with the stores?"

"Who's going fishing?" said Walters. "Mr Denning."

"Oh! I'll come and help him; I like fishing," he said.

I looked at him curiously, as I thought of what had been said, and then
asked him again.

"I don't know," he cried, "I don't carry fishing-lines in my pockets.
Ask old fat Preddle, he's a regular fisherman. But you won't catch
any."

I did not think Mr Preddle was likely to have lines, so I did not ask
him, but thought I would go and ask every man I met, when I caught sight
of Bob Hampton, and went to him.

"Fishin'-lines, my lad? No, I don't think there's any aboard."

"Yes, there are," growled Barney; "I see Frenchy Jarette rigging some up
t'other day, as if he meant to have a try."

I felt as if I did not like to ask a favour of the Frenchman, for
somehow I did not like him; but feeling that Mr Denning would be
disappointed if none were found, I asked where the man was, and found
that he was down in the forecastle asleep, for he had been in one of the
night watches.

It was so dark there, that for a few moments I could not make out which
of the sleeping men lying there was the one I sought. They were all
breathing heavily, and at first going down out of the bright sunshine
the faces all looked alike; but after getting a little more accustomed
to the gloom, I saw a hand just where the faint rays came down through a
little sky-light, and on one of the fingers there was a silver ring.
Thinking that the wearer might possibly be the Frenchman, I went farther
and looked a little more closely, and saw that I was right, for though I
could not have been sure that the ring on the hand proved this to be the
man I sought, one that I could just make out in the ear satisfied me,
and stooping lower still I laid my hand upon his shoulder.

The touch had no effect, and I took hold and shook him.

"Jarette--Jarette!" I said.

He sprang partly up with a faint cry, and to my horror, gripped me by
the throat.

"Curse you, I'll--Ah, it's you, cher ami," he said, beginning fiercely,
and changing his tone to a whisper. "No, no, not yet," he continued,
"it isn't ripe. Wait, cher ami, wait a little."

"Jarette," I said wonderingly, for the man puzzled me--I had no key to
his meaning then--"wake up. I'm sorry I roused you, but we want a
fishing-line, and Bob Hampton says you have some."

"What--to fish! No, you wish to speak. Hist! I--ah, I see now," he
cried quickly. "It is dark below.