tish vessel,
but when Clayton had nearly decided to ask the captain to put them
aboard her, the obvious ridiculousness of such a request became
suddenly apparent. What reason could he give the officer commanding
her majesty's ship for desiring to go back in the direction from which
he had just come!

What if he told them that two insubordinate seamen had been roughly
handled by their officers? They would but laugh in their sleeves and
attribute his reason for wishing to leave the ship to but one
thing--cowardice.

John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, did not ask to be transferred to the
British man-of-war. Late in the afternoon he saw her upper works fade
below the far horizon, but not before he learned that which confirmed
his greatest fears, and caused him to curse the false pride which had
restrained him from seeking safety for his young wife a few short hours
before, when safety was within reach--a safety which was now gone
forever.

It was mid-afternoon that brought the little old sailor, who had been
felled by the captain a few days before, to where Clayton and his wife
stood by the ship's side watching the ever diminishing outlines of the
great battleship. The old fellow was polishing brasses, and as he came
edging along until close to Clayton he said, in an undertone:

"'Ell's to pay, sir, on this 'ere craft, an' mark my word for it, sir.
'Ell's to pay."

"What do you mean, my good fellow?" asked Clayton.

"Wy, hasn't ye seen wats goin' on? Hasn't ye 'eard that devil's spawn
of a capting an' is mates knockin' the bloomin' lights outen 'arf the
crew?

"Two busted 'eads yeste'day, an' three to-day. Black Michael's as good
as new agin an' 'e's not the bully to stand fer it, not 'e; an' mark my
word for it, sir."

"You mean, my man, that the crew contemplates mutiny?" asked Clayton.

"Mutiny!" exclaimed the old fellow. "Mutiny! They means murder, sir,
an' mark my word for it, sir."

"When?"

"Hit's comin', sir; hit's comin' but I'm not a-sayin' wen, an' I've
said too damned much now, but ye was a good sort t'other day an' I
thought it no more'n right to warn ye. But keep a still tongue in yer
'ead an' when ye 'ear shootin' git below an' stay there.

"That's all, only keep a still tongue in yer 'ead, or they'll put a
pill between yer ribs, an' mark my word for it, sir," and the old
fellow went on with his polishing, which carried him away from where
the Claytons were standing.

"Deuced cheerful o