half a mind to
haul down the flag, and let the old man settle it. Steward," he called
to a mild-faced man who had been flitting from galley to cabin,
unmindful of the disturbance, "go forrard and find out how bad those
fellows are hurt. Don't say I sent you, though."

The steward obeyed, and returned with the information that two men had
broken arms, two flesh-wounds in the legs, and one--the big
man--suffered from a ragged hole through the shoulder. All were
stretched out in bedless bunks, unwilling to move. He had been asked
numerous questions by the others--as to where the ship was bound, who
the men were who had shot them, why there was no bedding in the
forecastle, the captain's whereabouts, and the possibility of getting
ashore to swear out warrants. He had also been asked for bandages and
hot water, which he requested permission to supply, as the wounded men
were suffering greatly. This permission was refused, and the
slight--very slight--nautical flavor to the queries, and the hopeful
condition of the stricken ones, decided Mr. Jackson to leave the police
flag at the masthead.

When dinner was served in the cabin, and Mr. Jackson sat down before a
savory roast, leaving Mr. Becker on deck to watch, the steward imparted
the additional information that the men forward expected to eat in the
cabin.

"Hang it!" he mused; "they can't be sailor-men."

Then Mr. Becker reached his head down the skylight, and said: "Raisin'
the devil with the cook, sir--dragged him out o' the galley into the
forecastle."

"Are they coming aft?"

"No, sir."

"All right. Watch out."

The mate went on eating, and the steward hurried forward to learn the
fate of his assistant. He did not return until Mr. Jackson was about to
leave the cabin. Then he came, with a wry face and disgust in his soul,
complaining that he had been seized, hustled into the forecastle, and
compelled, with the Chinese cook, to eat of the salt beef and pea-soup
prepared for the men, which lay untouched by them. In spite of his
aches and trouble of mind, Mr. Jackson was moved to a feeble grin.

"Takes a sailor or a hog to eat it, hey, Steward?" he said.

He relieved Mr. Becker, who ate his dinner hurriedly, as became a good
second mate, and the two resumed their watch on the poop, noticing that
the cook was jabbering Chinese protest in the galley, and that the men
had climbed to the topgallant-forecastle--also watching, and
occasionally waving futile signal