'Bout all I know is he wus white, an' likely a sailor,
judgin' frum the feel o' his hands. Maybe he thought that wus his boat
he'd stumbled inter--thar wus quite a few 'long the beach. Enyhow,
when Manuel got back, he just took a look at him in the dark, an' then
told us to haul the lad forrard out o' the way, an' fetch him along.
So we pulled out with the feller cuddled up in the bow. He was drunk
all right."

"I never seed nuthin' more of him after he was hauled aboard,"
commented Tom, as the other ceased speaking. "Whut become o' the lad?"

"Him? Oh, Jose an' me carried him inter the for'cassel, an' shoved him
inter a berth ter sleep off his liquor. Thet wus the last I ever see,
er hear o' him fer 'bout six hours. I'd fergot all 'bout the
feller--er wud have, if it hadn't been fer the rum. Manuel went off in
the long-boat with Estada, an' when my watch went below, I stowed
myself away back o' the bow gun fer a few drinks. I hadn't been thar
mor'n ten minutes, when this yere feller must a woke up in the
for'cassel sum crazy. He cum a chargin' out on deck, whoopin' like an
Indian, wavin' a knife in his hand, intendin' fer ter raise hell. I
cudn't see then who the lad wus, but it must o' been him, fer when I
went down later he wusn't whar we'd put him. Well, it happened thet
the fu'st feller he run up against wus LeVere, who wus cumin' forrard
fer sumthin', an' fer about a minute thar was one hell ov a fight.
Maybe LeVere didn't know et onct just whut hed happened, but he wusn't
almighty long finding out his job, an' the way he started in fer ter
man-handle the cuss, wus worth seein'. It was so damn dark thar by the
foremast I couldn't tell whut did happen, but it wus fists mostly,
till the mate drove the poor devil, cussin' like mad, over agin the
rail, an' then heaved him out inter the water 'longside. I heerd the
feller splash when he struck, but he never let out no yell."

"What did LeVere do?"

"Him? Hell, he didn't do nuthin'. Just stared down over the rail a
bit, an' then cum back, rubbin' his hands. Never even asked who the
feller wus. Thar ain't nuthin' kin skeer that black brute."

"By God--no! He ain't got no human in him. It's hell when English
sailormen has got ter take orders frum a damned nigger, an' be knocked
'round if they don't jump when he barks. He's goin' ter get a knife in
his ribs sum day."

"Maybe he is; but yer better hold yer tongue, Tom. Sanchez don't stand
fer thet talk, an' he's back