GUY REMAINED in the forecastle just long enough to rid himself of his bundle, and then ran back up the ladder. Frightened as he was, he was possessed by an irresistible desire to learn who it was that wanted to see him. He intended to return to the deck and crouch down by the side, where he could hear what was said; but when he had ascended the ladder a few steps he heard the sound of voices near by, and saw that the occupants of the yawl had boarded the vessel. There were four of them, three were policemen and the other was Mr. Heyward. The latter held the shipping articles in his hand, and by the aid of Rupert’s lantern was looking for Guy’s name. The captain and his mate stood at a little distance looking on.

“The name don’t seem to be on the list,” said one of the officers, who was looking over Mr. Heyward’s shoulder.

“I told you it wasn’t!” growled the skipper. “If you ain’t satisfied, search the ship. What has the man been doing, anyhow?”

“It isn’t a man I am after, but a boy,” said Mr. Heyward. “He is an important witness in a case I intend to bring before the courts next month.”

“Who told you he was aboard my ship?” demanded the captain.

“No one. He slipped out of the court-room this morning before I knew it, and as he cannot be found about the city, it struck me he might be on board some vessel, for he is a sailor. If I find him I shall have him locked up. I am satisfied that he is not here,” said Mr. Heyward, handing the shipping articles to the mate. “I am all ready, Mr. Officer, if you are.”

“I want to ask the captain just one question before I go,” answered the policeman. “How long has your vessel been lying here?”

“About four days.”

“Have you kept a watch on board all the while?”

“Of course I have,” replied the captain testily. “Do you think I am fool enough to leave a ship with a valuable cargo without a watch?”

“I merely asked for information. Those burglars who broke into that jewelry store night before last—you heard about it, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Did they get anything?”

“They made a big haul. There is a heavy reward offered for them, but they have disappeared very mysteriously. We have positive proof that they have not left the city, and it may be that they have concealed themselves on some vessel which they have reason to believe is about to sail.”

“If you think they are here you had better look around,” said the captain. “I don’t want any such passengers with me.”

“Oh, if you have had a watch aboard your vessel all the time they could not have got here without your knowledge, so there’s no use in searching the ship. Good-by, captain. I wish you a pleasant voyage.”

Seeing that Mr. Heyward and his companions were about to go over the side, Guy ducked his head and beat a hasty retreat into the forecastle.

“Whew!” he panted, drawing his coat-sleeve across his forehead, “wasn’t that a narrow escape? I don’t think much of such laws as they have in this country, anyhow. I haven’t done anything to be punished for, and yet Mr. Heyward, if he could have found me, would have had me locked up in jail for a whole month. It’s lucky I didn’t sign my right name to the articles.”

Guy was aroused from his reverie by the sound of bustle and hurry on deck, and while he was wondering what it was all about he was summoned from his hiding-place by the hoarse voice of the second mate. When he reached the deck he found that preparations were being made to get the ship under way. There were four sober men in the crew—those Guy had found on the vessel when he first came aboard—and Guy and the mate made six. There were fourteen sailors in the bunks below, so that the vessel’s company, counting in the captain and leaving out the first officer, who for some reason or other had not yet made his appearance, numbered twenty-one men.

“Now, then, look alive.” said the mate. “There’s only a few of us to do this work to-night, but there’ll be more in the morning. Here, Thomas, clap on to the standing part of that messenger, lead it aft, and make it fast to a ring-bolt on the starboard side.”

Every word of this command was Greek to frightened and bewildered Guy, who stood looking about the deck undecided which way to turn. He had heard of “messenger-boys,” but he did not know that there were any on board, unless he was one, and he couldn’t see the use of leading himself aft and making himself fast to a ring-bolt, whatever that might be.

“Sir?” said he, as soon as he had collected himself so that he could speak.

“Sir!” echoed the mate with a terrific oath. “I spoke plainly enough, didn’t I? Where’s your ears?”

“They’re on my head. But I don’t see any messenger-boy.”

“Messen——Who said anything about a messenger-boy?” roared the mate. “What’s this, you lubber?” he continued, picking up a rope which led from the place where they were standing through a block made fast to the cable and thence to the capstan. “What is it, I say? But look here, my hearty, didn’t you ship for an able seaman?”

“Yes, I—no; no, I didn’t.”

“Yes, he did, Mr. Schwartz,” said the captain, who had been a witness to the whole proceeding. “He did. Lay that messenger over his shoulders, and do it so smartly that he will know one the next time he sees it.”

The mate swung one end of the heavy rope in the air, and Guy, with a piercing cry of terror, sprang away and took to his heels; but not in time to escape the blow. The rope fell across his shoulders with such crushing force that Guy wilted under it as if every bone in his body had been broken by the concussion. As he scrambled to his feet he was met by the captain.

“Go for’ard—don’t come back here,” said that officer, emphasizing his command with a push that once more made Guy measure his length on deck. “You don’t belong here. Go for’ard, you lubber.”

“Come here,” said the mate, shaking his fist at Guy. “Come here and get a handspike.”

Guy understood this order. He knew what a handspike was and what to do with it after he had got it. Dodging around the other side of the deck to avoid passing the mate, he found one of the implements, and shipping it into the capstan began heaving around with the rest, who were by this time at work hoisting the anchor. He kept one eye on the mate all the while, for he was afraid that he might have more punishment in store for him. And he had. When Guy came around within reach of him the officer suddenly lifted a short rope which he had kept concealed behind him, and rained the blows upon the boy’s shoulders in a perfect shower. Guy endured it until he believed that the mate had determined to beat him to death, and then he dropped the capstan bar and run for his life.

“Come back here!” shouted the mate.

“Murder! murder!” screamed Guy, crouching close against the side, and holding both hands before his face.

“Yes, yes,” said the officer, seizing him by the collar and throwing him back toward the capstan. “You’ll sing that tune a good many times before you see the last of me. I’ll learn you how to rate yourself the next time you ship.”

“I didn’t want to ship as able seaman,” sobbed Guy, “but Smith——”

“Heave ahead, there!” interrupted the mate, again raising the rope. “No back talk allowed here. I’m going to haze you beautiful.”

That was a long and dreary night to Guy, and he scarcely knew how he lived through it. He did not understand a single order that was issued, and of course could lend no hand in the working of the vessel.

He did his best, fearing the rope’s-end, but his clumsy efforts only got him deeper into trouble. The sailors swore at him and pushed him roughly out of the way, and the mate cuffed and kicked him every time he came within reach. Guy really thought he was doomed. He never expected to live to see the sun rise again.

The vessel was kept under way about three hours, and at twelve o’clock came to anchor under the lee of a high, wooded point which jutted out into the sea.

Guy drew a long breath of relief when he heard the cable rattling through the hawse-hole, and told himself that his labors and troubles were over for that night at least. But as usual he was disappointed.

The captain, not caring to go to sea short-handed, had stopped here to wait until his crew should become sober, and to perform some necessary work, such as getting on chafing gear, lashing spars and water-butts and stowing the boats. And Guy, with all the rest, was kept busy until half-past three o’clock, when he was ordered below to sleep until five. But he never once closed his eyes—he was in too much agony, both mentally and physically. He passed the hour and a half in rolling about in his bunk bemoaning his hard fate, and resolving over and over again that if he were spared to put his foot on shore once more he would never, as long as he lived, go within sight of salt water.

As the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in the east two men came down into the forecastle. Guy gave a start of surprise when his eyes rested on them, for he knew them both.

The first was the mate, of whom he had already learned to stand in abject fear, and he knew now what he had all along suspected—that he was the same man whom he had met at the boarding-house. He recognized him in a moment, for his face was not concealed as it had been the night before. Guy wondered what evil genius had sent him aboard the Morning Light.

In regard to the identity of the mate’s companion there was no sort of doubt in the boy’s mind, although he took two good looks at him, and then rubbed his eyes and looked again before he was willing to credit the evidence of his senses. He knew those gray clothes and that mottled face and fur cap. He had seen them all in the court-room the day before. The man to whom they belonged was the robber against whom he had testified, and who had looked at him so savagely while he was giving his evidence.

This man, as the sequel proved, was the first mate of the vessel, who had left his bondsmen in the lurch. He had just come off in a shore boat, not having considered it safe to join the vessel while she was in the harbor, for fear there might be some one on the watch. Guy, of course, knew nothing of this, but having become very suspicious of late, he made a remarkably shrewd guess as to the real facts of the case.

A thrill of terror run through the boy’s frame like a shock of electricity when he reflected that he was completely in this villain’s power, and that if he felt disposed to take revenge on him for the evidence Guy had given against him he would have every opportunity to do it.

With a cautious movement Guy pulled the blanket over his head, leaving a little opening through which he could watch the movements of the two men. They had come down there to arouse the crew. They stepped up to one of the bunks and seizing the occupant by the shoulder shook him roughly.

“Halloo!” exclaimed the first mate, “this is one of our old hands, Jim Upham, and dead as a log yet.”

“Yes,” returned his companion with a chuckle, “and if he knows when he is well off he will stay that way as long as he can. I’ve a fine rod in pickle for him and his mate yonder in the next bunk, for it was owing to them that we were four days in finding a crew.”

The two officers proceeded to make the circuit of the forecastle, stopping at each bunk long enough to give the occupant a good sound shaking. The sober ones—those who had been on duty the night before—quickly responded, and as soon as they were dressed were ordered to rig the head-pump and get ready to wash down the deck; but the others—those who had been brought off in Rupert’s yawl—could not be aroused. The effects of the drug, whatever it was, that the landlord had put into their “last glass,” had not yet been slept off.

“Never mind,” said the first mate, “if they don’t come around directly we’ll put them under the pump. Who’s this?” he added, pulling the blankets off Guy’s head.

“Oh, he’s a young sneak who has come aboard to be hazed. He shipped for a sailor man, and don’t know a marlinspike from the starboard side of the vessel.”

“Eh?” exclaimed the first mate, stepping back a little out of the light and bending over until his face almost touched Guy’s, “haven’t I seen this young—oh, he’s a lubber, is he? Well, roll out and turn to.”

The expression in the mate’s eye and the tones of his voice indicated that he was about to say something else; but he recollected himself just in time. Guy knew that he had been on the point of referring to the scene in the court-room, and he was afraid that he might yet hear from the man concerning it, and at no distant day either. He did hear of it before a quarter of an hour had passed away. While he was busy at work washing the deck the first mate came up, handed him a swab, and under pretense of showing him where to use it, led him out of earshot of the sailors at the pump.

“I didn’t think I should have a chance to square yards with you so soon, my lad,” said he, with a savage emphasis. “Now I am going to make you think this ship is a frying-pan; and if I hear you lisp a word about what happened yesterday, I will kill you. Do you understand that? Answer me; do you understand it?”

“Yes, sir,” Guy managed to reply.

“Well, bear it in mind, for it is gospel. I mean just what I say—no less.”

Guy did not doubt it in the least. A man who carried a face like that of the mate was capable of any atrocity. Between him and the second officer it was very probable that the ship would be made a great deal warmer than a frying-pan. He knew that he was utterly defenseless, and that there was no possible way to avoid the punishment the mates intended to inflict upon him. The only thing he could do was to perform his duty to the best of his ability, and that too with the disheartening conviction all the while forcing itself upon his mind, that no matter how hard he tried, the officers would find some excuse for using a rope’s end on him.

While Guy was busy with his swab, performing his work as well as he could see to do it through eyes blinded with tears, he happened to glance toward the forecastle and saw Flint slowly ascending the ladder. Guy could hardly believe that it was he. The sailor looked, as he afterward said he felt—“as dilapidated as a last year’s bird’s nest.” His hair was disheveled, his face haggard and pale, his eyes blood-shot, and had he been seen in the woods just then, he would have been taken for a wild man. Never in his life had Guy seen such an expression of utter amazement and bewilderment as that which his friend’s face wore as it arose slowly above the combings of the hatchway. Flint was lost, and it took him some time to get his bearings. He looked around the deck, and finally his eyes fell upon Guy.

“Halloo, mate!” said he, with a sickly smile and an abortive attempt to appear cheerful; “I knew you were somewhere about, for I couldn’t think of anybody else who would put a blanket under my head for a pillow, and spread another over me to keep me warm. What ship is this?”

“The clipper Morning Light,” said Guy. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you in your sober senses again. I want to talk to you.”

“Clipper be—blessed,” said Flint, looking all around. That wasn’t just the word he used, but it is as strong a one as we care to put in print. “Where are we bound?”

“Up the Mediterranean.”

“Mediterranean be blessed!” said Flint again. “Liverpool or the Horn more likely. But, Jack, how did I get aboard, and when?”

“You came last night. The landlord—Rupert is his name—brought you and the rest off in a yawl, and you were as drunk as a beast,” said Guy reproachfully, at the same time hoping that Flint could clear himself of the charge.

“No, I wasn’t,” answered the sailor emphatically. “You nor nobody else ever saw me drunk on a pint of brandy, and that’s all I took.”

“A pint!” cried Guy in surprise—“a whole pint?”

“Heavens and earth! what’s the matter?” exclaimed Flint sharply. “I know to a drop how much I can stow away. I can sail on and never keel under a quart. I was doctored.”

“But what made you touch it? You said you wouldn’t.”

“I know it, but I had to do it to settle the fight we got into. The landlord said if we’d take a drink all around he’d call it square, and we did. I tried to keep the others from falling into a trap, and fell into it myself. How did you come here, Jack?”

“I shipped aboard this vessel because I was told you had done so.”

“What’s your rate?”

“The agent put me down as an A. B.,” said Guy hesitatingly.

“He did!” exclaimed Flint, opening his eyes in amazement. “Well, you are a soft Tommy, that’s a fact. What made you let him do it? You’ve got yourself into hot water.”

“I know it,” replied Guy, with tears in his eyes. “I’ve been whipped a dozen times already, and the second mate says he’s going to haze me beautifully. What does that mean, Flint?”

“He says that, does he?” cried the sailor. “Then you had best jump over the side while you’ve got the chance. He’s going to haze you, is he? That means that he won’t let you have a minute’s peace as long as this voyage lasts, and that you won’t get a wink of sleep more than just enough to keep you alive. I pity you, my boy.”

Guy thought he stood in need of sympathy. He knew that there were hard times before him, but he had never dreamed of anything so dreadful as this.