Then, relieving Jenkins of his keys, he went through the forward door to
the armroom, from which he removed, not only wrist and leg arms, but
every cutlass and service revolver that the boat was stocked with, and a
plentiful supply of ammunition.

First properly securing the still inert and helpless Jenkins, he dragged
him to a corner, and then stowed the paraphernalia of war in his room,
loading as many as a dozen of the heavy revolvers.

He was still without a plan, working under intense excitement, and could
only follow impulses, the next of which was to lock the wardroom
companion down which Jenkins had come, and to see that the forward door
and the after companion were secured. This done, he sat down abreast of
his prisoner to watch him, and think it out. There was no change in
Jenkins; he still breathed hard, and endeavored unsuccessfully to speak,
while his eyes--the angry glare gone from them--looked up inquiringly.

"Oh, you're all right, Captain Jenkins," said Denman. "You'll breathe
easier to-morrow, and in a week, perhaps, you may speak in a whisper;
but you are practically deprived from command. So make the best of it."

Jenkins seemed willing to, but this did not solve the problem; there
were twelve other recalcitrants on deck who might not be so easily
jujutsued into weakness and dumbness.

As the situation cleared, he saw two ways of solving it, one, to remain
below, and from the shelter of his room to pot them one by one as they
came down; the other, to take the initiative, assert himself on deck
behind the menace of cocked revolvers, and overawe them into submission.

The first plan involved hunger, for he could eat nothing not provided by
them; the other, a quick and certain ending of the false position he was
in--a plan very appealing to his temperament.

He rose to his feet with a final inspection of Jenkins' bonds, and,
going to his room, belted and armed himself with three heavy revolvers,
then opened the wardroom companion door, and stepped to the deck. No one
was in sight, except the man at the wheel, not now steering in the
close, armored conning tower, but at the upper wheel on the bridge.

He looked aft, and, spying Denman, gave a shout of warning.

But no one responded, and Denman, with a clear field, advanced forward,
looking to the right and left, until he reached the engine-room hatch,
down which he peered. Riley's anxious face looked up at him, and farther
down was the cringing