ht came, he fell into a fitful slumber. Bob took a last look to
see that his friend was comfortable and went on deck.

Pharaoh Daggs had taken a great deal of liquor the night before, as was
his wont when grog was being passed. The rum he consumed seemed to
affect him very little. No one ever heard him sing, though his cruel
face, with its awful, livid scar, would lean forward and sway to and fro
with the rhythm of the choruses. He could walk a reeling deck or climb a
slack shroud as well, to all appearances, when he had taken a gallon as
most men when they were sober. From Newfoundland to Trinidad he was
known among the pirates as a man whose head would stand drink like a
sheet-iron bucket. This reputation was made possible by the fact that he
was no talker at any time, and when in liquor clamped his jaws like a
sprung trap. Whatever effect the alcohol may have had upon his mind was
not apparent because no thoughts passed his lips. The rum did go to his
head, however. The instinctive effort of will that kept his legs steady
and his mouth shut had no root in thought. Behind the veil of those
light eyes, the brain of Pharaoh Daggs, drunk, was like a seething pit,
one black fuddle of ugliness. To compensate for the apparent lack of
effect of liquor upon him, the inward disturbance usually lasted long
after the more tipsy seamen had slept around to clear heads.

Today he lolled with his sneering face toward the weather beam, a figure
upon whose privacy no one would care to trespass. The sound of the shots
and the tale of the duel had neither one awakened in him any apparent
interest. Through the long afternoon till nearly five o'clock he
slouched by the fo'c's'le. Then with a leisurely stretch he walked to
the hatch, and peered down it. Wheeling about he scanned the deck
craftily, looking at all the men in turn, before he descended the
ladder.

In the half-light below he paused again, and seemed to send his piercing
glance into every bunk, from the forward to the after bulkhead. Finally,
satisfied that no one else was in the fo'c's'le, he went to his own
sleeping place, on the port side, and kneeling beside the berth hauled a
heavy sea-chest from beneath it.

Jeremy's light sleep was broken by a scraping sound close by. He opened
his eyes without moving, and from where he lay could see a man busy at
something opposite him. As the figure turned and straightened, he knew
it for the man with the broken nose. The boy was in