a set of irons for that fellow ?”” The mate answered: ‘‘The carpenter has charge of the irons, sir, and the carpenter is, unfortunately, the boatswain himself.” *Go forward,” said Captain Glew, “and ask'the man to'give you a set, of irons.” “Stop!” exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt, glancing at the helmsman, whose eyes were upon Glew and who was cleariy a iistener. “We must bave no talk of irons in this vessel until something has been done to warrant their introduction.” “If there should come a difficulty,”” was the oaptain’s answer, ‘‘we may find 1t impossible 10 get forward so as to procure the irons. I like to be beforehand.” “I’ll not bave it,” said Mr. Vanderholt with warmth. Captain Glew simpiy said, “Ay, sy, sir,”’_and turned his face to the sun with-his sextant uplifted. Now it was tbat the boatswain reappeared, still without his hat, his head very shaggy, his shirt sleeves rolied above his elbows, disclosing the muscles of a cart horse. He sprang in a singie bound tarough the door of 1he decknouse, grasping a messkid. The seaman named Dabb followed ; be, too, grasped & messkid. Then gl the rest of the crew appeared, Gor- don, Allan, Toole, Scott and Maul. “Now, bullies, are we ready 7"’ exclaimed Jones in a voice of thunder, and he put the kid upon the deck. Dabb did likewise. “Hurrah for a hot male of mate for the cabin,” shouted Simon Toole. The boatswain and Dabb, each man in his boots, kicked; they kicked at the kids with all their might, and the wooden vgssels came rushing aft to the very feet of Captain Glew and Mr. Vanderholt, scattering their vrecious contents of pork and pea soup over the smooth planks. Never was an uglier affront offered to the master of a ship. . Never had mutinous insclence been cartied to a greater height. Captain Glew turned white as milk, bui not with fear. Well for him bad he felt fear. Mr. Van- derbolt was ashy pale. He cailed to his daughter to go below. She sprang up, but instead of going below, went and siood right aft, beside the helms- man, to whom she said: “What do these meu want?" ““Their rights,” answered he, with a diabolical feer." The frightened girl made a quick step to the companion hatch, and stood beside the cover; she was afraid to go beln\r. CHAPTER IV, THE MURDERS. “What's the meaning of this atrocious conduct, men ?” shouted Mr v Vanderholt. sailor.” He was interrupted by Captain Glew roaring out, “Tweed, help me to put that scoundrel in irons,” aud he rusikea forward, Tweed iollowing. b, my God!" cried Mr. Vanderholt. * “Stay your hands, men; this is my ship. Iam master here. I'll cee your wrongs righted.” “I'here’ll be murder?” shrieked Miss Vanderholt. “'Go below, for God’s sake!” roared the distracted man, and catching hold of his daughter’s arm he dragzed her down the steps into the cabin. *No man in this ship puts me in irons,”’ said the boatswain, showing his teeth as he squared up at Captain Glew, with his immensely thick arms coverea with bair, arrows and crucifixes. “I've been wauting tne killing of you this many a day, you rat, and as you men hear me, by the living Lord I'll kill him if he lays a finger upon me.” For a few minutes Captain Glew paused, waiting for Mr. Tweed, who had disappesred. He stood one man to seven; his nostrils dilated; his eyes were on fire; his skin was a ghastly white and his fingers worked like those of one who plays a piano. His breath flew from him in sharp, quite audible hissings. He was the incarnation of wrath, fiendish above anything human, and in that pause most of the men who met his gaze seemed to quail. Mr. Vanderholt carae running from the companion hatch. His right hand was in the pocket of his coat. *What is it, men?"”’ he bawied. “Iam an old sailor and was a man at sea when you were boys. Is your pork bad? Is the rest of your food pad 2" “Go and gut yourself!” roared Dabb, {If that cuckoo had the victualing of this ship you had the paying of him, and was there ever g “I am sorry if anything’s wrong with you. Iam an old answered him. You would have thought that they were breeding some fresh hellish scene of bloodshed among themselves, so flushed, wild, clamorous were the mob of them, every man irying to drown the other’s voice. “It was his doing,” said Jones, pointing to the figure of the dying cap- tain. “Inever wanted it.” “Anyhow, we're not responsible for him,” said Allan, nodding at the body of the mate. “Who floored the Dutchman?” [ did,” yelled Manl. “He’s a kiiled man,” said Scott, stooping to look at him. “Water,” whispered Captain Glew. Toole’s eyes were on the captain at the instant and the ruffian saw the man’s lips move. “He's speaking!” he exclaimed, with a face of sudden horror, backing two or three steps. Dabb put his ear to the dying man's mouth. “He asks for water,” said the seaman, and he sprang to the scuttle- butt and filled a pannikin which stood handily by the side of the dipper, and lifting Captain Glew’s head he poured some of the cool drink into his mouth. ¥ “Drag me out of the sun,” muttered the captain. “‘Mike, len’s a hand,” called Dabb, and quite gently these two seamen, who were just now devils, carried the captain aft into the shelter of the awning, where they left him to lie and expire with the union jack rolled up as a pillow. ' “1 never wanted it. I never wanted it,” suddenly broke out the boatswain in a deep groaning voice. ‘‘This isa swinging matter. What's to be done? It’s adamnation toour souls. Why couidn’t ye have let the old Dutchman be?"’ . “His pistol wae full cock on you, Jim, when I let fly,”” answered Maul. ‘“He’s only stunned. Hasn’t a man a right to fight for his life? Look at them barrels,” he added, poiuting to the revolver. ‘‘Here comes his aaughter,” exclaimed Gordon. Miss Vanderholt was standing in the companion way. She wore a straw hat and her eyes, under the shadow of the brim and under the fluff of bair about her brow, looked twice their usual size—strained, unwink- ing, blind with sudden dreadful amazement, but brilliant as iight also with horror and terror. She came out of the haich slowly. L-eg at the belm, with & note of commiseration, said: **He’sonly been knocked down. He shouldn’t have got messing about with firearms among a mob of angry men.” Sie did not hear him, or, if she did, she aid not heed him. She went straight to her father, making & low. wailinz or moaning noise as she waiked. The boatswain exclaimed: *No harm was intended to him, Miss. 'Twas him that shot Mr. Tweed.” She looked closely into her father’s face. He lay on his back, staring, with wii e eyes haif open up at the sky. He had fallen as though shot through the bheart. A great livid weal, dreadful to see, blackened and lifted his brow. A little blood that had trickled from one ear lay glazed close beside the gray hair of his whiskers. ‘‘1s he dead?” she asked, looking around at the men and speaking in a voice sunk with fear. “Let's carry him aft to his cabin. see him lying there,’”” said Gordon. Thereupon Gordon, Alian and Jones picked the body up and bore him aft, followed by Miss Vanderholt, who often staggered as she walked. They got him into a cabin and put him down vpon & sofa. “An ugly job,” said one of the seamen. ““Who did 1t ?"* the girl asked. The men made 10 answer. 'Oh, father,” she cried, trembling violently; then dropping upon her knees beside him she be.an to free histhroat. *He may only bestunned,” she said. You’ll please to recoliect this,” said one of the men. ‘‘He comes rushing along with a pistol to shoot us with, and the motive was to strike the revolver out of his hand befors he could send a second shot. ‘It was him that killed the mate,” and the speaker wheeled on his naked foet and went to the companion ladder. He wus almost immediately followed by the others, i The girl ran to the cabin and feiched a bowl, into which she spiashed cold water !rom a decauter, and for a quarter of an hour she ceaselessly bathed her father’s iace and head. He n-ver stirred. She couid not find his pulse, though she sought for it with trembiing fingers about his wrists, It's not right the young lady should “The man who moves—the man who interferes with the captain—Ill sho&t!" shouted Vanderholt. blooming Dutchman that didn’t know good food from bad by the price of it?” He was proceeding. Gordon, standing alongside, clipved the dog over the back of his neck and silenced him. Mr. Vanderholt swayed speechless on the slightly heaving aeck of his vessel. He was petrified. - He stared at the insolent villain; he couldn’t credit his senses. Indeed, it was shocking that that fine old genileman, ‘with his full gray beard, his dignified bearing, bis knowledge of life and letters, his years,. his great fortune, should be thus addressed 'by a brute of the sea, a scab,a wen ,of the o¢ean, who ashore, inliguor, was, of course, the swaggering, yeiping terror of. women and little children, Mr. Tweed came along from the forecastle, gra<ping an iron bar with rings upon it. The morment the men saw him three or four—8cott, Toole, Alian and another—flung themselves upon him. The irons were sent whizzing overboard, the man himself was felled to the deck. He rose in a minate, breathless and mad. *But you shall come aft. -Help me, Tweed,” and the captain, crying this out in a voice frightful to hear with its tension of passion, flung him- self upon t* e boatswain, - *‘The man who moves—the man who: interferes with the captain—1'll shoot !” shouted Vanderholt, pulling out a revolver, a six-barreled engine of those days, from his pocket and taking aim at the crew. Tweed had sprung upon the boatswain, and now three madmen were wrestling, A fourth rushed in; he was Simon Toole. He yelled like a savage as he leaped npon the heaving and writhing group. *‘Stand back or I'll shot you!” shouted Mr. Vanderholt. *I have six men’s lives here.” He saw Toole seize Captain Glew by the throat, and taking aim at the man he pulled the trigger. The flash, the report, was followed by a dying groan, ldnd Tweed, with both hands lifted and clenchea fell, shot through the head, At this moment an iron belaying pin struck Mr. Vanderholt across the face. It was Maul who hurled it. He flung it with the rag» and meaning of murder, standing not a couple of fathoms away from the unhappy man, who dropped like a block of wood, and lay helpless with his pistol'beside bim, **You murderous curs,” groaned Captain Glew, falling unon one knee with his hand to his side. The boatswain and Toole let him go, and the miserable man dropped on his side. He had been twice stabbed mortaily by Toole. For a little while they stood raging, one after another; their shouts were hoarse and insane. Legg bawled to them from the helm and they “ and still she thoueht, still she hoped, she prayed. His hands were growing cold and they lay very dead and heavy in hes It mi fit or a swoon. He has been stunned. 1f I sit here patiently I may see signs of life and he will come to, : But if he should bedead? What could they do with the schooner?, What would they do with her? Terrors shookx her; they wrench her heart, and she wrung her bandsin agony. If her father wasdead, and she quite understood that Captain Glew and Mr, Tweed were dead, though she but vaguely understood that her father had shot the mate, and that Captain Glew had been assassinated—if he was dead she was one in the schoouer with eight seamen who had made outlaws and reck- less criminals of themselves by the murders done that morning. Meanwhile on deck tae men were quieting down. Their rude, unres- soning passions were paling. Consternation was beginning to work in them. They had gone fearfully and tragically fur beyond the untormed wrathful fancies which were in them when they kicked the messkids aft and when the Irishman howled at the sight. The mate dead, with a dark purple hole in his forehead, upon the deck .abreast of the littie square of main hateh. Aft, with his head pillowed: on the rolled-up enxign, was the corpse of the captain. These were signs, coupled with “he thought of the dead: man below, to drive the keenest power of realization of what had happened that day into the mind of an idiot, and there was no1diot in that schooner. Legg had been relieved at the wheel by Scott. 'The Mowbrsy all thig while was sailing & dead south conrse for the equator, her queer destina- tion, royally clothed; her white breasts of canvas were swelled With the blue gushing of the wind, her jibs yearned at their sheets as they rose and sank in & play of soft shadow, with the any'rise and the seething stoop of the schooner’s bows. *There's too much been and gone and happened this all-fired day,”’ said Allan, folding bis naked, burnt arms across his breast ana leaning against the side of his little caboose, while he eyed askew ths body of the mate. ‘‘What's to be doner” The men came and stood about him, “It was like forcing of a man‘s hand,” exclaimed the boatswain, “I was never in & mess of this sort ‘afore. But, curse catch me, if an angel could have stood him—an angel from the skies,” he shouted, lifting up his two great hands with a wild, melodrsmatic gesture to the heavens, *1 couldn’t tell you why, but there was hate of us sailormen in the very turn of the rooster’s bgdy as he walked the deck. There’s but-one remedy for the likes of him, but it's hard upon sailors,” and he smeared the sweat off his brow, which had taken a scowl dark as thunder by p1s ing the length of his arm over it. “I saw that there bleeding old Dutchman a-covering of you, Jim,” said Maul, pointing to th- revoiver which lay upon the deck. “There was no mistaking the meaning in hisface. I'd puli d out the pin ready for whatever was to come along, and, sey what yer will, yer owe me y§r life.” K ‘What's to be done?” said the cook. “All this bere moralizing aif’ going to Lelp us. Are them bodies to be left to lie thaere tiil they tarn?’ *Don’t b* in such a smothering nurry,” exclaimed Lacg. *How are e to know they’re gone home? 'Ere’s Bill for chucking of two warm bedies overboard. Feel their pulses or try their breath with a jiece of glass, or maybe you’ll be murdering of them over again.” “Don’t talk of murdering,” said the boatswain, savagely. “That man there was killea by Mr. Vandernolt.” “Where are we ing to?’ says Gordon. nding a pair of drink-stained eyes slowly 'm dumped, mates, if there's e'er a navi- traveling over the little ship, * gator in the vessel.” At this junciure Toole and Jones stepped over {o the body of the mate and carried him to the side of the captain, whose form they bent over. The poatswain went down upon his knees and looked with a face of hate and horror at the countenance of the dead mun. This wasa picture to handsomely symbolize one large old red iradition of the mer- chant service. Are there any Glews left? S0 long as they remain in com- mand, so long will they prove the solvers of the so-called mysteries of the ocean—the adandoned ship, the boatload of men whose statements differ, the stranded bedy with the wound in its throat. “These men are dead,” says the boatswain, standing up. “No use 1n lettinz 'em lie here to shock the woman should she come on deck. Get 'em covered up and we'il bury ’em this afternoon.” Toole tetched & small tarpaulin and hid tire bodies. *‘How’s the Dutchman get:ing on, I wonder?’ said the boatswain. He went to the open skylight and looked down. He saw the figure of Mr. Vanderholt lying stiff in death on a sofa locker; his daughter sat beside him inclined forward, resting her chin in her hands, while the boatswain watclied, as stirless as the dead. The seaman stepped back ana walked forward slowly. The sailors, Scott excepted, were gathered about the deckhouse door, holding s council upon their condition and prospects. There was a hurry of nerve in their speech, and again one or another wouid look ahead or on either bow The boatswain, shoving in amorg them, said in his deep voice: “I'm for getting something to eat. Iwant my dinner.” ““And I'm for getting something to drink,” -aid Tuole. The boatswain picked up Mr. Vanderhoit's revolver, and while he ex- amined it before pocketing it, he said: **There’s no chances of my bossin you, lads. I'll never do more than advise you. But let me give you th’ counsel; of course, there'll be drink for the cabin somewhere aft. We' entitled to our allowance of rum anyhow, and if we add a bottle or two of the cabin stuff to that allowance, Who's going to miss it? That's not counsel, you say; no, but thisis: Don’t nons of you go and get drunk. I vow to God that the first man that falls insensibie and lays beastlike 1'l1 chuck overboard. We're murderers and pirates—d’ye know that?” he roared, witi: a ferocious look at the men—a look that might have con- vinced shrewder perceptions than those about him that he was going mad, ‘and we're (o take care it we don’t waunt to swing that we're not found Can you guess what swinging’s like? Many’s the time I’ve thought of it— of the gray wet morning and their coming in to fetch you to to be hanged, and their making your arms fast astern, with a parson walking in front, reading about death, then the standing upon the trapdoor and the crowds of faces, my God! all lcoking at you, and worst of ali, the awful fesling that a man must have when the cap’sdrawed and he stands a-waiting.”’ “There's no cali to keep all on, Jim,'’ said Dabb. “We don’t want to be hanged, and wedon's mean to be. Aud who's w-going to fail down dead drunk and act the beast, as you says, a-seeing how it stands with vs?” *Let’s get something to ea,” said the boatswain. *Jim,'”’ said he, turning to Gordon, *you know the ropas aft. Bring something for'rad from tue Dutchman’s pantry fit for the men to sit down to.” “‘Am I to bring any drink?” says Gordon. ““What have they got down there?” asked Maul. ““FPhere’s some casks of botiled ale.” “Bring eight bottles for'rads,” said the boatswain, and lend bim a hana.” Gordon and Dabb walked aft and disappeared down the companion katch, The others trudged about their deckhouse door, passing and re- passing each other in short lookout walks, their heads sunk. their backs bowed and their hands plunged deep in their breeches pocksts. After some timie Gordon ana the other arrivad with their arms full of bottles of beer and pres: rved meats and delicate cabin eatables out of the pantry. It was broiling hot. Mike Scott at the heim bawied to them 1o bring him a bottle. Maul took him one, and he swilled the foam- ing draught down out of & pannikin in a sort of dance of ecstasy. “What's tue young woman a-doing of?” asked the boatswain, follows ing Gordon into the deckhouse. “She was sitting by her father's body when we entered. She jumps up as if she had been stabbed, and says in & little shriek, *What do you men want?" Ianswered in the kindest voice I'vegot: *We'renot here to burt you, Miss. The men are hungry and want food, and I've come to fetch ’em some food and a little beer. What can I get for you, Miss?’ says 1. *This is the luncheon hour. Let me spread tie table for wang' She shuddered and held out her hands as though shoving me away. How. could sbe sit down and eat with him Iying there? Indecd, it went againsg me to name it, Jim. It was flung cruelly hard. In-ver see such & fores head as the pdor old bloke’s got.”’ “By the vait of me oat, then,” exclamed Toole, for now all hands had swarmed into the deckhouse. “Maul took aim at the pistol, and never meant to kiil him.” They were hunery and thirsty, a rough, red-banded mob of seamen. They sat down upon their chests and ate and drank, rne taking a plate- ful of food to the helmsman and while they dined they discoursed upon what was to be done. Occasionally the boatswain would step out and look around. Theé wind was slack, the fiery eye of heaven was eating it up, und the sea waved in dull shades of satin and silver on winding dyes of faint violst and gla-sy brightness as though a current ran; it sheeted with colors faint with tropic heat into tue now visionary distance where sea and sky were blent. % “What are we to do with this vessel and how are we to manage for ourselves?” said the boatswain, Who sat on a chest with a tin of preserved meat between his knee. “That’s the question.” *‘Ain’t this moist stuff veal and'am! Whatever it is it’s blooming nice,” said a sailor. “Joe, knock the ’ead off this ere bottle for me. You'vegot the knack.” =n’t there no port to which we could carry this craft and disposs of herand then disperse?” said Allan, the cook. ‘‘Sue might go fora song for me. We only want our wages.”” “Where's the port without & fired Consul?’ said Maul “I'll tell yo exactly what 'ud hapen; they’d ask questions, a file of soldiers 'ud coms aboard, us men ’ud be marched off into a fortress and lie in cells four- teen or twenty foot under the sea. There our beards would grow and we'd look stranzely upon one another. Our bones would wear out our .shirts, and ail the music ye'd get, mates, wounld be the clank of chains.” “No port for me,” said Toole. *I'm for keeping of the say and being ound in & situation of disthress.” *‘We must agree to one yarn and stick to it. What about the lady " asked Dabb. Do she know what's happened 2’ mean. “Joe, go you along jaid Maul. “How it came about, [ Then she couldn’t say nothing agin our yarn.” ‘ell ’e what, my lads,”” said the boatswain, looking thoughtfully around him. *I'm not at all sure that the rizht tack don’t lie in our up and telling the truth, explaining Low we was exasperated, and proving inat the deaths was accidental.” ‘“Yau’re a-going to prove nothing accidental out of that bloke’s knife,”’ said Dabb wits a dry uncomfortable laugh, nodding at Toole. “As good an sccident as Maul’s murderous telaying-pin, and be aamned to ye,” exclaimed tne Irishman. ‘Brothers, I'm thinking J there would have me be the only hanged man of this company. Is o because I'm a furriner?”” His eyes, fiercely squinting, met Dabb’s hot face. The seamen began to cut up tobacco, and then they lurched to the galley to light their vipes. The boatswain, pipe in mouth, stood in the waist, looking around bim and aloft. The little ship lay nearly becalmed. . The sails swayed idly, fanning sweet drau: hts athwartships. The boatswain walked to the binnacle, and said after looking at the card: here’s no call now, M ke, to keep her heading for the equator. I'm for giving my stern 10 this here boiling."” ““What’s settied ?” said Scott. “Nothing.” I don’t see,” said the man, irritably, “how anything’s to be settled in this here roasting heat, and them two bodies side by side th re. Him 1n the cab: lone enough to take the curl oue of & man’s spirit. To think of him with half a fathom of death, biue as ink, across his brow, and himsel( a-walking these very decks but just a little while gone! Three! It's too many.” “One was the Dutchman’s job,” answered the boatswain. here—are ye afraid?’’ “Afraid o’ what?"’ “Well, only that you're talking as if the ghosts of them bodies bad imlm;e,g the yardarms of your mind, and was close-reefing your in- X tell : don’t Iike dead bodies,” said Scott, “and of all the d-ad bodies a-going,” he adaed, with a countenance of gloomy ferocity, “the lmld like is murdered bodies. Why don’t ye get 'em cleared out overboard, Jim, and sweeten the little hooker? Dohuman blood smell? Sumoml;n thi:ltd my nose never tasted afore came along not loog since i a breath o wind.” . The boatswain went to the tarpaulin, pulled it aside, and examined: the l;n di .g faces. . ick diszust. y are,” said he with a shiver of sic shesi . B 0 A But see He wi forward, and presently a few of the paulin carrying hammock, twine, sinkers for the clews. They made dispatch. Captain Glew, blind with death, threatened them as malevo- ith his lip lifted and stiffened. exposing a snarling h;i:;l{'- .f::;:l:. ;L‘- oci.'":"’,;’.!;r :nlch lay composed, the grog-blossos g-d faded. His cheek was as pale as moonlight, and the expression w. a smile. the bodies th y emptied the pockets. Captail Glfl?‘ :’-‘; '-m:i'ilvi:r‘ :l:lcn.lnd chain, a leather pocketbook, a silver- mounted wooden pipe, a bunch of keys and other odds and ends. The .mate likewise owned a waich and a bair chain tipped with gold, a 0 O O O 1 be put into their cabins,” said the boatawain. ‘ups.” e o Foing 1o bure e in their clothes?” sid Toole. “Holes and all,” answered Legg, with a significant glance a; the sheath-knife on the Trishman’s hip. To be continued next Sunday. & Fé \ s e = e