ng
to bed?"

"Huh! With a scrap due to arrive? Not much!"

"Me neither. Let's get up in the bow."

So, treading very softly, they made their way to the bow and crouched
there as comfortably as possible. Hardly fifteen minutes had passed when
there came a tramp of feet from the wharf, and a confused murmur of
voices. Looking down the deck, by the gangway light the two boys could
see Captain Hollinger and "Liverpool" Peters waiting. Swanson had
disappeared, as it was his watch below.

The noise of feet swelled up into a steady stamping; then, as Mart and
Bob got to the rail and looked over, they made out the figures of eight
or ten men in the dim glow from the gangway. But, to their great
disappointment, there was no fight whatever, and neither did any of the
new arrivals seem to be intoxicated. Instead, all halted at sight of the
two waiting officers, and the boys saw the stoop-shouldered Jerry Smith
come forward and touch his hat.

"We've come aboard, sir, all shipshape and Bristol fashion."

"Very good, quartermaster," replied Captain Hollinger briskly. "Mr.
Peters, if you'll see that these men sign articles, we'll be off at the
turn of the tide. I'd better come with you, while you send someone after
Mr. Swanson. We'll want all hands--"

"On deck, sir," came the voice of Swanson, and Mart looked aft to see
the burly mate come to the gangway. Captain Hollinger nodded and led the
way below, followed by the first mate and the crew, all of whom seemed
to be decent-looking fellows, and far from what Swanson had so gloomily
predicted. But, as they vanished, the boys saw the stoop-shouldered
figure of Jerry Smith stop abruptly by the gangway; then came Swanson's
voice once more, aggressive and heavy.

"Look a-here, Shark Smith! I don't know what your game is aboard this
craft, but you lay a fair course or I'll trim you. Savvy that? This
ain't the old _Coralie_, not by a long shot. I'm workin' honest now, an'
you ain't goin' to get me from _behind_ neither, like you got poor Bucko
Tom!"

Mart, watching in wild astonishment, saw old Jerry crouch abjectly. Then
with the mate's final words the old man straightened up as if in
accusation. His white hair shone dimly in the light.

"You're right, Joe Swanson, you're right!" he said in his quiet voice,
that carried clearly and distinctly to the boys at the forward rail.
"But if it _was_ me as got Bucko Tom, who was it got the officers o' the
_Melbourne_, eh? No, no, Joe