ich tried
desperately to escape. Her captain was dragged on board, and at that
juncture Captain Kettle took upon himself to go below. He knew what
would probably take place, and, though he disapproved of such methods
strongly, he felt he could not interfere. He was in Bird, Bird and Co.'s
employ, and what was being done would forward the firm's interest.

But presently came a noise of bellowing from the deck above, and then
that was followed by shrill screams as the upper gamut of agony was
reached. Kettle was prepared for rough handling, but at information
gained by absolute torture he drew the line. It was clear that these
cruel beggars of Italians were going too far.

"By James!" he muttered to himself, "owners or no owners, I can't stand
this," and started hurriedly to go back to the deck. But before he
reached the head of the companion-way the cries of pain ceased, and so
he stood where he was on the stair, and waited. The engines rumbled, and
the steamer once more gathered way. A clamor of barbaric voices reached
him, which gradually died into quietude. It was clear they were leaving
the dhow behind.

Captain Kettle drew a long breath. They would stick at little, these
Dagos, in getting the salvage of the _Grecian_, and it seemed
preposterous to suppose that once they gripped the specie in their own
ringers they would ever give it up for the paltry pay which had been
offered by Bird, Bird and Co. Their own poverty was aching. He saw it
whenever he looked about the patched little steamer. He felt it whenever
he sat down to one of their painfully frugal meals.

Still, though no man knew more bitterly than Kettle himself from past
experience what poverty meant, and how it cut, the poverty of these
Italians was no concern of his just then. They were paid servants of the
owners exactly as he was, and it was his duty to see that they earned
their hire. He took it that he was one against the whole ship's company,
but the odds did not daunt him. On the contrary, something of his old
fighting spirit, which had been of late hustled into the background by
snug commercial prosperity, came back to him. And besides, he had always
at his call that exquisite pride of race which has so many times given
victory to the Anglo-Saxon over the Latin, when all reasonable balances
should have made it go the other way.

By a sort of instinct he buttoned up his trim white drill coat, and
stepped out on deck. There would be no scuffle y