you
will take us to the African coast."

"My _position_ would be changed," answered Denman. "If I command this
boat, I take her back to Boston, not to the African coast."

"Very well, sir," said Jenkins, a shade of disappointment on his face.
"We cannot force you to join us, or help us; so--well, come forward, you
fellows."

"Say, Jenkins!" broke in Forsythe. "You're doing a lot of dictating
here, and I've wondered why! Who gave you the right to decide? You admit
your incompetency; you can't navigate, can you?"

"No, I cannot," retorted Jenkins, flushing. "Neither can I learn, at my
age. Neither can you."

"I can't?" stormed Forsythe, his eyes glaring white as he glanced from
Jenkins to Denman and back. "Well, I'll tell you I can. I tell you I
haven't forgotten all I learned at school, and that I can pick up
navigation without currying favor from this milk-fed thief. You know
well"--he advanced and held his fist under Denman's face--"that I won
the appointment you robbed me of, and that the uniform you wear belongs
to me."

At the first word Denman's heart gave the old, familiar thump and jump
into his throat. Then came a quick reaction--a tingling at the hair
roots, an opening of the eyes, followed by their closing to narrow
slits, and, with the full weight of his body behind, he crashed his fist
into Forsythe's face, sending him reeling and whirling to the deck.

He would have followed, to repeat the punishment, but the others stopped
him. In an intoxication of ecstasy at the unexpected adjustment of his
mental poise, he struck out again and again, and floored three or four
of them before Jenkins backed him against the companion.

"He's broken his parole--put him in irons--chuck him overboard," they
chorused, and closed around him threateningly, though Forsythe, his hand
to his face, remained in the background.

"That's right, sir," said Jenkins, holding Denman at the end of one
long arm. "You have violated your agreement with us, and we must
consider you a prisoner under confinement."

"All right," panted Denman. "Iron me, if you like, but first form a ring
and let me thrash that dog. He thrashed me at school when I was the
smaller and weaker. I've promised him a licking. Let me give it to him."

"No, sir, we will not," answered Jenkins. "Things are too serious for
fighting. You must hand me that pistol and any arms you may have, and be
confined to the wardroom. And you, Forsythe," he said, looking at th