f oars, and formed the only passage from the high poop to
the higher stern. It was also useful in rough seas, when the waves broke
right across the ship, and (a mere detail) over the rowers also. For the
only communication with the hold was by gangways descending from either
end of the _coursier_.

The Abbe John heard the sound of the chief "comite's" whistle with
astonishment--so varied were its tones, the quick succession of its
notes, that the prompt understanding and obedience of the slaves and
sailors, at whatever part of the deck they were placed, seemed as magic
to him.

"Do as I do," said Francis Agnew, noticing his bewilderment. So the Abbe
John halted and pulled, raised his oar level or backed water at the word
of Claire's father. And all the while he kept looking sideways at the
Dead-come-to-Life-again with speechless wonder and the sense of walking
in a dream. Only the sound of the "comite's" lash on his comrades' backs
kept him convinced of the general reality of things.

Francis Agnew was a strong and able-bodied rower, much remarked and
approved by his chiefs. At various periods of an adventurous life he had
served on the French and other galleys, even including those of Turkey.
So that all the commands and disciplines came easily to him. He had even
been charged with the provisioning of the rowers of the whole port side,
and on occasion he could take the "comite's" whistle and pipe upon it,
to the admiration of all.

Claire's father began his tale as soon as he had arranged his great grey
cloak of woollen stuff commodiously, and laid the pillow (which he had
by favour) close to the Abbe John's ear.

"The servants of the Sorbonne who were employed to carry my body to the
vault were greedy rascals. It was their thought at first to sell my body
to the younger surgeons for the purpose of their researching. But after
stripping me of my apparel, it chanced that they cast a bucket of water
over me to help me to 'keep'--the weather being hot in those Barricade
Days in the city of Paris."

At this moment the tread of the night-sentinel approached along the
_coursier_ above their heads. The voices and whisperings ceased before
him as by magic. It was full afternoon without, blazing under the
chinked awnings. But officially it was night on board the galley. Day
closed when the whistle of the "comite" blew. Mostly a careful captain,
from motives of self-interest more than from any humanity, worked his
men in