, we'll still
have a navigator, and it won't be Denman, either."

"D'you mean," began Forsythe, "that you'll take charge again, and
make--"

"Yes," said Jenkins, "make you navigate. Make you navigate under orders
and under fear of punishment. You're the worst-hammered man in this
crowd; but hammering doesn't improve you. You'll be keelhauled, or
triced up by the thumbs, or spread-eagled over a boiler--but you'll
navigate. Now, shut up."

There was silence for a while, then one said: "You spoke about getting
on deck again, Jenkins. Got any plan?"

"Want to go on deck now and stand watch in this storm?" Jenkins
retorted.

"No; not unless necessary."

"Then get into your bunk and wait for this to blow over. If there is any
real need of us, Denman will call us out."

This was good sailorly logic, and they climbed back into their bunks, to
smoke, to read, or to talk themselves to sleep again. As the wind and
sea arose they closed the other two deadlights, and when darkness
closed down they turned out the dazzling bulbs, and slept through the
night as only sailors can.

Just before daylight Jenkins lifted his big bulk out of the bunk, and,
taking a key from his pocket, unlocked the forecastle door. He stepped
into the passage, and found the hatch loose on the coamings, then came
back and quietly wakened them all.

"I found this key on the deck near the door first day aboard," he
volunteered; "but put it in my pocket instead of the door."

They softly crept out into the passage and lifted the hatch; but it was
the irrepressible and most certainly courageous Forsythe who was first
to climb up. He reached the deck just in time to dodge into the darkness
behind the bridge ladder at the sight of Denman coming forward to attend
to the lamps; and it was he who sent both fists into the side of
Denman's face with force enough to knock him senseless. Then came the
others.

CHAPTER XVIII

"That'll do, Forsythe," said Sampson, interrupting the flow of
billingsgate. "We'll omit prayers and flowers at this funeral. Stand
up."

Forsythe arose, waving two bunches of keys and Denman's revolver.

"Got him foul," he yelled, excitedly. "All the keys and his gun."

"All right. Just hand that gun to me--what! You won't?"

Forsythe had backed away at the command; but Sampson sprang upon him and
easily disarmed him.

"Now, my lad," he said, sternly, "just find the key of these darbies and
unlock us."

Forsythe, muttering,