After the crew had eaten their supper and rested a bit, the captain had them transfer the sponges from the diving boat to the deck of the schooner. The sponges made quite an imposing pile which the old sailor surveyed with satisfaction. "You've done well to-day," he remarked, "if every day's work is as good we'll have a valuable cargo before our three months are up. I reckon, thar's all of two hundred dollars' worth of sponges in that heap."

"Are you sure that you know how to clean and cure them right?" Charley enquired.

"I don't, but Chris knows that part of the business from A to Z. Where he comes from the people live by sponging and pearl fishing."

"Golly, dat's right," observed the little darkey. "I'se helped my daddy fix sponges many a time. First off, you'se got to beat de mud out ob dem wid sticks, den you got to let dem lay foah a day or two to die, 'cause dey's alive jus' like fishes. When dey's good an' dead, you puts dem in nets an' hangs dem ober de side for de water to wash dem out clean. Den you dry dem out on deck an' string dem out on strings 'bout two yards long. Dat makes dem all ready for market 'cept for clipping de bad parts off of dem, which is done on shore. Dar ain't nothin' 'bout fixin' up sponges dat dis nigger doan know."

Just then a small boat came alongside the schooner and the boys hastened to the side to welcome the two men it contained. They were the captain and mate of the schooner anchored nearest to the "Beauty". Both were young fellows hardly out of their teens. They introduced themselves as Steve Ward, and Ray Lowe.

"We thought we'd drop over and have a little chat with you," said Ward, who was the captain. "You, of course, don't realize it yet, but an American face looks mighty good amongst this army of Greeks, especially after one has been out for a month or two. We all start out together but before the season ends we get pretty widely scattered and to meet up with another schooner with an American aboard is like coming across a long-lost brother. This is my fifth trip and I am getting pretty well hardened to the loneliness now, but the first time I was out I nearly went crazy. After we parted from the rest of the fleet, it was worse than being alone on a desert island, for I had the misery of seeing others talk, laugh and enjoy themselves without being able to understand a word. When, at last, we came across a ship with someone aboard I could talk to I nearly cried for joy. It seemed so good to be able to understand and make myself understood once more." His glance fell upon Manuel George, who was leaning against the rail, and his gray eyes narrowed.

"What made you bring that fellow with you?" he asked.

"We had to have someone along who could talk their lingo," Captain Westfield replied. "Do you know him?"

"I don't know anything good of him," said the other shortly. "I came near killing him once and I've always half regretted that I didn't do it. It was on my first trip," he explained. "It was just such another case as that young fellow's who was arrested the other day. Although I was captain, the Greeks owned the schooner, and, because I was young and inexperienced, they got the idea they could run over me and do as they pleased. Manuel was always stirring them up and encouraging them to disobey orders. One day I had some words with him about it, and,"—the young fellow's face darkened—"well, he carries a bullet in his leg yet. The others set on me and I had to lock myself up in the cabin. Likely, they would have got me in the end and thrown me overboard to feed the sharks, but we happened to come across another schooner and they had to let me go."

"He don't want to try any tricks with me," Captain Westfield declared. "I got him to talk their lingo but had him sign on as one of the crew. If he tries to act up, I'll put him at the hardest work on the schooner."

"Well, keep your eye on him," advised the other. "He has never made a trip yet without making trouble. He's a mighty bad egg and as sly and cunning as he is mean."

The two men remained for over two hours, and from them the little party learned many new and interesting things about their new business and about the Greeks.

"We have no reason to complain of a dull trip so far," Charley said, when the two Americans had left. "Only two days out and one of our crew is dead, another is supposed to be on the watch to make us trouble, and a third is a mystery worth solving, judging from the way the others treat him. If things keep on as they have started, we will have a voyage exciting enough to satisfy anyone."

If the lad could have known of the exciting events soon to follow close on each other's heels, he would have had even less reason to complain of dullness.

The next day's sponging was the same as the first. They seemed to have happened upon a spot where the sponges were unusually plentiful. The basket came frequently to the surface loaded with the big mud-covered masses and by nightfall the diving boat's deck was well covered. All day the two lads persisted in their attempt to learn the Greek names for the things about them. By night Charley was able to direct the operation of getting under way for the schooner. Of course, he was yet unable to construct sentences in Greek, but he could call the Greek names for sails, anchor, and different parts of the rigging and the crew managed to guess the rest. Though it was a crude and imperfect way of giving orders, it succeeded better than the slow, imperfect signs he had been obliged to depend upon before.

"If we keep on as fast, we will be able to make them understand us well within two weeks," he declared gleefully.

It was still light enough for them to see distinctly when they reached the schooner, and they looked about them with regret as they climbed aboard. Her snow-white decks were filthy from the pounding out of the sponges, and bulwarks, sails and rigging were spattered with the foul mud, while the strong, rank odor of dead fish hung heavy in the air.

Chris and the captain had just knocked off work. Their faces, hands and clothing were black as soot. The old sailor's face showed set and stern through its coating of mud. He said little until all were washed up and seated around the supper table.

"Well, lads, I reckon our troubles have begun," he remarked, grimly. "Manuel an' I had a row to-day."

"What about? How did it come out?" the boys questioned, eagerly.

"I told him to help us with the sponge cleaning and he refused to do it. When I insisted he flew into a rage, cursed me, an' shook his fist in my face. I couldn't stand for that an' he's down in the hold now with the irons on him."

"Well, I feel easier with him there than with him mixing in with the crew," Charley declared.

"My row with him ain't the worst of the matter," the old sailor said gravely. "I called on the crew to help me iron him and they all pretended they didn't understand my sign, but they knew what I wanted all right. I had to handle him alone an' we had quite a struggle before I got the best of him." He rolled up his sleeve and showed an ugly-looking cut on his arm. "He came near getting me with his knife an' I had to give him a couple of taps with a belaying pin. That cut don't amount to anything, but what worries me is that the crew stood around an' watched him try to kill me without interfering—it's a mighty bad sign."

"That does look bad," Charley agreed, anxiously. "I guess we had better keep him a close prisoner and not let any of the crew go near him, he might try to stir them up and make things hot for us."

"But that means that someone will have to guard him an' carry his meals to him. It wouldn't do to have one of the Greeks do it, I reckon."

"No," Charley agreed, thoughtfully, "but I believe I've got the very man for the job—that handsome fellow the others seem to hate so. Manuel tried to kill him and he is not likely to be easy with him."

The mysterious sailor was at once sent for by Ben. As soon as he came the captain loaded a tray with food and a bottle of water and signed for him to carry it and follow him. Charley and Walter accompanied the two.

As they passed along the deck on their way to the hold, they met angry glances and frowns from the crew.

The mysterious sailor was very intelligent and they soon made him understand that he was to guard the prisoner. He grinned with enjoyment and, seating himself a little way from the Greek, took out his long keen sheath knife and laid it handy beside him.

The prisoner's face grew black with rage at sight of his guard, but he maintained a sulky silence.

"I guess he's safe enough now," the captain said as they returned to their cabin. "I believe that fellow will guard him faithfully. They seem to hate each other like poison—I wish I knew the reason for it."

"It would not seem so strange if the hatred was confined to him and Manuel, but all the others seem to share in the feeling," Charley remarked. "It seems very queer to me."