he will be useless.

I turned in with a strange feeling about the matter forward and the
third officer's conduct. Although I knew Trunnell would take care that
the ruffian would not get loose again that night during his watch, I
took out a heavy revolver from my locker and stuck it under the pillow
of my bunk. Then I saw that the door and port were fast before I jammed
myself in for a rest.

I lay a long time thinking over the strange outfit on board, and the more
I thought over the matter, the more I became convinced that the third
officer had taken a hand in letting Andrews loose to try his hand on me
again. There was something uncanny about this officer with a woman's
voice, and I actually began to have a secret loathing not entirely
unmixed with fear for him.

When I turned out for the morning watch, Trunnell met me in the alleyway.
He looked wild and bushy from his exposure to the elements, his hair
being in snarls and tangles from having a sou'wester jammed over his
ears, and his great flat nose was red from the irritation of the water
that struck and streamed over his bearded face. His whiskers gleamed with
salt in the light of the lamp, and he spat with great satisfaction as he
breathed the quiet air of the cabin.

"It's letting up, Rolling," he said; "there's a little light to the
easterd now. Sink me, but we've a job bending gear. Everything gone out
of her but her spars, and Lord knows how they stand it. How'd you come to
get caught with all that canvas on her?"

"Look here, Trunnell," I answered, "you know I'm a sailor even if I'm not
much else, and you know how that canvas came to be on her. I'm almost
glad it's gone. I would be if it wasn't for the fact that we'll be longer
than usual on this run, and I've about made up my mind that the quicker a
decent man gets out of this ship, the better."

I was buttoning up my oilskins while I spoke, and Trunnell smiled a queer
bit of a smile, which finally spread over his bearded face and crinkled
up the corners of his little eyes into a network of lines and wrinkles.
"I heard the outfly," said he, "and I was only joking ye about the
canvas. It's a quare world. Ye wouldn't think it, but if ye want to see a
true picture of responsibility a-restin' heavy like upon the digestion of
a man, ye'll do well to take a good look at the old man a-standin' there
on the poop. 'What for?' says you; 'God knows,' says me; but there he is,
without a drop o' licker or nothin' in