“I suppose,” I said, “that you believe me suffering from sconce swellus.”

“It must be an extraordinary disorder for a sailor,” she answered.

“Translated into nautical language, it means swelling of the frontal bone, producing an ecstatic degree of self-complacency in a hitherto irresponsible mind,” said I, “and it is more often found to exist among young persons, much younger even than I am. I wished to say that my exalted rank on the barque was not such as to produce the disease.”

“I see,” said Miss Allen, raising her eyebrows slightly.

“In that case, I’ll proceed to tell you that slaving is not my chosen vocation, and, if you are unfortunate enough to marry Mr. Curtis, and thus control the sinews of the enterprise, I would like to have the crew diminished by one or two hands, beginning with me.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the captain might be the person to whom you should make the request,” she answered, smiling a little.

“It did occur to me that he might be the one, but, on considering his peculiar and hasty actions, it occurred later to me that he might not.”

“Well, if you intend to wait until the misfortune overtakes me that you suggest, I’m afraid there is little use of your sublime impudence.”

“If that is really true,” said I, without hardly knowing what I was saying, “I will be content to be slaver, or even pirate, for that matter. If you really don’t intend to--”

“That will do, sir! Be still!” she cried, now aroused. Then she arose from her chair, and, looking like an angry goddess, turned about to face Mr. Curtis, who had stepped out of the house, and who had evidently lost very little of the last part of our conversation.

“Good evening, Miss Allen,” said he. “When you get through talking to that sailor about your private affairs, we might take a little stroll before dark.”

“I hardly feel it necessary under the circumstances,” said the girl.

“You might later on,” said he. His voice was cold, but his eyes held smouldering fires that flashed ominously.

“Is that a threat?” said she, haughtily, as steps sounded on the gravel walk around the corner of the house.

“No fear,” I snapped out without thinking, and, as I did so, Hicks and Captain Howard swung around the corner and were alongside.

The old pirate stopped and looked at me a moment. “What’s this fellow doing here?” he asked, noting my attitude, which was not of respect to Mr. Curtis.

“I don’t know,” said he; “but if you will kindly lend me your cutlass, I’ll see if he has blood in him.”

The old fellow instantly drew forth the hanger he always carried whenever going ashore, and passed the hilt to Mr. Curtis. Hicks stood near, smiling contemptuously.

The affair began to have a serious look. I could hardly run with honour, and Miss Allen would sooner have cut off her right hand than ask him to withhold the blade.

“Sir John,” she cried, turning to Hicks, “if that man is harmed, you will live to be sorry for it. Heywood,” she said, turning to me, “go about your business.”

“Not while he has that weapon in his hand,” said I, “but if he will lay it aside, and step down on the beach here--” Here he made a pass that would have given me a bad stab had not Hicks knocked the thrust aside with his heavy walking-stick, which he now held before him like a sword.

Like a flash, Curtis turned upon him. The cutlass rose and fell like rapid flashes of lightning in the gathering darkness, but each stroke found the thick cane in its path, and Hicks remained unhurt.

Howard burst into a loud guffaw. “Go it, bullies!” he cried. “Poke him in the ribs, Curtis! Whang him on the knuckles, Hicks! Stand to it! Stand to it! No flinching!”

Yankee Dan’s daughter stood upon the porch, her hands clenched, and her breast heaving with excitement. “Stop them! Oh, do stop them, Heywood,” she gasped.

“If he does, I’ll stuff his hide for a figurehead,” cried Howard, sitting down to fully enjoy the scene. “Any one who stops such pretty play, my dear child, will surely learn trouble. Look at that, an’ that!”

Curtis had forced his adversary backward into the road, and several persons came running to see the scuffle. One of these had recklessly tried to seize the cutlass, and had received a couple of good slashes with the blade. The fellow screamed with pain. I started forward, but was instantly ordered back by Captain Howard.

The slight diversion gave Hicks a chance to recover himself from the suddenness of the attack, and land a blow upon Curtis’s knuckles, which caused him to drop his weapon. Then, in spite of Howard’s threats and the struggles of the combatants, they were separated just as Yankee Dan and the main official of the town appeared at the door of the inn, followed by a crowd of servants and sightseers.

“It’s a shame your men interfere with such sport,” said Captain Howard. “It’s an outrage, sir.”

Yankee Dan had evidently settled for the repairs on the barque, and the officer’s good-will was not held so high as formerly.

“Are you addressing me, sir?” asked the officer.

“I am, sir, I am. It’s a d----d outrage the way you allow these rogues to interfere with gentlemen. You owe me an apology for spoiling that sport.”

“You’ll get something entirely different if you entertain any such peculiar ideas regarding sport,” said the official.

“Tut, tut, stow the row!” said Yankee Dan. “Come inside, Rose,” he continued to his daughter, and she followed him out of sight.

Hicks came up at that moment and strode through the staring group, and I thought it about time to depart.

Curtis had disappeared, and a fellow handed Captain Howard his cutlass. The old sailor’s face remained as unmarked by passion as a piece of iron, while he called the official names that would have made a dog wince, and he thrust his cutlass back in its scabbard with easy carelessness. Then he called for something to drink, and seated himself comfortably again to enjoy it. I slipped off down the road, and he evidently forgot all about the incident and the part I took in it before I was out of sight. As I reached the landing, where we had left the small boat, I noticed the big man, the skipper of the Yankee trader, directing two of his crew to lift a large box. He apparently did not see me in the gloom of the evening, for it was now getting quite dark, and he ordered his men about in rough tones.

“You, Sile, fling your end aboard, and don’t get them slops wet, whatever you do. That Cap’n Howard don’t want no wet slops a-comin’ aboard his ship. Says he’s paid nine shillin’ sixpence fer them jumpers wot’ll sell fer five shillin’ anywhere outside London docks.”

I approached and stood by, looking on. Suddenly he noticed me.

“Hello, mate,” said he, “be ye a-goin’ aboard yer ship?”

There seemed little use staying ashore.

“Yes, I reckon I will when I get a boat,” I answered.

“Well, hop right in there. I’ve got a bit o’ goods fer yer cap’n, and so long as I’ve got tew take ’em aboard, I’ll take ye along with ’em.”

I stepped into the boat, and was followed by four surly cutthroats, who sullenly took up the oars. The captain followed.

“Shove off!” he growled, and the men sent her clear. Then two natives appeared and clamoured for some payment, following the boat into the water.

“Get clear, you Guineas!” growled the tall man, giving one a rap over the head with the boat-hook, and the other a sharp crack on the knuckles, where he held the gunwale. This caused them to let go and retreat to the beach, spluttering a string of strange oaths, which the men heeded not the least, but let fall their oars, and in a moment had the boat heading out in the roadstead in the direction of The Gentle Hand.

“I s’pose you uns ain’t goin’ out fer a day or two yet?” said the tall skipper, after he had seated himself in the stern-sheets.

“I believe we’ll clear to-morrow,” I answered. “Our crew out on the Desertas must have bucanned enough goat to last half the tribes of the Senegal six months.”

“This feeding them blamed niggers is the very devil,” said he, seeming to be remarkably communicative for a captain who was talking to a strange sailor. “Them coons has ter be kept fat. Just as soon as they begin to pine, they goes almighty fast. Now there’s ole Zack Richards, who’s too mean to lay out anything except boiled rice. Why, he left a trail o’ dead men clean acrost to Cuba, an’ there warn’t an hour between bodies a-followin’ in his wake. You say you’re well heeled with grub?”

I told him everything was first-class aboard The Gentle Hand.

“Got plenty o’ rocks, hey? Plenty o’ real money ter back the game, hey? I s’pose they keeps a safe aboard, with iron doors an’ regular money lock, under the cabin. Never seen the cash outfit, hey?”

“No,” said I; “I’m only the gunner aboard, although I shipped as mate. I never got a chance to see what’s aft.”

“You’re most uncommon clever for a gunner, sink me! but I took ye for first officer, at least. ’Course you’ve been mate an’ master, too, for that matter. I c’u’d see that easy. I was just a-tellin’ Sile, when you came over to-day, what a crackin’ mate they had on that barque.” Here he looked hard at the surly man with the stroke oar, who nodded and spat abundantly over the side to emphasize his corroboration.

“Must be somethin’ of a wessel when she has fellers like you below mate’s ratin’. She is a good-lookin’ barque, but I reckon she’s pretty old. We’ll swing up on the port quarter best, and you can hail the deck. Tell ’em here’s a chest o’ slops fer Captain Howard wot goes in his cabin. He sent ’em off in this boat, an’ I won’t charge him nuthin’ fer freight.”

I bawled for a line, and Hawkson’s head appeared over the taffrail.

“Here’s a chest for the captain,” I said, “it has--”

“It goes in his cabin,” said the long man, interrupting. “Them’s his instructions.”

“What’s in it?” asked Hawkson.

“Just common slops,” said the long skipper, “though he’s paid a shillin’ or two more’n them cheap goods is worth. As fer me, I wouldn’t vally the whole contents o’ that chest ekal to the powder an’ lead to blow ’em ter Davy Jones,--an’ I don’t mind sayin’ it loud enough to be heard. He’s got a lock on it big an’ strong enough ter hold solid gold, an’ he’s kept the key. Pass a line an’ we’ll heave it up. I must be goin’. Reckon I’ll clear in a couple of hours.”

A couple of men dropped a line, which was quickly bent to one of the handles of the chest, and in a few moments it was aboard the barque. The small boat hung alongside for some minutes, while the long skipper swore and cursed at Sile for not having been more careful about the barque’s paint, as the chest scratched it a little. Then, hearing the men carrying the affair below, he waved his cigar, which shone in the darkness, and shoved off.