vessel rolled, I must admit that I would have presented a
sorry spectacle to any one who could have seen me, clad only in the
trousers of my pajamas, and suggesting anything but a fighting man.

But, in spite of the poor part I had taken so far in the fighting, I had
no fear of an encounter with the men who seemed likely enough to take
possession of the _Kut Sang_ and murder all on board. I told myself that
it was not my fault that I had been stripped of my arms and made a
prisoner, and blamed Captain Riggs for allowing Thirkle--in the character
of the Rev. Luther Meeker--to throw all the suspicion of the murder of
Trego on me and hold his own liberty and good-standing as a passenger.

I fully realized the danger which confronted me and the ship, and as I
crawled from under the bunk in the forecastle I had little hope of ever
escaping from the vessel alive. It was no time to go over past mistakes,
no time to moan over what had happened. I longed for action, but, with
both Captain Riggs and Thirkle and his men against me, it looked as if I
would have little chance, no matter which side was victorious in the
battle that was being fought for the ship.

I had to crawl over the body of the mate in order to get clear of the
tier of bunks, and, thinking it possible that Harris might have a pistol
in his clothing, or had dropped one as he fell into the forecastle, I
examined his pockets. I got no pistol, but did find a box of matches,
and, standing with my back to the scuttle to protect the flame from the
wind, and also to shade the light from the open scuttle, I struck a match
and hurriedly looked over the littered deck of the forecastle.

I struck several matches at intervals in this way, waiting between lights
to make sure that no one had seen the flashes from the upper deck. If
Harris had had pistols his murderers must have taken them. I did find a
dozen or more cartridges of heavy calibre loose in the side-pocket of his
coat, but those and the matches were all that resulted from my ghoulish
work.

In the brief illuminations of the forecastle I had seen clothing of the
crew hanging from nails, and I dressed myself in light-blue nankeen frock
and trousers which had belonged to a Chinese sailor, for the jacket
buttoned in the back and smelled strongly of opium, as did the whole
forecastle.

The ports were all fast, but leaked, and what little air came in
descended through the scuttle, so the place still reeked with acri