placid moonlit water. At it the fellows
in the long-boat ceased rowing, and you could see the water-drops
dripping off their oars like diamonds in the moonlight.

"Quarter-boat, ahoy!" shouted the fellow in the bow. "Lay on your oars."

"Here, you scowbanker!" cried Le Farge, "who are you to be giving
directions--"

"Scowbanker yourself!" replied the fellow. "Bullies, put her about!"

The starboard oars backed water, and the boat came round.

By chance the worst lot of the Northumberland's crew were in the
long-boat veritable--"scowbankers" scum; and how scum clings to life
you will never know, until you have been amongst it in an open boat at
sea. Le Farge had no more command over this lot than you have who are
reading this book.

"Heave to!" came from the quarter-boat, as she laboured behind.

"Lay on your oars, bullies!" cried the ruffian at the bow, who was
still standing up like an evil genius who had taken momentary command
over events. "Lay on your oars, bullies; they'd better have it now."

The quarter-boat in her turn ceased rowing, and lay a cable's length
away.

"How much water have you?" came the mate's voice.

"Not enough to go round."

Le Farge made to rise, and the stroke oar struck at him, catching him
in the wind and doubling him up in the bottom of the boat.

"Give us some, for God's sake!" came the mate's voice; "we're parched
with rowing, and there's a woman on board!"

The fellow in the bow of the long-boat, as if someone had suddenly
struck him, broke into a tornado of blasphemy.

"Give us some," came the mate's voice, "or, by God, we'll lay you
aboard!"

Before the words were well spoken the men in the quarter-boat carried
the threat into action. The conflict was brief: the quarter-boat was
too crowded for fighting. The starboard men in the long-boat fought
with their oars, whilst the fellows to port steadied the boat.

The fight did not last long, and presently the quarter-boat sheered
off, half of the men in her cut about the head and bleeding--two of
them senseless.

* * * * * *

It was sundown on the following day. The long-boat lay adrift. The last
drop of water had been served out eight hours before.

The quarter-boat, like a horrible phantom, had been haunting and
pursuing her all day, begging for water when there was none. It was
like the prayers one might expect to hear in hell.

The men in the long-boat, gloomy and morose, weighed