. I'll get you one
now."

He brought her a revolver, fully loaded, with a further supply of
cartridges, and fitted the belt around her waist. Then, his heart still
jumping, he went on deck.

"Love her?" he mused, joyously. "Of course. Why didn't I think of it
before?"

But there was work to be done, and he set himself about it. He searched
the storerooms and inspected the forecastle. In the first he found
several cases of liquor--also a barrel of hard bread. In the forecastle
he found that the water supply was furnished by a small faucet on the
after bulkhead. Trying it, he found a clear flow. Then he selected from
his bunch of keys the one belonging to the forecastle door, and put it
in the lock--outside. Next, with a few cautionary remarks to the men, he
unlocked their wrist irons one by one; and, after making each man place
his hands in front, relocked the irons.

"Now, then," he said, standing up over the last man, "you can help
yourselves and Jenkins to bread and water. One by one get up on your
feet and pass into the forecastle. If any man needs help, I will assist
him."

Some managed to scramble to their feet unaided, while others could not.
These Denman helped; but, as he assisted them with one hand, holding his
pistol in the other, there was no demonstration against him with doubled
fists--which is possible and potential. Mumbling and muttering, they
floundered down the small hatch and forward into the forecastle. The
last in the line was Sampson, and Denman stopped him.

"I've a job for you, Sampson," he said, after the rest had disappeared.
"You are the strongest man in the crowd. Go down the hatch, but aft to
the storeroom, and get that barrel of hard bread into the forecastle.
You can do it without my unlocking you."

"Very good, sir," answered Sampson, respectfully, and descended.

Denman watched him from above, as, with his manacled hands, he twirled
the heavy barrel forward and into the men's quarters.

"Shut the door, turn the key on them, and come aft here," he commanded.

Sampson obeyed.

"Now, lift up on deck and then toss overboard every case of liquor in
that storeroom."

"Very good, sir." And up came six cases, as easily in his powerful grip
as though they had been bandboxes, and then he hoisted his own huge bulk
to the deck.

"Over the side with them all," commanded Denman.

Sampson picked them up, and, whether or not it came from temper, threw
them from where he stood, above a